I’m not sure who came up with bubble tea, but I wish they would take it back.
Holy Smoke, that stuff is gross!
Sierra and I were in the Westport area of Kansas City, killing a little time after she got her hair cut and styled and before we met up with the men for supper. As we were walking by a small tea specialty shop, I noticed a sign advertising “bubble tea” for sale.
“What the heck is bubble tea?” I stop on the sidewalk and ask Sierra while I peer inside the yuppie-looking meeting place full of young people half my age.
“Well, I have never tried it, but Tim (her boyfriend), has and he like it” replied our daughter as she ran her hand through her new hair style seeing her reflection in the large window. It met her approval.
I glance at my wristwatch. We females had about forty-five minutes yet of our own demise while the men were out chasing a little white ball around and around from sand traps to water hazards to tall grassy areas. Rarely did they ever find an actual hole to knock their golf balls into. But they claim it is a lot of fun.
“Let’s go in and try it” I tempt my sidekick with a nod of my head as I step into the wonderful world of a blending of cinnamon, nutmeg, and hot milk aromas.
“Good afternoon ladies! What can I get you today?” asked a tattooed, spunky, but friendly barista dressed in all black with pink, spiked hair.
That should have been my first warning.
I hesitated and swallowed my obvious intimidation as I tried to read all of the different flavors and types of tea that was listed on the blackboard behind her. There were categories with several choices listed below each heading.
Aha, there it is!
Sierra steps around me with a little impatience as she realizes I have no clue what to order.
“May I have a grande, iced chai latte bubble tea with soy milk instead of dairy milk please?” She rattles off like she owns stock in this company.
She steps aside now to allow me access to the counter.
“Um, make that two of them please” I fake a smile to the nice employee, wondering what in the heck did I just order myself to drink?
We pick up our drinks at the other end of the bar and move over to settle down on a comfortable couch and sitting chair nestled around a small coffee table.
The circumference of the drinking straw is three times larger than a typical one that I was used to. But I discovered that was to allow the “bubbles” to be sucked up off of the bottom of the glass and into your unsuspecting mouth.
This should have been warning number two.
What these strange little effervesces are, I honestly don’t know. They are the size of a pea, are purple in color, and slimy. Yes, slimy. I tried to chew one.
At first, we would just swallow them whole. That worked for a short while. After a few laborious gulps and nervous laughter, we both agreed that we shouldn’t treat them like oysters. So we decided to grind them between our teeth before forcing them down our throats.
I felt like a dog eating peanut butter.
Those globs of gel didn’t break down easy. And what was worse, I could feel them plopping into a pile in the pit of my stomach.
Just laying there.
Growing bigger with each moment as that alien matter started expanding and multiplying.
Then another thought hit me. If they are doing this to my stomach, what are they doing to my intestines? Are they going to plug me up?!
I gagged down about half of the mixture in the tall cup. Feeling sicker by the minute, I sat the drink down on the table in front of me.
I notice that Sierra is mimicking my exact motions.
“YUCK! I can’t do it! I love chai latte, but this stuff is horrible!” She grimaces pushing the concoction farther away from where she is sitting.
“Me too, honey!” I burp a bubble up in the back of my gullet. “Let’s just throw the rest away!”
Like mother, like daughter, we both toss the remaining liquids into the nearest trash container and made a pact to never try that bubble tea again!
So, you can have ours, Tim.