Thursday,
February 6, 2003
Addictions
I
suppose it dates back to my theater days, those heady times (in more ways than
one) when we were performing Chicago's first lesbian comedy at Cafe Voltaire.
I was out of work, semi-panicked and lighthearted at the same time, and we would
gather at the apartment of the actress who was playing the main character's
cat for Thai food before each performance, before continuing down to Clark Street
and the beckoning basement of the cafe. After each show, we'd gather together
on the back deck and critique the night's performance over coffee and other
beverages.
Beverage. Such a simple word for something that still claws at my soul. At first, I drank it because I thought it sounded intriguing. And then, it became my drink of choice, to the point where I would actually seek out health food stores that carried it and nag my dad to look for it whenever he made his rounds of GNC shops. I didn't understand the insidiousness of its appeal until RJ Corrs stopped making it and I couldn't even score a bottle on my infrequent trips home.
Ginseng Rush. Ah. . .
Just the memory of this pseudo-Chinese elixir makes my mouth water. It tasted like no other soft drink I'd ever sampled -- it had a herby bite almost like carbonated tea, and an aftertaste that scoured my palate clean, leaving it ready for the next sip. Poured into an ice-choked glass and sipped slowly, it was heaven enough.
Of course, you can get ginseng colas in most Whole Foods or other upscale markets these days, and they aren't all that bad, really. But it's like driving a Ford Taurus after you've gotten used to the sweet handling and reaction time of a Porsche. Unfortunately there's no sign that RJ Corrs is still functioning, which means that I will forever be without my beloved Ginseng Rush.
*sigh* Ginseng Rush, Boots
Soothing Essential Aromatherapy Oil, red flats -- I will always miss you, truly.