Hot Almond N Cream Drink

The cold deep, the windows weeping condensation. Two trauma cases stayed with me through the weekend. I cooked through them.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made puto bumbong this week. The purple rice cakes. The Christmas dawn dish.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

I stood at the counter eating leftovers in my pajamas. The standing was the small luxury. The luxury was the having of leftovers at all.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

I wrote the puto bumbong post on Friday, and I meant to include a drink recipe alongside it — something for the cold, something for the sitting-still — but I kept coming back to that Sunday night on the balcony, the broth in my hands, the way the warmth of a cup is its own kind of holding. This hot almond cream drink is what I made the following night, and it is close to that feeling: sweet, warm, enough. When the body is tired and the week has been heavy, sometimes the most honest recipe is the one that asks almost nothing of you and gives almost everything back.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

2 cups unsweetened almond milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons almond butter (smooth)
2 tablespoons honey, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon pure almond extract
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
Pinch of salt
Sliced toasted almonds, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Warm the base. In a small saucepan over medium-low heat, combine the almond milk and heavy cream. Warm gently, stirring occasionally, until steaming but not boiling, about 5 minutes.
Whisk in the almond butter. Add the almond butter to the warm liquid and whisk steadily until fully dissolved and smooth, about 2 minutes. Do not let the mixture boil.
Season and sweeten. Stir in the honey, almond extract, cinnamon, cardamom, and salt. Taste and adjust sweetness as needed. Continue heating over low heat for 2–3 minutes, whisking, until the drink is unified and fragrant.
Froth if desired. For a café-style texture, use an immersion blender or a small hand frother directly in the pot for 20–30 seconds until lightly foamy.
Serve immediately. Pour into two mugs. Garnish with a pinch of cinnamon and a few toasted almond slices if you have them. Drink while it’s hot, preferably while sitting down.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hot Almond N Cream Drink — The Warm Cup That Holds You When Nothing Else Will