Pineapple Lime Gelatin

Iditarod week. The dog teams parading down Fourth Avenue. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.

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.

The blog post this week was about kitchen rituals at Anchorage latitudes. It got six hundred comments.

The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.

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

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 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 therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

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.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

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

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

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

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

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.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

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 New Jersey reader’s pineapple adobo stayed with me all week — the way something unfamiliar can land on the tongue as both wrong and right at once. And then the grocery store had no calamansi, and I reached for lime, and the substitution held. This pineapple lime gelatin is that same lesson made edible: bright where you expect plain, tart where you expect sweet, a little strange, entirely good.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 4 hrs 15 min (includes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 packages (3 oz each) lime-flavored gelatin
2 cups boiling water
1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple, undrained
1 cup cold water
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon lime zest
1/2 cup sour cream or plain yogurt (optional, for serving)
Fresh mint leaves for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Dissolve the gelatin. Pour both packages of lime gelatin into a large heatproof bowl. Add 2 cups of boiling water and stir for about 2 minutes, until the gelatin is completely dissolved and no granules remain.
Add the liquid. Stir in the cold water and fresh lime juice. Let the mixture cool at room temperature for 10 minutes.
Fold in the pineapple. Add the entire can of crushed pineapple, juice and all, along with the lime zest. Stir gently to distribute evenly throughout the gelatin mixture.
Transfer and chill. Pour the mixture into a lightly greased 9x13-inch baking dish or a 6-cup gelatin mold. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or until fully set and firm to the touch.
Serve. Cut into squares or unmold onto a serving platter. Top each portion with a small dollop of sour cream or plain yogurt if desired, and garnish with fresh mint. Serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Lime Gelatin — When the Strange and the Good Are Not Opposites