Refreshing Hibiscus Mocktail

Hannah brought home a bag of sassafras root from an elder she works with in the nutrition program. Sassafras tea is one of those things that exists in the overlap between Cherokee and Southern and just plain Oklahoman — everybody's grandmother made it, regardless of what nation or race they were, because sassafras grows everywhere in eastern Oklahoma and people have been pulling roots and boiling them since before anybody thought to write it down.

I made a pot Saturday morning. The smell is impossible to describe if you haven't smelled it — earthy, sweet, medicinal, like root beer before root beer was invented, which it basically is. The kitchen filled up with it and suddenly I was five years old, standing on the porch in Turley watching my grandmother — Dad's mother, Grandma Whitehawk, who died when I was seven — boil sassafras root in a dented pot on the stove. I don't have many memories of her. I have that one. I have the smell.

Kai tried the tea and made the face that three-year-olds make when something doesn't taste like juice, which is most things. Luna, sleeping in the bouncer, did not try the tea but was present for the experience, which I'm counting. Hannah drank hers and said it was "almost right," which means I used too much root, which means I'll use less next time, which means Hannah is still teaching me Cherokee foodways one gentle correction at a time. She's been doing this since 2009. She'll probably be doing it in 2046. I don't mind. I'm a slow learner about the things that matter.

Sunday I drove to McAlester to see Abuela Rosa. It's about a two-hour drive southeast from Tulsa, through the kind of Oklahoma landscape that tourists skip and locals love — rolling hills, blackjack oak, cattle, sky. Rosa is eighty-nine and still living in the same house she's been in since the 1960s, a small place with a garden that produces more food than any plot that size should. She was in the garden when I arrived, pulling weeds, moving at a speed that defies her age.

She made tamales while I was there. Not the big Christmas batch — just a small Tuesday batch because Rosa makes tamales the way other people make sandwiches, casually and constantly. I watched her hands work the masa, spreading it on the corn husks with a sureness that comes from sixty years of practice, and I tried to memorize the movement because I know — I know in my bones — that these hands won't always be here, and I haven't learned enough yet. I never learn enough. By the time you realize what someone is teaching you, you're already running out of lessons.

I drove home with two dozen tamales and the smell of sassafras still in the kitchen and both of those things were medicine for a week that needed it.

I came home with tamales and a kind of quiet sadness I didn’t know what to do with — that particular ache of watching someone you love do something irreplaceable and knowing you’re not ready to carry it forward yet. I needed something to make with my hands that felt intentional but light, something bright enough to cut through the weight of the afternoon. This hibiscus mocktail has been my go-to for weeks like this one: tart and floral and just sweet enough, the color of Rosa’s garden in summer. Here’s how I make it.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes (plus chilling) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1/2 cup dried hibiscus flowers (flor de jamaica)
4 cups water, divided
1/4 cup honey or sugar, adjusted to taste
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 1 lime)
1/2 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated (optional)
2 cups sparkling water or still water, for serving
Ice, for serving
Lime slices and fresh mint, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Steep the hibiscus. Bring 2 cups of water to a boil in a small saucepan. Remove from heat and add the dried hibiscus flowers and grated ginger, if using. Let steep for 10–15 minutes. The color will go deep crimson—let it.
Sweeten. Strain out the flowers and return the liquid to the saucepan over low heat. Add honey or sugar and stir until fully dissolved. Remove from heat.
Dilute and cool. Pour the hibiscus concentrate into a pitcher. Add the remaining 2 cups of water and the lime juice. Stir to combine. Refrigerate until fully chilled, at least 1 hour.
Serve. Fill glasses with ice. Pour the hibiscus base to fill about 3/4 of each glass, then top with sparkling water if desired. Garnish with lime slices and fresh mint. Taste and adjust sweetness or lime before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Refreshing Hibiscus Mocktail — The Color of Something Your Grandmother Made