Rosemary and Ginger Infused Water

The cold deep, the windows weeping condensation. A pediatric burn case Tuesday. I came home and made adobo and did not write a blog post.

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 nilaga Saturday. The beef bone soup, slow simmer, the body warmed.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

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.

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 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.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The nilaga does the big work — the bone broth, the slow simmer, the beef warming the body from the inside out — but it was the cup I made after, quiet at the kitchen table while Reyna slept, that I keep coming back to. Rosemary and ginger infused water sounds too simple to matter, but after a pediatric burn case and three hundred lumpia penciled into the calendar and Dr. Reeves talking about pacing, simple is exactly right. This is the drink I make when I need the day to slow down without asking it to stop.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes (steep 1–2 hours) | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 cups cold filtered water (or warm, not boiling, for faster infusion)
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
1/2 lemon, thinly sliced (optional, for brightness)
Ice, to serve (if serving cold)

Instructions

Prep the aromatics. Lightly bruise the rosemary sprigs between your fingers to release the oils. Peel and slice the ginger into thin coins.
Combine. Add the rosemary, ginger, and lemon slices (if using) to a pitcher or large jar. Pour the water over everything.
Steep. Let the pitcher sit at room temperature for 1 to 2 hours, or refrigerate for up to 8 hours for a stronger flavor. The longer it steeps, the more pronounced the ginger warmth.
Strain and serve. Pour over ice for a cold drink, or gently warm on the stovetop over low heat for a soothing hot version. Do not boil — just warm through.
Store. Keep covered in the refrigerator for up to 2 days. Re-steep with fresh herbs if the flavor fades.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rosemary and Ginger Infused Water — The Warm Cup That Holds You