Summer, but Make It Ice Cold
the allure of the viral fridge cig
A couple weeks back, fridge cigarettes flooded the foodie social media scene.
IYKYK. If you don’t: a fridge cig1, as the kids define it, is an ice-cold Diet Coke ideally consumed around 3 PM when there’s enough time left on the clock to get something done but one’s motivation has been annihilated by a lethal combination of low blood sugar + distance from waking time + distance from cocktail hour + the looming presence of the project you’ve pushed off all day.
The kids like to serve their fridge cigs “crispy” over ice, pellet-shaped, preferably. This isn’t news to those of us not-quite-so-young folks who too equate an icy cold pop straight out of the cooler with afternoon bliss.
Joining Cindy’s enthusiastic endorsement of a frosty cold can, writer Mark Diacono recalls summer shoplifting escapades, the lifted item of desire being a Pepsi:
“I dream about Pepsi some nights. The way it fizzes up your nose as you drink it. The way it smells like the bay leaves in an empty jar of Nescafé the old man keeps by the cooker. The way it feels like it's running through every vein in my body the instant I swallow. Nothing turns off the heat of early summer like Pepsi. I love it more than even roast potatoes.”
The “fridge” part of the fridge cig suggests an emphasis on the arctic nature of the treat. Up until a superstar heat wave pranced to center stage this week, we New Englanders were living in some sort of weird weather vortex that hovered around 63 degrees with near-constant drizzle and headache-inducing fog-filled skies. The forecast ensured anyone with a scheduled pool date, beach hang, or — say (raises hand) — waterslide party for 30 children would refresh the phone’s weather app with the sort of anxious enthusiasm generally reserved for 4:58 PM on college decision day. My kitchen hung in an uncertain balance, chilly enough to stir pots of morning porridge and mix smoky rye Manhattans at cocktail hour.
Thankfully, as of Monday, regular summer programming resumed. I don’t know if the gratitude will stick, but this sweltering, scorching, sunshine-filled weather provides the perfect excuse for exploring the potential fridge cig landscape.
I don’t drink Diet Coke. This isn’t for any sort of moral reason. Despite a penchant for an Alice Waters-like approach to food, my pantry is engaged in a cross-party conversation our country can only dream of at the present moment. Rancho Gordo beans, hand-milled flours, and organic popping corn share shelves with seed oils, rainbow sprinkles, and a birthday party overstock of fluorescent orange cheese balls. I’m open to a wide range of fridge cig candidates.
Pop culture inspiration abounds. Dolly Parton graciously offers iced tea in a wickedly innocent manner as Truvy Jones, unknowingly launching a generation of TikTokkers riffing on the “house wine of the south.”
In the 1968 movie The Swimmer (based on the Cheever story of the same name), Ned Merrill attempts to escape the realities of life and prolong a perpetual summer; he’s offered a weak martini to fuel his swim home.
Reese Witherspoon’s March pick, Broken Country, features two legs of a love triangle and an imagined shared offspring taking an afternoon picnic by the river.
“We are having a picnic,” Leo says, placing a wicker basket next to me on the rug. “You’ve got wine, I’m having Ribena.”
“Pretty much the same thing,” I tell him, and Leo laughs.
He begins to unpack the basket. Sliced ham, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, a little jam jar of French dressing. Echoes of that first moonlit dinner long ago.
“Leo suggested it. Good idea, wasn’t it?” Gabriel says, smiling at me.”
[…]
“Gabriel uncorks the wine and pours it into two glasses, another wineglass for Leo’s Ribena that they have diluted at home.
“Cheers,” Leo says, raising his glass and taking enthusiastic gulps of his drink.
We smile at him, Gabriel and I, like a pair of indulgent parents.
It is a perfect afternoon, the sun still hot beneath a cloudless sky. We take off our shoes and socks and sit at the edge of the lake, cooling our feet in its silvery shadows.”
As for the “cig” part of the project, whatever your choice for that soda pop-like moment, it should lean naughty. And while in the summer one might be tempted by a fridge cig taken in the sun, it’s also terrific vice consumed furtively, in a cool, dark corner.
In Dwight Garner’s snack-laden memoir on reading and eating, he recalls humid Florida afternoons where,
“I’d bicycle home under the Gulf Coast sun, sizzled crisp and pink with sweat, gather an armload of newspapers and magazines and library books and paperback novels, and heave this bundle onto the carpet of the living room floor. My family’s ranch-style house had jalousie windows but no air-conditioning; a ceiling fan churned overhead […]
Reading material acquired, part two of my ritual fell into place. I’d toddle into the kitchen. Ten minutes later I’d return with a sandwich, sodden with mayonnaise, cheese slices poking out like a stealth bomber’s wings, as well as vertiginous piles of potato chips and pretzels and a cold red drink made from powder mix.”
Aimee Nezhukumatathil would, I imagine, bring Halo-Halo2, her mother’s favorite dessert, to the fridge cig party.
“Each spoonful promises a richness of delights: shaved ice, nata de coco, diced jackfruit, sweet beans, sweet corn. The signature pop of purple, from a scoop of ube ice cream shouts Yes, and if you’re lucky, they’ll put leche flan on top.”
Noel Barber (1909-88), a leading correspondent for the Daily Mail, might contribute — via The Artists & Writers Cookbook — Iced Soda Water Soup, a dish first tasted by Barber in a rural Persian village on a “hot, dusty, and terrible” afternoon. Barber’s appreciation for the sup was magnified (by Barber at least) by its non-insistence on exact measurements.
3 jars (1 1/4 pints) of yoghurt
1/4 pint of cream
1 heaping tablespoon of raisins
1 heaping tablespoon of dill or, if unobtainable, parsley
1 heaping tablespoon of chopped onion
1 1/2 medium cucumbers
3 hard-boiled eggs
Soda water as desired
Chop all the dry ingredients very fine and place in a bowl. Mix with the yoghurt and the cream and add as much soda water as you like just before serving.
And while the Barber example might be stretching it all a bit too far (too much fuss for an arid afternoon), Anne Helen Petersen brings us back to the simple point of it all. Last month whilst writing about the culture of Summer Vacation she suggested the best summer treats were of the simple sort, “pops from the cooler” or “you went out for very special treats, like a slurpee from a 7-11, a dip cone from Dairy Queen, a popsicle from a gas station.”
The medicinal qualities of the mid-afternoon quaff should not be dismissed. In June Recital Eudora Welty administered a summer tonic, against a dark bedroom backdrop.
“Loch was in a tempest with his mother. She would keep him in bed and make him take Cocoa-Quinine all summer, if she had her way. He yelled and let her wait holding the brimming spoon, his eyes taking in the whole ironclad patter, the checkerboard of her apron—until he gave out of breath, and took the swallow. His mother laid her hand on his pompadour cap, wobbled his scalp instead of kissing him, and went off to her nap.
“Louella!” he called faintly, hoping she would come upstairs and he could devil her into running to Loomis’s and buying him an ice cream cone out of her pocket, but he heard her righteously bang a pot to him in the kitchen.”3
In the bitingly brilliant book, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, the furtive afternoon treat takes the form of peach cobbler — hot out of the oven or pulled from the depths of the icebox, it’s not clear. But we do know it was so good that “it made God cheat on his wife,” “God” being the local preacher who would stop by on Mondays for “plate after plate of peach cobbler” before “disappearing into the bedroom” for a bit of afternoon delight.
I’m inclined to give Elizabeth David, doyenne of Summer Cooking, the last word on an ideal fridge cigarette. “Summer cooking implies […] a sense of immediacy, a capacity to capture the essence of a floating moment.”
And so, whether you’re hard at work ticking items off your summer bucket list or escaping the fluorescent glow of an over A/C’d office space, remember that the most rewarding breaks prioritize in-the-moment pleasure, consequences be damned.
Lemongrass Ginger Pea Flower Iced Tea | Serves: Depends on How Big Your Glass Is
In the spirit of the less is more, no fuss approach, I’m currently making jars of iced tea on repeat. Riff on this. Because you guys are smart. And resourceful. Shall I go on? Questions? Comments are open.
Ingredients
8 cups water
15 grams Butterfly Pea Flower & Lemongrass Tea (obsessed with Curio, but you will need your own tea bags)
1 Lemon
3-inch piece of ginger (approximately 50 grams - flexible here, I love a strong punch of ginger, but you can certainly reduce)
1 tablespoon agave syrup
Preparation
Bring 8 cups of water to a boil. While the water boils, peel the ginger and slice it into thin rounds.
In a large glass mason jar (64 oz size), add one tablespoon of agave syrup, tea, and the peeled ginger. Pour boiling water over the top.
Let tea steep for 3-5 minutes. Remove the tea bags and allow the liquid to cool completely.
Once the mixture has cooled, add the juice of 1/2 lemon. Taste. If you prefer more, add it. Same goes with the agave. Do this before you refrigerate.
Place the lid on the jar and put it in the fridge. Chill thoroughly before breaking the seal and enjoying your very own fridge cig.
NOTE: This recipe is incredibly flexible. You can obviously take this ratio and execute with a whole host of flavors. I currently have a second mason jar filled with iced green mint tea that goes down swell with a piece of summer fruit or slice of almond cake.
The Fast-Food Gimmick That Became an Unlikely Muse for Chefs
In honor of the dupes 👆, celebrating twenty years of Taco Bell’s Crunchwrap Supreme.
And their A/C blasted aisles are the perfect place to pass the time when the temps soar into scorcher territory.
Is This The Theranos of Bagels?
Carbs belong in bagels. Protein does not belong in Diet Coke. You’re here for the hot takes, right?
https://www.fastcompany.com/91351477/what-is-a-fridge-cigarette-the-viral-diet-coke-trend-explained
In Tagalog, halo-halo translates to mix-mix.