Posts Tagged ‘Chaz’
Sinus Sister reports back to Chaz
Bhringaraj powder wasn’t an easy sell, starting with the weird name and the fully smell. Chaz recommended it for fighting hay fever and allergies, so I bought a bag by Organic Traditions (200g, $8) and hoped for the best.
At home, I tore open the bhringaraj’s plastic bag, which was more like a thick bladder, and inhaled. [Sneeze] What a bad start! Then the powder didn’t dissolve in an 8oz glass of water. Its consistency was like fine sawdust, which clung to the sides of the glass and sank to the bottom. Rigorous stirring worked, in short intervals. The flavour of the bhringaraj powder was mild enough to encourage a second big gulp. Hmmm. If you think of it as medicine, it’s not so bad. If you think of it as a drink, it’s kinda bland.
After a month of drinking Bhringaraj powder with mineral water and juice, I’m happy to report success! Did it do anything for my hay fever? NO! But my hair looks fantastic—long, thick and shiny. It turns out, Bhringaraj powder is an ancient Indian cure for weak hair. To double the dosage (internal and topical), I started mixing it into a paste and applying it directly to my scalp.
Sinus Sister can’t wait to show Chaz the results, while tossing her hair around and pretending to be upset about his lousy recommendation. Maybe Chaz will be sorting the organic vegetables outside the store, where the sun will bounce off her hair and blind him.
Sinus Sister takes Chaz’s advice….
“Drink plenty of fluids to thin the mucus,” said Chaz, the dreadlocked God who works at the organic store. We bonded over a sneezing fit last week. I try not to worship people who work at holier-than-thou stores, but my default position is deference. If Chaz says drink, I drink. But gulping back tap water is rarely appealing and I pause before consuming 46g of sugar or, worse, high-fructose corn syrup. The artificial colour in Gatorade (windshield wiper blue) is a deal breaker, while the caffeine in Snapple Iced Tea makes my heart pound. What to drink? The refrigerated drink section in my corner store has seven kinds of Coke and sports waters that speak the language of nutritionists.
They all faded away beside a new contender: ALŌ Drink ($2.79 for 500 ml) The pomegranate and cranberry flavour is a pretty colour and the 100% natural drink is free of nasty chemicals. The sweetener, cane sugar, is the fourth ingredient listed on the label, where anyone with excellent eyesight can read this quasi-mystical claim: “Some believe it [Aloe] to be the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden. It’s still seen as a symbol of abundance, fertility, and fortune in many parts of the world. Native to the Middle East and cultivated in the Mediterranean and the Americas, the pomegranate has long been cherished for its distinct flavor and health benefits. Paired with the tart cranberry and real aloe vera juice, the pomegranate stars in our newest blend, ALO Enrich.”
Sure. Great. Whatever. Aloe vera pulp is probably good for us. I buy that.
If aloe jelly can heal a burn from a motorcycle exhaust pipe, it must be magic. But is it good to drink?
“SHAKE WELL’, it advised. So I shook the bottle and took a gulp. The little chunks of aloe pulp were a surprise. They registered as Jello and required a “chew or swallow” decision. CHEW. The first few mouthfuls were weird, but unquestionably satisfying. With 30% juice, this drink became my preferred mucus-thinning beverage for the summer. Never mind the marketing mumbo jumbo.
Warning from Sinus Sister: do not attempt to drink this through a straw. The chunks of aloe get stuck.
“Is he a stoner or a sneezer?” wonders Sinus Sister.
Like vampires, sinus sufferers know each other by instinct. It’s something about our bloodshot eyes and dozy manner. Chaz was both bloodshot and dozy, in sharp contrast to everyone else working in the organic store. Was that a hankie I saw in his back pocket? He was so intent–in his slacker way–taking inventory that he didn’t register me until I said his name.
He brushed aside his dreadlocks, so I could get a better read on his name tag.
“Chaz. It’s Chaz.” His loopy grin was unexpected. Maybe he’s just a stoner, not a sneezer. He had that far-away look that retail staff get around 3:30pm, but it could be any combination of pot, antihistamines and boredom.
“Can you recommend something for hay fever and seasonal allergies?”
“Absolutely,” he said, using my least favourite word–the word most favoured by celebrities in interviews. Sinus Sister would absolutely not be developing a retail crush on Chaz. “Try some bhringaraj powder. It’s awesome. A client said it totally cured his allergies!”
The price of bhringaraj powder was, indeed, totally awesome. At $8 for 200 grams, it’s worth a try. Chaz handed me a squishy plastic package of bhringaraj powder by Organic Traditions and lead me to the cash register.
“Drink plenty of liquids to thin the mucus,” he added, knowingly. “Give it a few days and let me know how it goes with the bhringaraj powder, ‘k?”
Okay. Then I threw in a parting question designed to test Chaz and possibly redeem his vocabulary. “What is Bhring-ar-aj, anyway?”
“Eclipta alba L.” He looked me dead in the eye to prove he wasn’t reading the package. I’d underestimated Chaz. “It’s from the False Daisy plant, from somewhere in India…I think.” Touché. The “I think” at the end of his sentence was an endearing touch of modesty. It was punctuated by a robust sneeze–his, not mine–that made us kindred spirits. We shared a dozy smile, as I headed for the door.
At home, I tore open the bhringaraj’s plastic bag, which was more like a thick bladder, and inhaled. [Sneeze] What a bad start! Then the powder didn’t dissolved in an 8oz glass of water. Its consistency was like fine sawdust, which clung to the sides of the glass and sank to the bottom. Rigorous stirring worked, in short intervals. The flavour of the bhringaraj powder was mild enough to encourage a second big gulp. Hmmm. If you think of it as medicine, it’s not so bad. I’ll let you know if Chaz and his recommendation pans out.