‘My mixie’ refers to the multiple countertop blenders I have come to know and love who helped make me into who I am today. My main mixie was purchased in Rishikesh and accompanied me to Parvati Valley and down to Gokarna. Our monogamous relationship lasted seven months.

My Mixie And Me

My mixie and me reach a breakthrough.

A break worth celebration and documentation.

Without an oven or kitchen during my India years, I figured out every possibility under the sun that the nation’s pervasive, cheap, minimal-watt blenders could create.

These blenders are known as ‘mixer grinders,’ and occasionally and more endearingly, as ‘mixies.’ Mixers are typically used to pulverize whole spices, whip up lassis, cream heaps of blanched spinach into the base of palak paneer, and create aromatic pastes of cashews, tomatoes, and onions.

It was a long lockdown indeed. My personal production went all over the spectrum. Sweet, savory, tangy, tart, decadent and indulgent oozing with cacao. Creamy, chewy, crunchy.

Two years of trials and errors in unlikely settings to nail texture, sweetness, and presentation.

The journey of creating an actual product began with me kneeling on a hard mat, spraying crumbs of walnuts and dates everywhere to the incessant invasion of ants, and the loss of electricity mid-mixing. Everybody wanted a free sample but no one was willing to pay the price that would help me just break even for the ingredients.

India offers the highest quality selection of nuts, nut butters, flax seeds, dried coconut, and Persian dates in the world. The prices are wholesale and unbeatable, yet cafes are hung up on blending pre-packaged biscuits based of palm oil and refined flour. The result is an array of chocolate balls and rum balls the size of a baby’s fist.

It was 2020 and raw vegan bliss balls were still inconceivable.

I remember lifting stools over my shoulders and strutting down Laxman Jhula, Rishikesh because my mixie’s cord wouldn’t reach from the low table to the outlet. I won’t forget the sleepless nights churning ideas and inspiration. Trips to town hunting tight alleys for ingredients.

Flops when something went abruptly out of stock, when a cloudburst wiped out villages and took away electricity for days, when I shivered and my fingers went numb and my coconut balls solidified right there on the counter, when I was locked out of the fridge I’d stored my goodies and motivational white wine in.

I remember getting kicked out of a kitchenware shop in the hot summer afternoon for bargaining too hard (“you can take your money and go”).

*23 months pass*

A Canadian girl who exudes pureness and intuition tells me to ask the health shops and cafes that I frequent about placing my healthy treats in their space. Conditioned by rejections in India, I tell her that I am leaving Pokhara soon, that these places sell their own sweets and consider my products to be their competition, that I already asked and got a fat ‘no’ from Fishtail Organic Market. We volley back and forth with her point being to just ask.

“They generally already have an answer so all you have to do is ask and see what they say.”

Later I realize every sentence I gave Samantha was just an excuse. After another fat ‘no’ from Umbrella Cafe, I muster enough motivation to step into The Vegan Way. The holy grail of restaurant success in the hippest part of Nepal.

Relevant read: When I Close My Eyes I See Bliss Balls

With big-hearted staff working 8am to midnight and its laid back vibration, stellar views of Lake Phewa and furniture beckoning travelers from all nationalities to lounge away their afternoons, the tourist season sees good hundred fifty heads passing through TVW, every day.

Enter Vivian. Vivian with her high-quality, small-batch, ultra-attention-to-detail, oven-less indulgences offering any client a V, GF, often paleo, over the top, all-American experience.

Vivian with her expectations buried and two more businesses already in mind for making her next pitches. Vivian who approaches her favorite female staff member and is referred to the juice bar where the boss is not back yet.

Vivian who sits patiently in an uncomfortable wooden chair next to a looming garbage can harboring a swarm of supersized mozzies who don’t hesitate to help themselves to some of the blood flowing in her legs.

“Yes, you can.”

It was so easy. Too easy. Stupid easy.

I am invited to bring in five pieces to see how they do. Five pieces is the capacity of the simple kitchen and materials I have available at home. Five is perfect.

It is 7pm and I am beelining for the ingredients, breaking out into a sweat. There is live music and friends across the street of the supermarket but instead I speed-walk home, huffing and puffing as I roast and cool down pans of sesame seeds and cacao beans.

I pit dates, make tahini, peel cacao, mash, layer, sprinkle the final touches, and throw the thing on ice to set overnight just as the shared kitchen closes at 9:15.

The tahini date slices sell out because they couldn’t not sell out. TVW is an institution. It’s where everybody who’s anybody goes. It’s the place to dine at the place to be in Nepal. Breakfast brunch lunch tea time dinner dessert.

TVW is an establishment. It’s always a party at TVW.

At times I cannot differentiate the Pokhara experience from the restaurant premises—the two concepts are that interchangeable.

TVW’s sweets selection is inherently full of wheat, sugar, eggs, and butter. Like the other health-oriented spots they do their own energy ball, but unlike the others their supply simply cannot keep up with their demand. Similar to a year ago at Hemp House, the V GF niche is all mine.

I relish the chance to witness my favorite 18-year-old with his innocent grin full of braces as he steams milk and pours the consummate cappuccino. My heart swells and my eyeballs feel misty when I know he probably won’t be there in October, the next hiking season, because he’ll be a barista in freaking Malta.

The couple times I bring a seated customer their fresh coffee are moments cherished in the depths of the lefthand side of my chest. I feel belonging. I feel good. The sips of extra smoothie or juice thrown at me like bread at a duck make me believe I am special and valued. I wish to learn and teach everything.

Relevant read: My Bliss Balls Receive A Blessing From The Moon + A Recipe

While my delight does not last due to miscommunications in my private life (impermanence is the nature of life!), I manage to produce four versions of my favorite recipes.

My devotion to transparency dictates that every ingredient be listed out in my signature, puny font. I laugh loudly, down to my belly, as I strain all the muscles in my neck to slice frozen blocks of goodness from behind the counter. I go for dinner with my loyal regulars.

The momentary project is filling.

From kneeling and invisible to collabing with THE Vegan Way.

 

Special thanks to Samjhana, Karan, Rajesh, Isur, Ishwar, and the rest at The Vegan Way.

And yes, for all the purposeful English language mistakes in the post, I only acknowledge that ‘My Mixie and I’ is more correct.