Sober October

So I decided to quit coffee and alcohol for October. From a habit of five to ten espressos per day and the equivalent of a bottle of wine per week, I would go cold turkey on both. The results? Well…

First of all, actually doing it was surprisingly easy. I taped my Nespresso maker shut just in case I would need an extra second to reconsider in moments of weakness, but those moments never really materialised. People around me were generally supportive, even though they often couldn’t – wouldn’t? – understand why I was doing it. I was worried about becoming a social pariah, but I spent pleasant evenings out in wine bars and cocktail bars without feeling awqward or any need to sample their wares (the Latvian creationist/lesbian porn star/children’s book author I encountered may have been a figment of delirium-induced imagination, I guess, but I doubt it.). I will admit visiting Rome and not having neither cappuccino nor limoncello was difficult, but apart from that I was fine. 

And how did it feel? I had light headaches for a week, and wasn’t able to concentrate too well during those first days – something which my chess partner took good advantage of. But apart from that I was unaffected, really. And I experienced less heart burn, muscle soreness and pain in the liver (although I might have imagined that last one in the first place), plus felt better rested and energetic overall, so that was a big bonus. 

Add to that the pecuniary aspect of easily saving 10€ per week on coffee and twice that on alcohol, and you’re looking at savings to the tune of 1500€ per year, or three roundtrips to the US annually. Not bad as exchange rates go. 

So what now? Should I continue my abstemious lifestyle? I honestly don’t know. I still yearn for that first shot of espresso in the morning, and a glass of Rioja with my entrecôte, and a cold lager after a good, long run in the sun… My problem is I don’t do things half-heartedly, so there’s a risk that one coffee doesn’t remain one coffee very long, and the same goes for drink. So for now, like a good goalie, I think I will just keep the zero for as long as possible. 

Autumnal addiction

I have a confession to make. I am a anthocyanin addict.

Like any addict I can go to great lengths to get my kick. Why, only recently it took me all the way to the northeast of the U.S., but I have spent quite a lot of money on it here at home as well.

It’s a seasonal thing, and this time of year is when my addiction really surfaces. You see, anthocyanin is the agent in some deciduous trees and bushes that turn their foliage a bright red once the temperature drops below a certain level, and I’m a complete sucker for it.

New England

A fix for the aficionado…

Whereas yellow fall colours are simply the result of chlorophyll draining away from the leaf, anthocyanin has to be produced by the tree, and the reason I have to travel to other continents and/or import exotic plants to get my fix is that anthocyanin doesn’t occur naturally in plants in Europe.

The explanation for this is that it’s quite taxing for plants to produce anthocyanin, and that at a time when they would be well adviced to store their energy for the long cold period ahead. So why do these American and Asian trees do it? The answer is to be found 35 million years ago.

After the Appalachian mountains (along with the rest of the North American continent) were torn away from Scandinavia*, the Ice ages affected the evolution of deciduous trees differently. Europe’s mountain chains being mainly west-easterly oriented, they stopped insects from migrating away from the warm south (where they are more abundant), unlike in North America, where mountain chains tend to follow a south-north axis, creating corridors where insects could travel freely.

Trees in North America therefore evolved throughout the years to protect themselves from many of the species that never spread in Europe. Their answer to this challenge? Anthocyanin, a substance that helps ward off insects and protects them against sudden cold spells (which is also happily why red leafs last longer on trees before they fall in the fall).

Japanese acer, chez moi

But can you smoke it…?

So next time you take in the stunning colours of an autumnal garden (be it mine or the entire New England wilderness), you can enjoy your fix – like I do – knowing that it’s an addiction that does both you and the trees a world of good.

 

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*It’s all part of the Greater Swedish Empire, really.