I haven’t been feeling well lately, and it’s not just because I’m back in New Jersey’s crappy cold weather after enjoying wonderful 80-degree weather in the Dominican Republic. There’s something far more serious going on with me.
See, while I was away, I became addicted to the DR’s truly perfect papaya milkshakes, known as “batida de lechosa.” There was something about them, a secret ingredient perhaps, that made them my all-time favorite tropical fruit smoothie…ever. And that’s a big deal given the fact that I once lived in Ecuador, a country with pineapple, passion fruit and yes, even mango.
Papaya shake addict, giving in to his urges
So what’s my diagnosis? What life-threatening illness am I suffering from?
Papaya Shake Withdrawal Syndrome
Or PSWS–for those who like acronyms.
There are mornings when I wake up and reach for one—and when I realize that I can’t have one, I get a bit, um, shaky (excuse the pun, please).
And so, since returning home, I’d been obsessing a bit. Wondering how I might get my hands on a real papaya milkshake—one that tastes as good as what I had in the DR. A few days ago, I turned to the experts—my ESL students from the Dominican Republic.
See, I figured they, too, suffered from PSWS. They would know how/where I could get my fix.
And sure enough, they did. And they all said the same thing.
“Banana King in Paterson, NJ”
“Banana King? What’s that?” I asked naively. It sounded silly to me, like a Burger King for fruitarians or quirky vegetarians.
One student issued a warning–one that sent a chill up my spine. “Teacher,” she said. “I think it’s a fast food place. Like a Colombian McDonald’s.”
The others, however (addicts, I’m sure), told me to go for it. They said that at Banana King, one can get a papaya shake that’s “very similar to what you can get in the DR.”
I was sold.
Then, someone gave me a hot tip that made all the difference. A student, who seemed super addicted, said, “Make sure you get Carnation.” Although I was envisioning pink and white flowers, wondering what the heck she meant, something about what she said seemed right.
“Carnation?” I asked.
“The milk in a can,” she answered. I then realized she meant that old-fashioned evaporated milk. The kind that people use for baking. Or in their coffee if they’re snowed in.
“OK,” I said. I knew it was fattening, but I didn’t care. I would do whatever it took to recreate the Dominican papaya shake experience. That’s how desperate—I mean, determined—I was to have a really good ‘batida de lechosa’ in my own country.
Speeding Over to Banana King
So, after class on Thursday night, I programmed my GPS for 390 21st Ave, Paterson, and set off on my quest—a mini/local Chicky Bus adventure, if you will. I’ll admit that I was speeding to get there. That’s how obsessed—I mean, eager—I was.
Banana King
My mouth was salivating when I arrived. I could barely contain myself as I imagined the shake I’d soon be imbibing. Of course, like an over-eager fool, I got on the wrong line and wasted about 5 minutes. I was standing near the “shake maker” (a young Peruvian man?), not the cashier.
Frozen papaya
Fortunately, I soon realized and corrected my error.
Placing My Order With Jesús
I got on the other line and began to plan out my order. The shake was $3.00. The “Carnation” was listed at 75 cents. It seemed reasonable. After all, they were using fresh/frozen papaya and name-brand evaporated milk. Carnation. Besides, where the hell else would I be able to get a good papaya shake at 9 pm on a weeknight? It was worth paying 75 cents to get the real thing.
“Qué le gustaría?” the cashier (Colombian?) asked me. His name tag said “Jesús.”
Jesús, the cashier, taking my money. NOTE: Per the menu, the price of Carnation is 75 cents.
“Batida de lechosa,” I said, in Dominican Spanish (in many countries, papaya is simply called papaya), hoping to impress him. It didn’t work, though. He didn’t even crack a smile. He was all business as he asked his second question.
“Con Carnation?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, acting as if it was a mere after-thought. Of course, I knew I was going to order it. It was, after all, the magic ingredient. I just didn’t want to appear too eager.
“$4.82,” he said, extending his hand for my $5 bill.
“OK,” I said, paying and wondering, briefly, why the price was so high. I also wondered why no Dominicans were making the shakes. This concerned me. Made me superstitious. The way I feel in a pizzeria that lacks Italians. I then realized that they were the customers. Just like me.
When I got my receipt and looked at it, while waiting on line near the shake maker, I noticed something that really upset me.
The Carnation Scam
I’d been charged $1.50 for the “Carnation”—not 75 cents.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I thought the Carnation was only 75 cents.”
“Well, it is—if you ask for half Carnation and half milk. You didn’t say that.”
“But your menu doesn’t say there are two options. It just lists Carnation for 75 cents. And that’s just not right. I want my money back. The 75 cents, I mean.”
The Evidence
“Sorry, but I don’t have change.” I almost LOLed, but I was too upset to. I wasn’t in the mood to argue with Jesús. Also, I felt a hint of PTSD–a flashback to “no change” scenarios I’ve come across repeatedly while traveling, when the bills you get after changing dollars are too large to break.
Of course, my anger didn’t last long. The shake maker was now handing me my ‘batida de lechosa.’ I forgot about Jesús and the 75 cents he owed me. My hands nearly shook with excitement as I reached out to take it.
The big moment had arrived.
I walked the shake over to a table and sat down. I really wanted to be in the moment for this–to be sitting at a table for the experience. Not to be drinking the shake while driving. That’s illegal, isn’t it? More importantly, it was just too dangerous. Too out of the moment.
I put the straw inside and began to drink the papaya shake, savoring every second of it. It was excellent. Wonderful. Delicious. Rico.
Me, digging the shake, but longing for a real one….and wondering why my nose looks so odd in this photo. Oh yeah, it’s the wide angle creating distortion.
A Good Shake, But Was It Good Enough?
In fact, it reminded me of one of the shakes I had in a village in the DR. Note the operative word here—reminded. It was a a bit too sweet, however, and not quite the same. Perhaps freezer burn on the papaya had ruined it? Or maybe the shake maker had added too much white cane sugar to the blender?
Still, I was happy. It was close enough. Good enough. Sort of.
Except for one thing.
The Carnation scam.
I’m not talking about the 75-cent rip-off, which you may assume I’ve been dwelling on. Wrong. Instead, I was now upset about the “bait and switch” that had been pulled. A second scam.
Carnation Scam #2
See, at one point, I visited the shake maker one last time, to photograph the can of Carnation, and I saw something that surprised, disappointed and shocked me.
It was not name-brand Carnation that had been added to my shake.
It was some sort of generic evaporated milk. A huge can of it. With a silly cow on it. And it looked like it had come from BJs or Costco. The markup must have been 5000%, too. What the hell?
Generic Carnation Milk
How could they do that? It was wrong, I tell you. Simply wrong.
While sucking down the last bit of my shake, I wondered if I should “complain to a manager” or better yet, report Banana King to the Better Business Bureau. But then I thought—nah, that would be silly. They might rip up my complaint. Or worse yet, laugh at me.
So…
Taking Matters Into My Own Hands–aka, Avoiding Future Shake Scams
Instead, I decided, I would learn from the experience and take matters into my own hands. I would buy my own papaya for $3 at Corrado’s, a local ethnic supermarket (which is where many of my students shop) the next day, and a can of real Carnation and make my own shake. In my generic Magic Bullet mini blender that I got on clearance at Macy’s.
That’s exactly what I did. And guess what?
It was better than the Banana King shake! And it tasted just like (OK, 95% like) the one I had in the DR. That’s right, I made a shake just like my friend’s mom did in a village. And it was amazing. Excellent. Rico. Delicious!
And I’ve made 5 other shakes since then—all for less than $5. With just one papaya. I think I’ve saved over $25 so far. High 5!
I now realize that while all of my students were right—one of them really had the inside scoop. Like she said, Banana King is a bit like a Colombian McDonald’s. Or maybe a quirky vegetarian Burger King. And an overpriced one at that.
I also realize that while it’s hard to recreate something you’ve had in another country, especially a tropical juice shake, sometimes—with enough determination—you can. I’m proud to say that I did.
Secret Papaya Shake Recipe
And now, I share the secret recipe with you…(donations can be sent to my PayPal account–gracias.)
- 2-3 cups of fresh papaya, cut into small chunks (larger OK for large blender)
- 3/4 cup of Carnation (or generic equivalent) evaporated milk. 2% works fine, by the way, and no sugar added is best
- 1/2 cup of milk (almond works great and I would imagine that soy is OK, too)
- Sweetener of some sort (some say brown sugar is good; I used Agave nectar); use as much as you want/need
- A dash of vanilla extract (optional)
Blend and enjoy!
How About You? Any Juicy Tales To Share?
What’s your favorite tropical fruit juice shake? Do you like it with water or milk? Which country did you enjoy it in? Were you able to recreate it back in your home country? If so, please share the secret.
Have you ever been scammed at Banana King? Or maybe Papaya King (I think there’s one of those, too.) How about the other ‘Kings’ out there? If so, what happened?
(Photo credit for the first image goes to Meg and Raul over on Flickr. Gracias!)
Evaporated vs Condensed Milk
The difference between these kinds of milk products can be confusing. They sound the same, don’t they? Well, they’re not.
Evaporated milk simply has approximately 60% of the water removed from it with Vitamin D added (the only sugar in it is naturally occurring). Condensed milk, which undergoes the same evaporation process, is about 45% sugar (which is added). It’s sweet and sticky. Note: If sugar weren’t added to it, then it would be…evaporated milk.
To learn more, check out these links:
Condensed Milk vs Evaporated Milk
What is the difference between evaporated and sweetened condensed milk?