I'm Clueless About Kava

Staying healthy in 2026 is going to require a dictionary. Or maybe a translator.

I realized this recently while strolling through Santa Fe, New Mexico, known, appropriately, as “The City Different.” Santa Fe calls itself “different” because, in between the plethora of art galleries and Pueblo-inspired architectural sites, lies about a dozen “Western Wear” retail stores. Once inside, you are greeted by zealous salespeople determined to make you feel guilty if your wardrobe doesn’t include leather chaps and boots made from some animal that probably tastes delicious as long as you’re not chewing on your boots.

I’ve never been a “boot” person, not counting when I was six and enjoyed dressing up as a cowboy, complete with a plastic Colt 45 at my hip. My ensemble probably set my parents back about $3.50, weapon included.

The boots my travel companion encouraged me to slip on retailed for $750. But that’s only if you don’t slip a disk attempting to pull them over your ankles. Subsequent physical therapy could run into the thousands. Worse, I couldn’t think of a single occasion where western wear would be appropriate attire. Then again, I live in Chicago, a city lacking in rodeos and cattle roundups.

I tripped twice just walking across the store. The sales rep told me that’s normal until the boots are “broken in.” I wasn’t willing to wait that long so we left.

Nearby we spied a small shop advertising day spa services and “apothecary” dining.

It was the “dining” that drew my companion and I inside, as we saw patrons sipping assorted beverages and decided we, too, were thirsty and in need of some liquid libation.

Artificial Intelligence, specifically ChatGPT, helped me understand that apothecary dining focuses on a “food as medicine” concept, using “botanical infused ingredients to promote positive health benefits and well-being.”

In other words, not your average Starbucks.

Our delightful Gen Z server, her tattoos fully visible, appeared with menus, told us to take our time, and said she’d return shortly in the event we had any questions.

She would soon regret that offer.

Where to begin? Should I opt for an iced A2 milkshake? Having never heard of A2 milk, I relied on ChatGPT again and learned it comes from cows that “naturally produce only the A2 beta-casein protein, unlike most conventional milk which contains both A1 and A2 proteins, with the A1 variant potentially causing digestive discomfort for some people.”

Naturally.

Up until now I didn’t know it was possible to tell a cow what kind of milk it should produce. Having once milked a cow by hand, I wondered how it would react if I said, “Let’s try this again. And no A1 this time!”

Mind you, this is not the first time I have been befuddled by terminology describing products that, if I would just stop asking questions, would immediately make me a healthier individual. At a Chicago farmers market last summer, I encountered a vendor selling sea moss. All I had to do, she said, was slip a few teaspoons in my morning coffee or smoothie and it would improve my “conscious living.”

“I think I’m already doing that,” I replied. “When I’m living unconsciously, then it’s time to be concerned.”

Sea moss sales people, I learned, have zero senses of humor.

Returning to the drink menu, I scanned the herbal hot toddy selections. All were made from “Boxcar Farm elixirs.” Boxcar Farm is an actual Santa Fe-based business. It sells not only herbal remedies along with Mountain Goat Cedarwood Soap. Thanks again, ChatGPT.

But it was the kava cocktails that intrigued me the most. Because, as the menu stated, the sacred kava root, with a long history of ceremonial use, would help calm my nervous system, promote relaxation and give mood support. I was neither nervous, tense nor moody when I entered the apothecary establishment and wanted to keep those feelings intact. A blueberry lavender coconut kava, blended to open up my heart chakra, should do the trick.

My companion looked equally confused as she scrolled the menu. Eventually she decided on an adaptogenic mushroom power latte infused with chocolate and the aforementioned kava. She neglected to add reishi, lion’s mane and turkey tail, though all were available.

“By the way, the kava can numb your lips a little bit,” the server said as we struggled to place our orders. “It’s a lot different than if you were drinking something like cloverwood.”

Ah yes, cloverwood. Can’t start the day without THAT!

We sipped our drinks in silence, waiting for our nervous systems to calm, even though we were unsure what that would feel like if it actually happened. Suffice it to say, both drinks were delicious. Considering the bill was just north of $40, I expected nothing less.

After an hour we left for our hotel, enlightened and hopefully healthier and clearer of mind. I felt like I had just attended a college lecture, as my brain was awash in new information and terminology. Would I ever drink Diet Coke again? It contains aspartame, not kava root. Also, a cold beer seemed positively hypocritical at this point.

As we approached a busy crosswalk, I looked both ways and did so a second time before venturing forward.

After all this health infusion, it would absolutely suck to get hit by a bus.

Greg Schwem is a corporate humor speaker, conference emcee and stand up comedian. His third book, Turning Gut Punches into Punchlines: A Comedian’s Journey Through Cancer, Divorce and Other Hilarious Stuff, is available on Amazon