This Kumquat Coleslaw Is Brighter Than My Outlook on Healthcare in California

Here we are in 2026, a year when trusting anything feels like a personal risk. Institutions? Questionable. Systems? Broken. Grocery availability? A fever dream.
But you know what you can trust?

Kumquats.
Tiny, aggressive little citrus optimism sweet and tart flavor bombs that can improve anything—even bland, sad coleslaw. Yes, coleslaw, I swear. Trust me, I’m a food blogger.

Let me set the scene.

I live in a small ski town at over 6,000 feet, tucked under the Jeffrey pines of Southern California. It’s gorgeous. It’s peaceful. It’s also not a big city. We don’t “have everything.” We have a Grocery Outlet, a rumor about a Chipotle coming soon, and a general understanding that if you need anything remotely specialized, you’ll be driving off the mountain while complaining to the nearest neighbor.

Medical care is where this really shines. We actually have a solid local medical center—ultrasounds, imaging, even my recent colonoscopy (a true coming-of-age moment). But the second you need anything fancy, like an OB-GYN, congratulations: you’re now commuting an hour to the concrete jungle suburbs just east of Los Angeles.

Which is how I found myself repeatedly driving an hour and twenty minutes down the mountain because my reproductive system was behaving with the organizational clarity of a government shutdown. Thanks, Covid vaccine!

All I wanted were biopsy results. That’s it.

Meanwhile, I’m at home trying not to spiral about cancer for two full weeks while waiting for results that absolutely did not require a pilgrimage.

It is absolutely absurd to make someone drive an hour and twenty minutes just to sit in a waiting room for forty-five minutes, see a doctor for five minutes, be told “you’re fine,” and then watch their insurance get billed three hundred dollars for the privilege. Whatever we’re calling that these days, it’s one of the many reasons healthcare feels less like care and more like a very elaborate money-moving scheme.

Part of the problem—at least from the patient side—is how ridiculously complex Medi-Cal and insurance billing have become. Between constantly changing codes, modifiers, and payer rules, it’s nearly impossible to tell what’s a genuine clerical error and what’s simply padding the system. All I know is that navigating these appointments made it painfully clear that patient well-being often comes second to what can be billed.

This is especially rich because the Inland Empire Women’s Clinic is supposedly designed to help women who are not doing well financially. Hi. That’s me. I hadn’t worked in forty-five days at that point. I explained this—very calmly—to the receptionist on the phone. I said, “I literally cannot afford the gas to drive down the mountain for test results you could give me over the phone. Email them to me. A phone call. A letter. A carrier pigeon. Pretend it’s 1998—I’m flexible.”

Apparently, this was a radical request.

Instead, I was expected to wait two full weeks for an in-person appointment just to hear that my biopsy results were negative. Two weeks of trying to live my life while also quietly wondering if I had cancer. Two weeks for information that—spoiler alert—already existed. At no point did anyone think, Hey, I’ve had these results for days, maybe I should just… tell my patient.

At some point—after gas money, stress, and one particularly cheerful hold message—I snapped. I used my words. Firmly.

So yes, that’s how I found myself on the phone, firmly explaining that if I didn’t receive my results, I would be contacting Consumer Affairs and the Attorney General’s office.

And this right here is exactly how we end up with a state drowning in debt. When routine medical visits turn into expensive, unnecessary in-person appointments, the money doesn’t just disappear — it piles up. California didn’t wake up one morning magically trillions of dollars in the hole. It got there slowly, through bloated systems, careless billing, and a healthcare bureaucracy so tangled that waste blends in perfectly with “standard procedure.”

Other states are starting to acknowledge this mess out loud, but here in California, the train just keeps barreling forward. We’re led by a conductor who seems more focused on having a good hair day than vigilance, while the healthcare system quietly hemorrhages money and patients are left holding the stress, the gas bill, and the co-pay. No one’s watching the tracks, no one’s pumping the brakes, and somehow we’re all supposed to pretend this is fine. This is seriously life in California in 2026.

But after so many hours of being on hold and complaining that I would not be ignored and contribute to this problem- magically, miraculously—my results appeared.

Negative. Huzzah.

Still hormonally chaotic, once again, thanks COVID vaccine, but cancer-free. I’ll take the win. #macapowder

And this is where kumquats come back in.

Because after surviving medical bureaucracy with my sanity mostly intact, I needed something bright. Something tart. Something joyful. Something that didn’t require prior authorization.

The moral of the story isn’t that yelling fixes everything (although, according to my dad and my grandfather, sometimes it helps). It’s that when you speak your mind and remind healthcare providers that you are an actual human being—not just a billing code—things tend to move faster. Patients deserve to be treated like patients, not dollar signs.

And also, you get to say kumquat as often as you want afterward.

I Survived the Healthcare System and All I Got Was This Kumquat Coleslaw Recipe

Once upon a time, you could reliably find kumquats at Trader Joe’s during winter in Southern California. In 2026, Trader Joe’s carries cottage cheese in bulk, protein sodas, and enough maca powder to fuel a small nation.

If you want kumquats now, you either:

• Know someone with a tree
• Bribe a neighbor you don’t agree with politically
• Or pay $5 a pint for citrus so rare it feels contraband

Here in 2026, kumquats are so hard to find that it may be worth it to talk to that liberal neighbor or even WhatsApp your hippie cousin. But I’m telling you it may just be worth it to try and not roll your eyes for ten minutes while your neighbor in the Harris/Waltz T-shirt tries to indoctrinate you into their whole Coexist way of life.

Why Kumquats?

I mean, aside from the fact that they’re wildly fun to say — preferably shouted from the top of a mountain — kumquats are tiny powerhouses.

They’re bright, high-fiber, vitamin-C-packed little overachievers. Low in calories, low in fat, and basically built for the immune season.

Now all you have to do is actually find them.

Worth it. This Kumquat Coleslaw is that good!

This kumquat coleslaw is crisp, bright, sweet-tart perfection. High-protein, fresh, and absolutely unbothered by the fact that coleslaw is allegedly a “summer food.” It pairs beautifully with pulled pork from the crockpot, and it holds its own next to my Chicken Barbecue Jalapeño Popper Casserole like it knows it’s the smartest thing on the plate.

I’m obsessed with this kumquat high-protein coleslaw—not just because it’s delicious, but because it reminds me that sometimes the smallest things (citrus, boundaries, yelling politely on the phone) really do make everything better.

High-Protein Kumquat Coleslaw for People Who Are Tired of Everything

6 kumquats, sliced into thirds

1/4 head of green cabbage

1 shallot, peeled and chopped

1/4 head red cabbage

3 radishes

2 teaspoons fresh mint

1/4 cup of Greek yogurt

1/4 cup of cottage cheese

1/4 cup of mayonnaise

1 teaspoon of coconut sugar or real sugar if you are a heathen

1/2 teaspoon of chili powder

Juice of half of a lemon

1/2 teaspoon of salt

1/2 a teaspoon of paprika

Gochujang Candied Nuts

In a NutriBullet or blender, mix the Greek yogurt, cottage cheese, mayonnaise, sweetener, chili powder, lemon juice, salt and paprika. Set your high-protein dressing aside and, using a mandoline, slice your veggies. Chop up the mint and dress your salad with the high-protein dressing. Garnish with mint and the chopped kumquats. For extra wow actor, add a sprinkling of my Gochujang Candied Nuts for crunch at the end.