Positively wiggling with excitement, not unlike the terriers at dinnertime, Paul, hunter-gatherer that he is, came bursting through the front door with the prey he had tracked all the way to Costco.
“What is that?” I asked, looking up from the latest Fingerhut,’This may be your final catalog!’ catalog (although they’ve been telling me this for six years, regardless of the fact I’ve never ordered anything).
“It’s a Ninja!” Paul said, unpacking his treasure on the kitchen island.
“I think you’ll find that’s a blender.” I replied.
“It’s a blender, but it’s different.” Paul said.
“We already have a blender,” I pointed out. “In fact, we have two blenders and a food processor in the pantry and neither have been used since Clinton was in office.”
“It’s not like those other blenders,” Paul said, somewhat testily. “First of all, it takes five seconds to clean and secondly, instead of just having a big blender, look,” he explained, holding up what appeared to be four, tall, plastic, drinking glasses, “you can make an individual serving, then actually take it with you, put a top on it, and drink it on your commute to work.”
“I don’t commute to work.” I said. “I guess I could take it with me across the yard to the barn.”
“Exactly!” Paul said and began tossing random vegetables into one of the containers to illustrate. “See? No time to sit down and eat a salad? Watch!”
He proceeded to liquefy organic carrots, put that aside for me to sample (it was very nice indeed) then adding a splash of orange juice and a piece of candied ginger, made a rather tasty drink of kale and spinach.
I was hooked.
For three weeks, we have drunk our way through the federal guidelines for five servings of vegetables a day. In the morning, I pour in a glug of almond milk, orange juice, a handful of blueberries, frozen pineapple and a dollop of Greek yoghurt. For lunch, I will throw in a couple of organic carrots, celery, and the remnants of a left-over cooked sweet potato adding a sprinkle of cinnamon, and sip what would cost four bucks at a smoothie stand. My colon has never been happier. Or more emphatic. I mean, without getting too personal, we all know what it’s like to have to get up in the middle of the night to empty our bladder. I wasn’t quite prepared for the other.
I began to scoff at Jamie Lee Curtis’ ‘Activia’ commercials. “They just need a Ninja!” I declared, smug in my vegetable nirvana. They don’t need that sugary stuff!”
In the evenings we began individual soup experiments: White bean gazpacho, creamy cauliflower, Butternut squash and apple….it was all simply divine.
Except.
“This really is delish,” I mused, offering my last spoonful to Bonnie. “So healthy and fresh, no preservatives, just honest, straightforward food like Mother Nature intended.”
“Yes, it is!” Paul replied warmly, like a mother whose baby is being admired.
“I just miss one thing.” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Chewing.” I said, flatly. “I really miss chewing.”
And like someone who has lived alone for a while and has to search for words when out in public and having a conversation, I had to remember how to chew. My first, highly anticipated bite of a mouthwatering pizza was ruined when I bit the inside of my mouth. And, naturally, you bite it repeatedly after that.
I suppose, like all things, moderation for anything is the key. I am back to my liquid diet while my mouth heals.
Note to self: mozzarella and dough really clog up a Ninja.