I’ve recently returned to the habit of making smoothies. The delicious concoction of fruity goodness, yogurt, bananas, some protein powder, and other stuff. The smoothie could be man’s greatest invention. I’m the first to admit that the word “smoothie” just isn’t particularly masculine. The name sounds more like a salon treatment you get after a Brazilian wax more than it does a food a man should eat. But, who would have thought that combining all that junk together into a thick, gloppy, chunk-laden ooze would yield such a fantastic tasting result?
I mean, analyze the smoothie… It looks kinda nasty with all those chunks and seeds floating around. The flavorless greek yogurt I throw in there tastes like week-old sour cream on its own. And most protein powder is really composed of the same chemical compound used to make sidewalk chalk. But stir them all together and you’ve got yourself a real winner!
On the subject of smoothies, I’ve often entertained the idea of getting a new blender in which to make them. I’ve spent years using a “stick” blender. It’s the kind shaped like a vibrator that you jam into a large cup and squeeze a button to set a tiny little blade spinning. The one I have does a pretty decent job, all things considered. But I wonder what sadist invented this thing? It’s got to be the single sloppiest tool in the kitchen. I’ve sprayed blueberry juice on the wall with it about ninety-two times and you just can’t move that thing from your mixing container to the sink without spilling fifteen drips along the way. And what the hell do you do with it when you want to add more ingredients? There’s just no way to extricate the thing from your mixture without a big mess.
The stick blender was a step up from the piece-of-shit Oster blender that I was previously using, however. That thing couldn’t grind up a frozen blueberry, let alone an ice cube to save its soul. It would hum along just fine on items that were already perfectly crushed into fine particles, but toss a frozen strawberry into that son-of-a-bitch and it would seize up quicker than a dead-beat dad paying child support. Useless. After three minutes it started making this acrid electric smoking smell that reminded me of when I drove the cars too long on my slot-car race track when I was a kid.
Overcome with disdain, I investigated buying a really good blender. Commercial grade. I wanted one like they show on TV that you can put wood, nails, and Steve Buscemi’s leg from the movie Fargo in and it would grind them up with no trouble. Have you ever investigated the price of one of those things? I think Vitamix makes a great one. And, they’ll let you have it for the low, low price of about $700. My underwear fell off when I first saw that price. I was flabbergasted. “Seven hundred dollars?!“ I yelled? That thing better mow, sidewalk edge, and weed whack my entire lawn for that price. Sure, I could get something cheaper, but if I paid less, the first strawberry that fucker choked on would send me into a rage. “Why didn’t I spend the extra $500 and get the good one!”
So, here I am, still stuck with my stick blender spraying blueberry juice all over my backsplash. One day, I’ll get that blender. It will be a status symbol. I’ll leave it out on the counter all the time. I’ll put lights on it. I’ll start making guests kick-ass margaritas in the thing at 10 AM – even those who don’t want one. I’ll show it off. I’ll give new friends tours of my house and make sure and take them past my blender just so they can get a look at it. For $700, everything I eat from then on would contain at least one blended ingredient.
