76 - Not So Smoothie Sailing
Quick! Quick! I know you know this! Back when icecream came in cartons that were genuine half gallons, what was the name of the flavor that was a block of chocolate, a block of vanilla, and a block of strawberry? It is very important.
Okay. Maybe not THAT important. But as I sit here in Ugly Recliner, feeling a bit morose (and a bit queasy), this one little word has acquired outsized significance, the plug in the hole of a dam that is breaking. I need this word.
Of course, it is not unusual to have a word at the tip of the tongue not actually tip. Young. Old. Cancer. No cancer. It happens. I remember one trip with DH. We did not speak for miles. We were unable to enjoy the scenery, unable to enjoy the ride because we had spotted a sporty, red Honda and neither of us could recall the name of the aerodynamic thingamajiggy extending from the back of its trunk.
Sometimes it is the littlest of littles that drive you cra-cra. Which is why I am in Ugly Recliner, staring at a bowl of smoothie that is brown and, well, chunky.
Who knew there is an art to making smoothies? I mean, Dr Pall, the palliative care specialist, made it sound simple: Put in some fruit! A banana! (100 calories! Good potassium!) Add a scoop of peanut butter! Some milk! Use 4%! Skip the lowfat. Heck, NJB – you can add icecream!
Then – this was/is the important part – sip it throughout the day. The aim is the slow but steady intake of nutrient rich foods that are not “heavy” on the stomach.
I am game! Let’s give those pricey bottles of Boost and Ensure a run for the money! I google some recipes, read all the reviews because I am anal retentive, and send DH Al off to Publix with THE list: Frozen strawberries. Frozen blueberries. Whole milk. Something called Gold Standard 100% Whey – the chocolate flavor.
Turns out DH Al is a smoothie MAESTRO! A spoonful of this, a hand full of that…absolutely no recipe needed. But tonight he is with friends for Trivia at the American Legion. This is when I decide: How hard can it be?
I should have known. After all, it has been an up & down week. At first, the med to halt vomiting is working. Then it is not. One day of reasonable is followed by one day of rocky. But – I repeat – just how hard can one smoothie be?
Answer: Not rocket science. But it turns out there is an art, or at the minimum a methodology. I, however, simply pull out the ingredients and start dumping.
I save the frozen strawberries for last. With the blender loaded, I start pushing. Pulse. Grate. Blend. Shred. Grind. Liquefy. Ice crush. I try ‘em all, pressing the buttons with increasing ferocity. The strawberries remain large, unrepentant lumps in an odd-colored slurry.
That’s ok! I can pivot! I ditch the glass for a bowl and a spoon. Soft serve!
I want to eat it. I really do. This is not dessert – it is breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But my stomach starts to roil, and I stop after a few bites. In this up & down week every step forward is followed by two steps back, leaving me in Ugly Recliner, staring at a dish of not so smooth smoothie.
Staring at it I think: I do not even like chocolate with fruit. Forget those pineapple cubes at a chocolate fountain. Give me pieces of pound cake! The worst offender? (And I felt this even as a kid.) That stupid whatjamacallit icecream where some idiot decided to stick a layer of strawberry between the chocolate and the vanilla.
Obviously, I have bigger problems than the name of an icecream flavor. It is a meaningless, unimportant NUTHIN’. Yet in this week where the downs have probably outweighed the ups, it seems almost monumental. As if I cannot lose one more single, solitary piece of me, no matter how minute or inconsequential.
Finally…finally!...the word pops up: NEAPOLITAN! I want to shout it but it is now the middle of the night and DH Al is sleeping. Still, I give a wide, in-the-dark Cheshire cat grin. It is the littlest of littles, but it still feels like a win.
Oh, I should add: If your head is buzzing because you cannot recall what that aerodynamic thingamajig extending from the back of some cars is called, I would like to tell you – I would! But far be it from me to be a tip-of-the-tongue spoiler!
Long time reader, first time commenter: I love this blog and I love your daughter Elisa, who happens to be the best writer I know. Because I read you, I now know where she gets it! I'm here now because I have opinions and expertise on smoothies. In college I worked briefly at this strange and wonderful vegan restaurant (a real marvel in Georgia in the 90s) that specialized in smoothies. The secret to an excellent smoothie, I learned, is to freeze the fruit. Mostly the bananas, but also the strawberries and blueberries and whatever else you buy at the store with the best intentions and then actually don't eat. Peel your rotting bananas and chunk them into four-ish parts, and stick 'em in a ziploc in the freezer. If you start your smoothie with frozen fruit instead of ice, your smoothie is naturally cold and tastes a lot better than watered down jamba juice. Add 30% healthy liquid (oat milk, orange juice, whatever) and it's perfect. Try a banana-blueberry-almond-butter-cocoa-flaxmeal-oatmilk smoothie -- it's delicious and feels like dessert and breakfast all in one.
Get that Ninja lesson down pat. We used to have one and they are awesome so blend away. Love, love, love your writing ...... and your perspectives!
(This post had me doing "research" googling Neapolitan ice cream on Wikipedia. I found a variety of claims regarding its origin. I always thought it was an Italian thing (Neapolitan - Naples) but found other possibilities as well. Always disliked it intensely - yet it was a staple in our freezer (1/2 gallon) when I was a kid. We all laid claim to different flavors and I was always on the losing end. The idea of chocolate and strawberry is gross - even the colors look terrible together. As to the car thingy - you know Sal and his cars - I've known what it is since the 70s - we've even had a couple of cars with a thingy on the back. Weird!)