It was time. The Olympic games were over, but winter lasted. I searched the kitchen to find what I needed.
I spotted the kale hiding behind a few containers of yogurt. The orange juice carton stood tall on the shelf. I checked the freezer for the berries. All set.
I withdrew my knife from the knife block. I separated a banana from his pals. I peeled it, tossing the yellow skin to the side, slicing the fruit into quarter-inch pieces. I worked my knife steadily, the noise of the blade a soothing rhythm, chop, chop, chop. I segregated the banana coins to the corner of my prep surface to make room for the kale.
I tore kale leaves away from the bunch, discarding stems with the banana peel.
I decimated the funky pile of leaves with my chef’s knife, my effort creating the smell of freshly mown grass. I welcomed this marker of spring to my kitchen while there was snow on the ground outside. Feeling strong now.
I measured a cup of frozen berries and set them aside. I poured half a glass of orange juice, sniffing in the citrus scent before diluting it with some water.
I scooped up all of my ingredients and dropped them into the pitcher. We don’t own a simple blender. We use our margarita maker as a blender–it shaves ice like none other, it’s a beast. It’s the wedding gift that keeps on giving. (Thanks, LDs!)
I cracked a couple of eggs in for good measure. Just kidding, that’s disgusting. I’ll leave that to Rocky. I plugged in the mixer and selected Blend Only.
Silence. I checked the plug; I toggled the switch. Nada. It helps if I plug in the mixer, not the rice cooker next to it. I corrected myself. And, blended on. The motor purred like a jet engine. A minute later, I drank my kale fruit smoothie.
I promise it doesn’t taste like grass. It energizes. Who wants to run up some stairs with me?