… at least that’s what Cédric thought when I set down these two glasses:
I shook my head no.
“Frappuccino?” He asked hopefully, although the sounds from the kitchen must have tipped him off to the true contents of that glass: fresh brown juice.
It’s not always a joy to be the boyfriend of a food person, especially when that person’s newest hobby is pulverizing the contents of the crisper. Up to now, the experiments have been cheerful: carrot-apple-ginger and citrus combinations that turned out sweet and sunny juice. Today I crossed over to the dark side and began to toy with spinach-celery-garlic and so on. My eyes are bright, my tail is bushy, my breath is rank.
You see, I am (perhaps temporarily, as these things go) a new convert to juicing. My inspiration is the avoidance of scurvy, not the denial of anything fun. I’m not on a diet or trying to detox (these toxins being key to my personality). I simply find it fun – really, really fun – to obliterate carrots and other noisy fare. Juicing has also helped me to lower my coffee consumption from, say, ten cups a day to three. And this should go a long way toward preventing my heart from exploding.
I beg you blogosphere: what should I juice next?
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