Juicing: The parts do not equal the whole

March 24, 2014 Ashley 1 Comment

I’m rather suggestible.

So when everyone started juicing a while ago, I jumped on the bandwagon and bought my own green drink making machine. My supermarket trips were reduced to little more than produce pornography as I filled foot-long cucumbers and other phallic fruits into my cart, avoiding proximity to the other aisles which held all the foods that would cancel out my attempted healthy aspirations. And by healthy, I mean magically lengthening my telomeres to halt aging, shitting out all my adipose cells, and morphing into something out of “Blue Crush” or a coke commercial.

Because that never happened (note to self – internet surfing does not a Bosworth make), when my juicer broke recently, I was only a little disappointed. Just not enough to go on a hunger strike. Or even buy a new one. #lazy

After all, my collection of lidded mason jars may’ve been empty but I had this surplus of fruit and juice makings and other expensive shiz. So I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to kick it old school and, ya know, just use my enamel to eat it (as legend says our cave ancestors did many moons ago).

Among the health junk and juice makings in my fridge was coconut water.

Now, this is just something I add to juice ‘cause it has potassium or something in it. And in a juice of celery and lemon and other stuff, I couldn’t tell you how it tastes. If you asked, I’d guess, “GOOD!”

If you asked after yesterday, when I tried drinking some during a heated yin class (that’s just a type of yoga that happens in a really hot room, but the shorter thing is easier to say), I’d look at you like I was suddenly recalling the memory of an assault I’d subconsciously suppressed.

And boy do I want to suppress the memory of that juice.

When you open a carton of coconut water, you expect it to wrap you up in a sweet coconutty island embrace. Like – maybe a Yankee candle. Or that tanning lotion you still have from your trip to Hawaii. Even those cheap lip balms you got in your stocking when you were ten would suffice. Anything but what happened to me.

Upon opening and taking a big whiff, it reminded me of that one time I left a half drunken bottle of Fiji out while I went out of town and backwash bacteria had a pool party orgy in it. When I opened the lid a few weeks later, the fumes were so pungent that the biohazard units left Africa to come quarantine my entire apartment complex in their ebola suits.

So, I drank the coconut water, betraying my instincts, and leading them both down a path we both knew in our heart of hearts led to a place from which we could never truly return after having visiting.

‘cause my yoga teacher said to.

You know, in retrospect, I recall a friend refer to it as tasting like “dirty dishwater.” He’s not wrong, but I have a feeling that even he knows deep down that it’s worse than either of us can aptly describe.

It’s made me think about all the other stuff I’ve bought since my juicing kick. I have all these substitutes for bad stuff and all this healthy crap I’ve added to my fridge. Some of it has stuck. Some of it, I’ve tried to love and still hate:

Dried Goji Berries: These taste not unlike my third grade ballet shoes smelled, fresh out of the box.

Soy Creamer (of any flavor): Hits the tongue in a way reminiscent of clay, with an after-taste of Elmer’s glue and Play-Doh

And, of course, taking home the prize: Coconut Water, whereupon drinking, one’s tongue buds are bestowed with the sense that they just cleared mucous from their nasal passage – and then swallowed it.

In the future, I think it might be best to just subtract the unhealthy stuff from my diet, instead of adding similar substitutes that make me die a little inside each time I try to convince myself it’s what I want.