Green Juices/An Allotment in a Glass

I awoke in a foul mood this morning. Think of the sassy evil one in Disney’s Hercules, but uglier. I was up into the small hours talking to Attractive Member of the Opposite Sex, and was so not ready for human interaction following six hours sleep. What I wanted most was to fall back asleep, or for a mediocre second-best, very strong coffee and a Danish pastry. I really, really didn’t want the drinkable equivalent of an allotment.

To make it clear, I am not a health food puritan. Give me the choice between something green and healthy from Pret, or a gut-blasting bucket of calories from KFC, I’ll go for the latter. I don’t understand all this quinoa and health powder crap, and quite frankly, I don’t want to understand it. I’d rather spend this one life being happy and slightly plump, than skinny and waxing lyrical about the joys of a gluten-free, misery-laden diet.

So after a long night feeling cute, I was dismayed/horrified/angered when I realised that, rather than the coffee and Danish pastry guaranteed to boost my mood (but halve my expected lifespan) my mum had taken it upon herself to create a concoction guaranteed boost my feelings of nausea. My parents recently bought the world’s fanciest blender (soups, juices, smoothies, ice-cream, flesh – you name it, it’ll blend it), and for the past few days have been subjecting me to various drinks with more than a passing resemblance to vomit.

It doesn’t help that mum, in her enterprising Asian spirit, sometimes decides that she’s not going to follow the recipe and buy everything described, but is going to ‘improvise’ instead. I wouldn’t be surprised if I came downstairs one morning and found her shredding grass into it. ‘It’s okay! It’s all fibre!’.

I simply cannot stomach the stuff. I don’t understand why people would spend an extortionate amount of money on a single green juice, when for the same amount they could buy a full meal from KFC, or a coffee and a large peanut butter cookie. Ditto juice diets. No! No! No! A glass of vegetables is not going to give the same joyous effect as an MSG-laden Chinese, and certainly won’t induce the same culinary whoops as produced by an extra-large Domino’s pizza. Imagine coming home after a long day, looking forward to smothering your sorrows in the edible equivalent of a hug, but forgetting – and, with a pang of horror and regret, promptly realising – that all you’ve got to look forward is a celery stick, a spoonful of quinoa and a carrot juice. Sounds like a horror movie.

It is a horror movie. The juice that I had this morning was reminiscent of the gunk that oozes from aliens’ heads – less than appetising. No, I’m going to stick with my caffeine and my Nutella on toast in the mornings. Unhealthy, but a damned sight more appealing than a glass of melted kale-flavoured Play-dough.

 

 

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