Vitamix vs. Vaporizer

At a ladies’ brunch recently, I caught up with a friend. It was 10 a.m. We were knocking back Mimosas and talking green smoothies.

“Guess what I got?” my friend said. “A Vitamix!”

She did a little happy dance.

A Vitamix is where blender meets power tool. It liquefies anything in its path. The toughest, most resilient kale turns into green juice. Beets turn to borscht, carrots to carrot juice and almonds to almond butter at the touch of a button. Some people even use them to mulch food scraps, coffee grounds and eggshells into instant compost. 

Ah, to own one. 

It would bring this pasty, land-locked city mom one step closer to fulfilling my dream of living in a beach hut and becoming a tanned, clear-eyed raw foodist with amazing skin and a squeaky-clean intestinal tract.

On my wish list of ridiculously expensive household appliances, that blender has been sharing the top spot—above a dishwasher—along with that other essential for stressed-out parents everywhere: the vaporizer. They may not scream "take charge of your health" like the name Vitamix. But what the Pax, Magic Flight and Whispr do connote is relaxation.

“Forget the vaporizer,” said my friend. “Get the Vitamix. It’s life-changing!”

“A regular blender can’t be that different,” I said. “Sure, my kale smoothies do have a bit of texture. But I’ve learned to live with it.”

“Do your kids drink them?” 

She had me there. 

First chance I got, I dashed away from the party and went home to revisit my $40 Hamilton Beech. I was going to challenge that sucker. Push its limits. Take it into uncharted territory. With my finger firmly on the “Pulse” button, I knew I could provide the calm-assertive energy it needed to blend up the most tooth-loosening veggies I had in my fridge. 

I tossed in the driest winter carrots, the stringiest parsley stems, beets that had rattled around in my crisper for weeks, ginger root. And of course, kale. 

I added water, and blended. It became a murky sludge I was afraid to taste. I added dates. I blended and blended and blended. I blended for several minutes. When I smelled rubber burning, I stopped.

I poured the smoothie into a glass and forced it down, chewing the mulched, liquid salad. Tried to think of it as a gazpacho of sorts. Sweetened with dates.

“This is really good for me,” I said between gulps. But after my stomach refused another sip, I had to admit I had probably just made myself some really expensive compost.

I had made my decision.

Feeding kale to my kids in liquid form just wasn't that important. 

Maybe that isn’t life-changing. And I still have chunks in my smoothies. But after a hit on my new Whispr? I don’t really care.