How Not To Make A Smoothie

 

I am not gifted in the culinary arts.  Anyone who has spent more than a couple of days with me IRL can vouch for that.  I get in a flap, am slapdash even when I think I'm not being, have no natural feel for quantities; my offerings are, at best, okay if you're really, really hungry.  

There are a few things I can make well.  Vegan chilli, mashed swede.  I produce cheese and beans on toast for my husband with flair and panache, and I can put a mean piece of salmon in the oven.  That's about it.

Recently I've been trying to make smoothies, using our hand blender thingy.  A couple of them have tasted quite nice, though the enticing sunset-like colour of the peach, banana and raspberry was the best part of it (it just tasted of bananas).  I have tried making those super-nutritious ones with spinach and avocado and mint, wheatgrass and spirulina, which all just taste of mint.  Husband will not go near those, though he is generous about my fruity efforts.

Until today.

Mango, bananas, blueberries, a few raspberries, and a pomegranate.  Sounds lovely.  Looked it, too, all the fruit cut up in the big jug.  It carried on looking good when it was all smoothied - until I had a taste and realised my big mistake.  I should have carefully and individually extracted all the pomegranate seeds from the surrounding white pithy bits, which had become sharp shards of hard nasty white matter within the dark red deliciousness.

(Husband: 'this is why pomegranate juice is so expensive')

What to do?  I decided to strain it.  I tried the collander, but it let the evil white shards through.  Tried the sieve and the tea strainer, and it took forever.  Husband suggested I use one of the pieces of muslin we use for straining other things.  I took one out of the drawer where they live, with all the freshly laundered tea towels.

Please note: the phrase 'freshly laundered' is key in this drama.

It was only when I was squeezing the stuff through that he said, "Did you give the muslin a good rinse in boiling water before you used it?'

No, of course I didn't.  What did he think I was, sensible?

After all the sieving and red splatters all over the floor and the worktop, after the chucking out bits of fruity mush that still contained bits of hard nasty white matter, we were left with just two small glasses of dark red smoothie, which looked quite presentable.

Except it had this off-putting aftertaste.  Okay, it was actually a before, during and aftertaste that dominated all other flavours.  

I'd mixed pomegranate, bananas, mango, blueberries and raspberries, and managed to produce a smoothie that tasted entirely of ... Comfort fabric conditioner.