I’m really not a gadget person, not in the kitchen, not anywhere else. I pound my spices with stone. I boil water each morning, then press my coffee into shape. I barely remember we have a microwave.
But a juicer, now that’s another story. I used to sit beside the juice lady at a vegetarian restaurant on Suthep Road, one of our regular lunch spots in Chiang Mai, and I’d watch her zip through carrots with a little wrist motion and nothing else. Millions of shreds would spew from the side, tumbling into a 20-gallon bag of vegetable refuse. And out the spout came a sweetness of the most magnificent orange.
I wanted a juicer for passionfruit and dragonfruit, papaya and starfruit, mangosteens and mangoes. But our nook of an outdoor kitchen had no room for appliances; it didn’t even have an outlet. In my head, I always said: Later. Someday.
I had a birthday earlier this month (oy, another) and Jerry disappeared for a while the night before. I woke to a box at the breakfast table, a big box with a shiny white appliance inside. My juicer at last!
Nothing like a new toy to get the creative (sorry… sad, painful pun ahead) juices flowing. Experiment, I did. I made carrots, five pounds, with a hint of cinnamon and clove. Even better: carrot with ginger and lime. But best of all, the very best juice of all, is basil and apple.
I picked a variety of organic apples from the trees at Los Poblanos, where the ripest fruits clobbered me in the head and feisty green beetles bombed me from all sides.
I tossed in a healthy bunch of spicy mint from Joanna’s garden, and a handful of sweet Italian basil from our little herb patch.
I chopped ginger and apples into small hunks….
and squished it all through the machine.
Just a touch of New Mexican honey went into the mix. Very simple, all in all:
Then all you need is a hot afternoon, a shady tree and the time to sip.