THE HIDDEN WORLD OF MASTICATING

Living single tends to bring certain urges to the forefront.  Initially you go a little crazy at the freedom, but it's a scary world out there, fraught with danger and disease.  So you look for safer alternatives, weighing online reviews comparing power, options, noise level and price.  Some wax euphoric over the versatility of their purchase while others emphasize size and speed.  I agonized for weeks, wavering over whether to choose the less expensive utilitarian device, the Ferrari level beast or somewhere in between.  One thing it had to have was an extended warranty because if it performed as promised, I'd be using it frequently.  And it had to be quiet.  I've never forgotten the time I was settling into my seat on a flight to Boston and something started buzzing in my bag that I'd shoved under the seat in front of me.  Two twenty-something guys across the aisle started snickering as I dug frantically through the bag until I emerged victorious with an electric toothbrush.  I made a show of turning it off as my face flushed furiously.

I know what you're thinking...why in the world is she talking about something this private in a public forum?

Because I bought it.  It has been delivered to my doorstep by an unsuspecting UPS driver.  And I'm so crazy about it that I use it every day.  It's shiny, black and heavy, powered by a single auger drive.  This 6-in-1 model is the awesome Samson Masticating Juicer.  That would be a nasty name if it were actually what I know you were thinking it was.

Once I'd lived alone long enough for my cooking enthusiasm to wane, I realized that I wasn't getting enough vegetables and decided to do something about it that didn't involve regular stints at the stove.  On a visit to my daughter's she introduced me to something I'd previously dismissed when I saw 90 year-old Jack LaLanne exhorting audiences in his jumpsuit.

My 7 year old granddaughter happened to be at my home the weekend the machine arrived and we lined up carrots, apples and greens to shove into the thing.  I couldn't get it to start until she threw a long-suffering glance my way and said, "Nana, it won't start because you keep pressing the 'off' button."  Once that technical issue was dispensed with, we eagerly pushed veggies through the auger and watched as juice trickled into one container and brightly colored fiber poop dropped into another.  My initial concoction was a beautiful light green as we each took a sip before recoiling in horror.

She waved her hand at her mouth, pleading for water which I quickly supplied for both of us.  I later found out that mustard greens lend a very peppery result in juice.  The carrot, apple and pear nectar combo was much more pleasing to the palate.  I don't look twenty years younger yet, but I'm comforted by the fact that I'm finally putting some beneficial elements down my gullet.  Now I look forward to more adventurous combinations and concoctions.  Just no more mustard greens.