Blender tales

When I was about 10 years old, our family made its annual pilgrimage to the New York State Fair. We went there with our family friends every year, spending most of our time in the animal barns. There were always cows and ewes giving birth, amidst eyes agog of the incredulous crowd. Of course, the State Fair was the one place where we could get cotton candy: sticky, hairy stuff that seems to be magic to children.

There was also the long building where all of the gadgets and doodads were sold. People hawked every conceivable type of antique, appliance, and foodstuff there. We used to get Peppermint Patties that were little but pungent. I loved them. It was easy to get lost in that cavernous building, and I did several times, much to my chagrin.

What stands out for me was the year we watched the blender salesman. He was a shortish, balding man with a loud, high tenor speaking voice. He brandished this wonder machine over his head at the crowd, invoking the lifegiving properties of liquified foods would provide for those who bought the blender. But what probably sold most listeners on his machine was watching him make pancakes in it. He poured in some milk and oil, and added some flour. The white mass inside became quite thick. Then he dropped in three eggs, shells and all. I remember that, because the eggs had brown shells and they whizzed up into nothing almost immediately. At least, we couldn't see the bits of shell through the glass of the blender.

"Think of the minerals and vitamins that you can give your children with this machine!" he shouted. "But before you buy this blender on account of the vitamins, taste these pancakes made with the eggshells right in the batter!." There was an excited murmur from the crowd.
"Think of how much you can boost your calcum levels in your cooking!"
They pressed forward to the plate of dollar-sized pancakes his wife passed around. A loud "Wow!" came from my father. He was getting hooked in by this. I think he just liked machines, and he was determined to get one. He looked over at Mother, who was harrumphing and starting to walk away. Long story short, we left the fair with one of these sleep, super whizzing blenders with the glass container and gleaming white base.

Daddy could hardly wait to use it on Sunday morning--the day the house typically filled with the smell of the burning griddle, and the day we all pretended to like his pancakes that were always overcooked and more like browned crepes than pancakes. This time we got a real surprise. They weren't blackened. We were so excited to run downstairs and eat our calcium rich breakfasts that we rushed to the table that morning. Daddy had indeed made the pancakes by throwing the eggs into the blender, shells and all. We couldn't see anything unusual about them and we imagined that they smelled more delicious and exotic than ever before. Even Mother had one on her plate.

What a shock then, to bite into the first one and get a mouthful of grit. "Raiford!" mother postulated, "These are horrid!" They were awful things that we crunched through--even worse than the burnt ones we usually had. Daddy was crestfallen and Mother, triumphant. From then on, daddy used the blender to make pancake batter, but sans eggshells.
Soon the gritty pancakes were a funny family anecdote and nothing more.

Fast forward to this year. Sam and I bought a HealthMaster. We make the most wonderful fruit smoothies every morning for ourselves. Last week Sam bought the fruit at the produce stand down on the boulevard. He brought home three huge clusters of globe grapes. Grapes with seeds in them.
"Go ahead and put them into the blender whole," Sam advised. "This machine will liquify the seeds and we won't even know that they're in there."
"You know," I added, "Grapeseed oil is full of important vitamins and minerals. I think it will only enrich our smoothies." I was delighted at this added benefit.
The first morning, I made a smoothie out of five fresh-squeezed oranges, a kiwi, a cup of blueberries, three peaches, and a cluster of globe grapes. Up to level eight, I whizzed the daylights out of it for several minutes. It produced a frothy off-color admixture that was very sweet.
"I don't even taste the seeds," Sam commented happily.

The next two days, I made smoothies out of the rest of the grapes. They were very sweet and I certainly felt vitamin fortified.

Then on Thursday, I started cramping up. My belly felt terrible, like I'd swallowed a handful of grapeshot. They weren't gas pains or bladder spasms. My colon felt terrible. But it passed (forgive the pun!) and seemed to last only an afternoon.

Sam, on the other hand, left work early on Thursday. He felt nauseated and like something was stuck in his bowel. Strange. He was able to eat, but felt full. The next day he came home early again feeling sick. His bowel felt twisted and crampy. Hmmm. Grape seeds. Quite a few of them. Both of our fathers have struggled with diverticulitis. Why should we be any different?

You would think that I had learned from the pancakes, but I hadn't. From now on, no more seeds or eggshells. No blender is good enough for them, even the HealthMaster. Our bowels will thank us!