In the grand ITG tradition of writing letters to liquid snacks, our latest juicing convert, Lacey, bares her soul to the new beverage in her life.
I love you, despite how difficult this has been. And I think... I think I'm ready to make this thing real. I know you've been hurt before, but I'm not like those other ITG staffers. I'll admit, at first I thought you were overrated and pretentious and tasted like dirt-poison. But you're persistent! Remember all those times you showed up at the Gloffice, fresh from the Blueprint factory? I guess you just always knew that one day, I'd be thirsty.
After I broke down and tried you—got to know you—I couldn't get enough. You made me feel great, you inspired me to be healthier, and all the other liquids out there suddenly just seemed meaningless. But spending time with you became so expensive. I used to hang out with water all day for free, but just meeting up with you for a quick lunch cost $11. I wanted you every day, not just when I could afford Whole Foods, dammit. Which is why the December afternoon my parents gave me a Breville Slow Juicer was one of the happiest of my life. "Now," I thought, "Juice and I never have to be apart."
I still laugh when I think about that day. We were so young, weren't we? But in the immortal words of Shakespeare, "The course of true love never did run smooth." And indeed, things were far from smooth back then—in fact, they were extremely pulpy and the juicer's filter was very difficult to clean. Not that I'm perfect, either! Remember that time I drank a Diet Coke? I was so scared that I was going to lose you (although the make-up juice? AMAZING).
You just get me, Juice, and I love every part of you: four green apples—sliced lengthwise into eighths so the Breville doesn't explode—three heads of dino kale, a tablespoon of lemon juice, and six celery stalks. I know sometimes I get a little wild and put berries and beets and carrots in you, but it doesn't mean that I want to change you. In fact, trying different ingredients keeps what we have fresh and exciting! And if coffee tries to say anything to you, just remember: I don't come home to coffee every night, do I?
You're messy and complicated and take forever to get ready. It's ok; I can accept that. I will clean gross filters full of what are basically wet, matted grass-clippings from now until eternity, or at least until there is a self-cleaning juicer on the market. And I promise never to complain that sometimes you still cost me $50 a week. It's a small price to pay for a soulmate.
What I'm trying to say is: Juice, I'm not going anywhere. Sure, you generate a ton of compost and I feel sort of douchey with you in public, but guess what? Without you, all the vegetables I buy at the Sunday farmer's market would just rot in the fridge because I am a terrible, incompetent cook who is never home, and juicing is literally the only way for me to avoid getting rickets. If that's not relationship security, I don't know what is.