“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant.” — Robert Louis Stevenson

I received a delightful text from a friend this week. It's a movie trailer for "Shoplifters of the World," on demand March 26. (You can watch it here: trailer) Not only does it feature a Smiths soundtrack (my favorite band) it takes place in Denver, CO, 1987. As my friend said, "How did I not have a MEATSMRDR license plate?" I don't even care if it's good.
Speaking of good, one thing I couldn't imagine myself doing in 1987 is spending a year at home, and enjoying it. Like many people, we've been making improvements to our humble abode here and there. As you know, I can't really do handy things, so most of my improvements are purchases. One such purchase is a Vitamix. The thing is amazing. I'm all about emulsification now.
This weekend we were at the market and I spied some nectarines. I imagined them blended with some ice, sugar, and maybe a little vanilla extract. A delightful sorbet.
Sunday night it came together. I focus on texture because last time blended it too long. Same result this time. It turns into a smoothie, not the four piles of ice-cream-like-texture I'm after.
I offer the first one to my lovely bride. I apologize for it being a smoothie, but she takes a sip and declares it a tasty success. As I walk away I see her pick something out of her teeth.
"What did you put in there?"
The nectarines, ice, sugar, some vanilla. . .oh and some oatmilk.
"That must be what it is," she says, "it's a little gritty."
Hmm, I think as I head back to the kitchen, I don't think oatmilk is gritty. I pour myself a glass and take a gulp. It is good. And it is gritty. Not like an oat grit, it's something else. Gritty enough to have to spit bits out. Teeny tiny bits. Hundreds of them.
I survey the kitchen. Oatmilk? No. Sugar? No way. Was the fruit not right? Well, we did get it from a tiny grocer, but I carefully peeled all three of them and took out the pits. I see them right there, one, two. . .
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