Lately, I’ve been feeling very, very lucky that I don’t experience spring allergies. This season seems to be especially hard on everyone in the Northeast, thanks to the mild winter. The boyfriend spent the past week suffering through what I concluded was hay fever, the symptoms of which seemed invulnerable to various allergy med cocktails. (He isn’t quite so sure about my diagnosis, but it doesn’t seem possible that I wouldn’t have caught whatever he had unless it was allergy-related. So if he wants to find fault in my 5-minutes-of-googling-say-this theory, the only other possible conclusion I can reach is that I have a superhuman immune system, which totally rules.)
While I may not be dealing with allergies, I do find myself experiencing another springtime affliction: zombie hunger. Each day, I am suddenly stricken with an all-consuming need to feed (on things of the non-human flesh variety), and god help anyone or anything that gets in my way. I attribute this to a spike in my metabolism, thanks to the spring crazies, which actually leaves me with a bit of a dilemma. This metabolism boost causes my body to start shedding its winter . . . *ahem* . . . insulation. And this year I am high-fiving myself for keeping up my daily workouts through the winter, because emerging from beneath this insulation are abs. Honest to goodness abs!
(I know, so what’s the problem, right?) The problem is that zombie Carey wants bread, eggs, and cheese. LOTS OF ALL OF IT. But those damn abs, I can hear them whining at me, “Please, puhlease, don’t bury us again! Just look at us, then think about it!” Errrrrrruuugggh, FINE, I’ll make a smoothie instead. Just shut up, stupid abs.
I really do love smoothies, actually. I get to throw a bunch of stuff together then let a machine blend it up into a delicious, drinkable treat. Maybe I snack on a couple pieces of cheese while the machine does the work for me. Whatevs. Smoothies are also excellent ways to utilize healthy things you can’t really handle on their own. For me, it’s a great way to drink kombucha. Before I go any further, is everyone familiar with kombucha? I ask because my brother recently had an experience at the café where he works that was pretty much this scene, if you replaced beer with kombucha and a loveable dork with an obnoxious tourist that insisted my brother, “taste this . . . taste this,” until he was finally able to make the man understand that that was indeed how the drink was supposed to taste.
Jerky tourist or not, I understand the reaction. (Especially since he was probably expecting a delicious juice. Ha!) So when my boyfriend suggested I try one of the kombucha smoothies they make at his café, I was extremely hesitant. “Carey, trust me, you will like it. I promise.” I couldn’t really say no to that without feeling like a fussy child, so I did try it. And I did like it. A lot. It gives the smoothie a great tang, and the rest of the ingredients mask the in-your-face vinegary-ness. Zombie Carey is happy. The abs are happy. Hurray smoothies!
Kombucha Berry Oat Smoothie
I’m not 100% sure about the accuracy of these measurements, since I just know how everything should look when I add it to my food processor. Adjust as needed!
- around 1 1/2 cups of berries
- 2/3 cup of kombucha (I love elderberry)
- 1/3 cup of pomegranate juice
- 3 tbsp of vanilla honey greek yogurt
- 1 tbsp of almond butter
- a small handful of oats
I use frozen berries so I like to chop some of the bigger strawberries and blackberries up first. Then throw everything in your blender or food processor and let the thing go to town! If it seems a little thick, just add in a bit more juice. (A good rule of thumb for a proper liquid-to-solid ratio is you should be able to see the liquid nearing the top of your solid ingredients, but it shouldn’t cover them entirely.)
Tip from me: Check to see if you have straws before you make a smoothie. I didn’t before my first smoothie of the year, and that was a mistake. I tried to drink it without one, but it was utterly unenjoyable. So I improvised with a plastic thermometer sleeve.