Shh. Don't Tell Boyfriend

I was charmed, deeply charmed, by the raw deliciousness from Tuesday night. I think it was the fact that, from what I can see anyway, raw cuisine consists of throwing stuff into a blender and flicking the switch. This kind of noncooking, I can do.

For the past two days I've been drinking almost all of my food. Peach, mango, orange smoothies. Weirdly experimental veggie soups. Blenderized pasta sauce (where the "pasta" is grated raw carrot).

Stuff from the blender is basically pre-digested if you think about it. And I have. Because if I was eating all this raw stuff whole or in salads, it would be Fartapalooza over here. Speaking of which, I learned a random fact yesterday: a moose produces as much methane gas as a small town. Moose are bad for the environment. And raw broccoli is usually bad for my environment.

At the raw dinner party we had some delicious walnut spread. I wanted to try it and called Drea for the recipe. Drea told me that she usually just wings it. I decided to wing it, too. Recipes are for losers.

Famous. Last. Words.

I've avoided making hummus in my life for one reason – it always gets clumpy and clogs up the blender/food processor. Walnut spread is the same. Even though I soaked the nuts for seven hours. Even though I put the lemon juice and olive oil in first so there would be liquid in the bottom. Even though I visualized the whole walnut spread deal unfolding perfectly.

I flicked the switch and there was an initial splattering of walnut bits followed by that extra-high-pitched sound when the blender gets stuck. I stopped it. I opened the lid. I smushed everything down to the bottom again. I flicked the switch. Same deal.

After seven tries, I added almond milk. Nuts + Nuts = Good. Right? It wasn't until after I'd splashed it in that I noticed the cane sugar in the ingredients. Walnut spread isn't supposed to be sweet. But it isn't supposed to be chunky either, so what the hell.

The God of Smoothness was not smiling on me and the almond milk did all kinds of NOTHING and I was frustrated with the stopping and the scraping and the re-starting, so I thought I'd open the lid and do the thing where you carefully push the goo down into the blades while the blender is going.

Did I mention I was using Boyfriend's $400 KichenAid Sex Machine Ferrari-Motor Blender? Have you met Boyfriend? The guy who will not talk to me for a day if I drop something and make a dent in his gorgeous dark-stained hardwood floor?

Obviously the spoon idea was a bad one. And karma kicked my ass immediately because I didn't even get the damn spoon down there before the blender vomited chunky walnut spread all over me and Boyfriend's beautiful kitchen.

Walnut puke was in my hair, on the floor, on the counter, on the cupboards. And not just "on" the cupboards. All the way up to the ceiling. Some even made it into the dining room. The spray radius of this blender was effing phenomenal.

Because my life is my life, I was sure Boyfriend was going to walk in at exactly that moment and divorce me on sight. So I speed-wiped the entire kitchen to remove the evidence before booking a one-way ticket to Western Siberia. I think I got it all. But please Internet? Please don't tell him, okay?