A month or so ago, I got my dream blender, and if that sounds like a silly sentiment, then you’ve never met a Vitamix. The Vitamix is an extraordinary machine that probably deserves its own post. But know this: it can turn anything into pure, undifferentiated liquid. Anything. Put in an entire, unpeeled pineapple and the Vitamix reduces it to delicious (if slightly more fibrous) pineapple juice. Tired of peeling ginger? Don’t bother. The Vitamix can even mill grain. It is not a blender. It is a wonder.

I have been using it to make fantastic smoothies in the mornings. Blueberries, strawberries, cacao, goji berries, hemp, chia, honey, cinnamon, ginger, lemon, yogurt, milk, and a bit of protein. Just the thing to jump-start a day.

Admiring the prowess of the vitamix, I’ve been wondering if I might also use it at noontime. Often I have a chicken breast and various leftover as sides. What would happen, I wondered, if I put it all in the Vitamix and made a chicken smoothie. Robbi contended that it was a horrible idea. Which made me all the more anxious to try.

Given that I was making a chicken smoothie, I started with a grilled chicken breast. I did not take a photo of the chicken breast, a thing I now regret .

I did, however, photograph the leftover brussels sprouts.

And the leftover ziti.

There were only a few tablespoons of minced garlic left in the rather large plastic tub, so I decided to throw them in.

Ditto the various pickled vegetables.

I found half a head of old Romaine, and decided it might harmonize well with the other ingredients.

Which included a not-unsubstantial portion of chopped spinach.

And a bit of pickled eggplant.

I put it all in the Vitamix and added some milk.

And a lot of Frank’s hot sauce. A lot.

I flipped the switch and watched the magic happen.

I was so excited about the chicken smoothie that I forgot to photograph it when the glass was full.

So here it is with the glass half empty.

Which in this case is not the reflection of a pessimistic attitude, but rather, an indication of a most delicious lunch.

I persuaded Robbi to take a sip, which she did not enjoy. She did, however, admit that if I put it in a bowl, warmed it up, and called it “soup,” she might be able to get behind it. For some reason, drinking it out of  glass and calling it a “smoothie” was not welcome.

Where’s her sense of adventure, I say?