Five Hard-Earned Tidbits of Critical Information from the Not-So-Subtle Self-Education of a Juicing Tyro.

I recently purchased a pretty decent juicer from a friend who had learned that she was essentially allergic to juice. Having been a Vitamix girl for over a year now, I thought I’d shake it up a bit (no pun intended) and try something different. So I figured, juice was the answer! I mean, how hard can it be, right? Just stuff a bunch of fruits and veggies into the chute, tamp it all down, and the delectable nectar will magically appear in the receptacle, just like they make it at Whole Foods, only not so debilitatingly expensive.

Right?

Riiiiiiight.

Not one to read a manual or even an article about anything before embarking on it whole-hog (forgive the carnivorous allusion), I was blown away by how much you really need to know about juicing before juicing. Trial and error taught me a few things. Mostly error, though.

I share with you a few of the highlights, in case your common sense is on par with my own.

1. When juicing citrus, remember to remove the peels.

Remember, hell hath no fury like a citrus peel juiced.

2. If you throw a bunch of raspberries into the juicer, you get lots of raspberry carnage but no juice.

You may as well just throw a five dollar bill in there if you’re thinking about juicing a bunch of raspberries.

3. Lemon juice is not the same as lemonade.

. . . even when you have remembered to pre-peel your lemons, and even if your lemons are perfectly ripe.

4. If you don’t clean the juicer after each use, you will be sorely regretful.

Imagine your surprise when taking the first sip of a gorgeously rosy-pink cold, refreshing glass of watermelon juice and confronting the aftertaste of soily beets and possibly garlic.

5. The same mass of food that fills your refrigerator to the gills will yield the equivalent of three, nicely proportioned margaritas.

Maybe next time just go for the margaritas straight away? I mean, after all, margaritas are just juice with a little kick, right?

Sarah Rosenberg runs with scissors, eats with her fingers, and encourages her dogs to kiss her on the mouth. She lives and breathes as the grateful shepherd of her nine-year-old daughter, whose old soul belies her young bodily incarnation. Sarah’s writing creates fissures in her seemingly hard surface, allowing slivers of brilliant light to shine out from within. She is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

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Ed: Bryonie Wise