Not so long ago, my wife, Bunny, found celery on sale. Sale. Put that word in the air around her and the consequences are akin to what you get when the shop doors open on Black Friday.
This is one bunch of celery:
I don't know how to describe the amount she bought. The collective noun that comes to mind is 'mob'. Like kangaroos.
See that picture up top? That's about half of what she brought home. Filled a shopping bag. I'm not talking about one of those little plastic shopping bags you get at Kroger. Or even one of their brown paper shopping bags.
No. I mean an industrial-strength re-usable canvas bag.
Maybe you have seen these. I just pulled one out -- the one she leaves at home because "it's too small" -- and it measures 10"x15"x15". That is 1.3 cubic feet, not counting what sticks out of the top.
Imagine that filled with bunches of celery.
How did we use up that much celery before it turned to mush?
I made mirepoix and cooked with it. Pints and pints of mirepoix. Added thin slices of celery and celery leaves to all kinds of salads. (Celery leaves have a strong flavor and add a lot to any salad.) Added celery to guacamole. Added celery to soups. Made cream of celery soup. Ate celery as snacks. (Dark green celery has more taste than the pale stuff.) It was Celery City in our kitchen.
You get the picture.
Five days after the entrance of the celery mob, I opened the fridge to find no celery. "Wow!" I thought. "I survived the Great Celery Tsunami of 2014," I thought.
Imagine my surprise and horror when today my wife gleefully pulled out a bunch of celery from the freezer. Gleefully. That is, with an ear-to-ear grin. I was quick to point out that thawed celery is no longer useful as celery. All the crunch is gone and all you have is mushy green stuff.
"No problem," she said and disappeared into the kitchen.
She hauled out the wand mixer.
* * *I interrupt the story of celery to bring you the shorter story of the wand mixer.
The wand mixer was what Bunny gave me for my birthday. Philips calls it a Hand Blender.
"That's all you got to say. 'That's nice,'" said she.
"Well, Bunny, the truth is, I don't much like wand mixers. I prefer my blender."
"Why do I need this?"
"It was on SALE!"
Well. There it was. The incontrovertible reason for buying me anything.
Look for my wife on Twitter under #saleaddict.
I return you now to your regularly scheduled story.
* * *As I sat at my computer reading The Passive Voice, I heard the whine of the wand mixer coming from the kitchen followed by "Hmmph" followed by more mixer whine followed by another "Hmmph." Then silence. I queued up and played some military marches (hey, you play the music you like and I'll play . . . ) and continued to peruse the offerings on the World Wide Web.
Bunny came to me and gleefully presented me with a glass of green liquid. Gleefully. (See above.)
[I swear to you that this is what it looked like.]
"Celery smoothie," said she.
I knew it could not be a true smoothie, 'cause we have no bananas.
"Drink," said she.
Resistance was futile, and I knew that, too, so I drank.
It had HONEY in it.
"Good, huh?" she asked gleefully. (See above.)
I looked at her in silence for a good 30 seconds. All that time she nodded gleefully (see above) to persuade me to agree.
"That's not the word I would use to describe it."
"Oh? What would you say?"
"It's good for the environment and okay for you." She did not get the Judge Dredd reference. Probably better for me that she didn't.
Bunny pursed her lips. "I'll be back." She disappeared into the kitchen again.
Within minutes she returned with another glass that looked the same as the first. Resistance was futile, so I drank. I detected no difference. Before I could say anything, she said, "Now with broccoli!" Gleefully. (See above.)
Bunny used my blender to make the 'celery smoothie'. I don't know why. We have a juicer.
[Everyone touts the benefits of juice. No one tells you what a pain it is to clean a juicer.]
Remember, kids, vegetables smoothies are like drugs. When someone offers you one, just say no.
# # #
Bunny went to Costco yesterday. Alone. Came back with TWO bags of avocados; five avocados to a bag, ten in all. Well, I survived the Celery Tsunami. By Halloween we will know if I survive the Avocado Avalanche.