Creamy Raspberry Protein Smoothie

Late June. The shiso is exploding on the balcony — the plants taller than Miya's knee, the leaves enormous, the fragrance overwhelming every time the balcony door opens. The shiso this year is the most abundant it has ever been, as if the plant knows the book is coming and wants to be represented, wants to make clear that it is still here, still growing, still the thread that connects Fumiko's windowsill to my balcony, Sacramento to Portland, the dead to the living.

I made shiso juice — a concentrated syrup made from red shiso leaves, sugar, and citric acid, diluted with cold water. The drink is deep pink, almost red, tart and herbaceous, the most refreshing summer drink I know. Fumiko made shiso juice every summer and kept it in a glass jar in the refrigerator and poured it for visitors and the visitors always said, "What IS this?" and Fumiko would say, "Shiso," as if the single word explained everything, which it did, if you understood that the word "shiso" in Fumiko's mouth contained: home, garden, Japan, Sacramento, the Pacific Ocean, the internment, the recovery, the cooking that survived everything and continues to survive.

I am doing pre-publication interviews — podcasts, mostly, about food writing and Japanese-American identity. The interviews are practice in saying out loud the things I have been writing in silence for seven years. The saying-out-loud is harder than the writing. The writing allows revision. The speaking does not. The speaking is tempura: you have thirty seconds, the oil is hot, the words must be perfect because they cannot be taken back, and the perfection is never guaranteed, and you fry them anyway because the alternative is not frying them and the not-frying is worse.

The book is three months from publication. The advance copies are being sent to reviewers. The book exists in the world now, in the hands of strangers who will read about Fumiko and miso soup and the chipped bowl and will form opinions, and the opinions are beyond my control, and the beyond-my-control is the thing the anxiety cannot tolerate and the writing insists upon. The writing insists: let go. The book is its own now. The book will be what it will be. Make soup. The soup is within your jurisdiction.

The shiso juice is already made and waiting in its jar, and I have been drinking it slowly, the way Fumiko did—one glass at a time, poured carefully, as if each glass is a small ceremony. But the jar will empty, and the summer will continue, and on the days when I have given an interview and said the unsayable things out loud and come back inside needing something cold and restorative that is also, somehow, deeply pink, I have been reaching for this smoothie. It is not shiso juice. But it is tart and vivid and the color of something that insists on being seen, and it is entirely within my jurisdiction to make it, and that is enough.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 1

Ingredients

1 cup frozen raspberries
1/2 cup plain Greek yogurt (full-fat or 2%)
1/2 cup unsweetened almond milk (or milk of choice)
1 scoop vanilla protein powder (about 25g)
1 tablespoon honey or maple syrup, to taste
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4–5 ice cubes

Instructions

Combine. Add the frozen raspberries, Greek yogurt, almond milk, protein powder, honey, and vanilla extract to a blender. Top with ice cubes.
Blend. Blend on high for 45–60 seconds, until completely smooth and creamy. Pause and scrape down the sides if needed.
Taste and adjust. Taste the smoothie and add more honey if you prefer it sweeter, or a splash more almond milk if it is thicker than you like.
Pour and serve. Pour into a tall glass immediately and drink while cold. The color will be a deep, vivid pink.

Nutrition (per serving)

Creamy Raspberry Protein Smoothie — The Deep Pink of Letting Go