Spiced Apple Pie Smoothie

Three weeks. The grief has not gotten smaller. People say it will. People say time heals. People say a lot of things that mean well and land badly, the way food lands badly when the stomach is not ready for it. Time does not heal. Time passes. The grief stays the same size. You just learn to carry it differently, the way you learn to carry a heavy pot — not by making the pot lighter but by strengthening the arms that hold it.

I got out of the chair today. Not to cook. Not to clean. Not to do anything productive. I got out of the chair and walked to Marcus's bedroom door and stood there with my hand on the doorknob and did not open it. The door is closed. It has been closed since the morning he left for school on March 2nd — the last time he walked out of that room, the last time the door closed with him on the other side of it, the last time the room held a living boy. Now the room holds his things. His bed. His books. His Tuskegee acceptance letter pinned to the wall. His shoes by the door. The things of a boy who is not coming back to use them.

I stood at the door for ten minutes and then I walked to the kitchen. I did not cook. I stood at the counter and looked at the stove — the stove I have stood at every day for twenty-four years, the stove that has produced meals for thousands, the stove that was as much a part of me as my hands. It looked foreign. Like a machine I did not know how to operate. Like something that belonged to a woman I used to be, a woman who cooked because cooking was purpose and purpose was the thing that got her out of bed in the morning. That woman is gone. She died on I-65 with Marcus. And the woman who is standing in her kitchen now does not know how to turn on a burner.

Calvin came in from the study. He saw me standing in the kitchen. He did not say anything. He made two cups of coffee and handed me one and we stood in the kitchen together, not talking, drinking coffee, existing in the same room at the same time, which is the only form of marriage I can participate in right now and which is enough because Calvin is here and the coffee is hot and the standing is a kind of holding, and holding is what we do when we do not know what else to do.

The mail brought a card from Sister Williams, the widow whose husband's funeral I cooked for two years ago. The card said: You fed me when I was grieving. You will eat again. The kitchen will call you home. She is right. She is probably right. But not today. Not yet. The kitchen has not called. The kitchen is silent. And I am standing in it, not cooking, not eating, holding coffee and standing and waiting for something I cannot name to tell me it is time to come back. I do not know when it will come. I only know that I am here, in the kitchen, and the being here is the beginning of something, even if the something has no name yet.

The only thing my hands knew how to hold that morning was a cup — Calvin’s coffee, pressed into my palm without a word. If he had asked me to turn on a burner I would have stood there and wept. But a blender requires nothing from the part of me that is still sleeping. Apple, spice, oats, milk — you drop them in, you press a button, and something warm-tasting comes out the other end, something that feels like the ghost of a kitchen that used to know how to feed people. Sister Williams said the kitchen would call me home. I think this smoothie — no flame, no stove, just cold things blended into comfort — was the whisper I heard before the call.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

1 medium apple, cored and roughly chopped (peeled or unpeeled)
1 cup unsweetened apple juice or apple cider, cold
1/2 cup plain Greek yogurt
1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup ice cubes
1 tablespoon honey or pure maple syrup, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger
1/8 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Pinch of fine sea salt

Instructions

Add the oats first. Place the rolled oats in the blender and pulse 4 to 5 times to break them down slightly. This keeps the smoothie smooth rather than gritty.
Add remaining ingredients. Add the chopped apple, apple juice, Greek yogurt, ice, honey, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, vanilla, and salt to the blender.
Blend until smooth. Blend on high for 60 to 90 seconds, until the mixture is completely smooth and creamy. If it seems too thick, add apple juice one tablespoon at a time and blend again.
Taste and adjust. Taste for sweetness and spice. Add more honey if you need it sweeter, or a pinch more cinnamon if you want more warmth. Blend for another 10 seconds to combine.
Pour and hold. Divide between two glasses. Dust the tops lightly with a little ground cinnamon if you like. Hand one to whoever is standing in the kitchen with you. Drink it warm-handed and slow.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spiced Apple Pie Smoothie — The Cup You Hold When the Stove Goes Silent