Tropical Mimosa Smoothie

New Year's 2034. Seventeen years sober. Maya Elisa Medina is three weeks old. I am fifty-three years old, which is a number I say slowly these days. Not because it frightens me — it doesn't — but because it requires accounting. Fifty-three years. Seventeen sober. Fifteen seasons at Eldorado Prep. Twenty-five years married to Lisa. Twelve championships. Four children, all of them whole and out in the world. One grandchild, three weeks old, with Diego's hair and Keisha's eyes.

Papá called at midnight again. He sounded good — better than the September call, steadier. He said his numbers are better and the cardiologist is pleased. I exhaled something I hadn't fully realized I'd been holding. He told me he and Mamá have been cooking together more since his diagnosis — that it was a funny thing, a health scare, how it made him want to spend more time in the kitchen with her. I said that made sense. He said: your mother makes the best atole in New Mexico. I said I know, Papá. I've always known.

The new year carries: Elena's book comes out in the spring. Sofia competing at Stanford for her final collegiate year. Trevon Ashford a senior. The beginning of what might be our most talented team in fifteen years. A granddaughter who will grow up eating tamales and posole and everything we know how to make. My father's improving health. My mother's atole. Lisa at the kitchen table with her coffee, reading, at six in the morning, which is where I find her every New Year's Day and where I hope to find her for the rest of my life.

I am not done. But I am aware, more than before, of the finite nature of things. Not with dread — with attention. There's a difference.

My father called at midnight talking about Mamá’s atole, and I understood exactly what he meant — there are drinks that hold a family together, that carry warmth from one generation into the next. I can’t make her atole the way she makes it, not yet, but on a morning like this one — a granddaughter three weeks old, Lisa at the kitchen table, seventeen years behind me and more life ahead — I wanted something that felt like a celebration you could taste. This tropical mimosa smoothie is what I made. It’s bright and a little sweet and it doesn’t ask anything of you except to be present, which is exactly what a New Year’s morning should feel like.

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

Ingredients

1 cup frozen mango chunks
1/2 cup frozen pineapple chunks
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
1/4 cup coconut milk (canned or carton)
1 cup chilled champagne, prosecco, or sparkling white grape juice
1 tablespoon honey or agave, optional
1/2 teaspoon lime zest, optional, for garnish
Ice cubes, as needed

Instructions

Blend the base. Combine the frozen mango, frozen pineapple, orange juice, and coconut milk in a blender. Blend on high for 45–60 seconds until completely smooth. Taste and add honey or agave if you prefer a sweeter smoothie.
Chill your glasses. Place two tall glasses in the freezer for 2 minutes, or fill them briefly with ice water and discard before pouring. A cold glass keeps the fizz longer.
Pour the smoothie. Divide the blended fruit mixture evenly between the two glasses, filling each about halfway.
Top with bubbles. Slowly pour the chilled champagne, prosecco, or sparkling grape juice over the back of a spoon into each glass to preserve the carbonation. Fill to the top.
Garnish and serve. Add a pinch of lime zest to each glass if desired and serve immediately while the smoothie is still cold and the bubbles are lively.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tropical Mimosa Smoothie — A Toast to the New Year, and to What Endures