Smooth Operators

KITCHEN GUIDE SHOWCASE

Smooth Operators

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D E PA R T U R E S

Smeg x Dolce & Gabbana blender from the Sicily Is My Love collection, $850; williams-sonoma.com.

WHRRRRRRR-KUNK-CRRHH! W hrrrr.

Whrr. Whr-chhhhk… Chhhhaaa. Our blender sputtered to a stop. The polycarbonate pitcher’s contents remained a gradation of ice, kale, blue-green algae, ginger, almond milk, and keto powder the exact shade of a Max Mara camelhair coat. The kitchen was suddenly quiet, giving the bright San Francisco morning an uneasy stillness. One of our stomachs harrumphed.

“I think it’s dead,” I told my partner solemnly, unable to look at him or the blender.

I stared into a cactus on the windowsill.

“I think you murdered him,” Ramon said, choosing this moment to assign the device a gender. His tone was less an accusation and more a conviction. “You pushed him too hard.”

“No, no, no.… He died a natural death!”

Ramon pulled the plug and carried the pitcher to the sink. “His” final, failed

A new crop of mega-blenders can chop and churn anything into a liquid feast. by Jason Sheeler Photograph by Jamie Chung Styled by Alex Brannian

mission fell in clumps down the garbage disposal. As those blades successfully cranked to life, I shuffled to my wallet and car keys.

He lived to be 11 years old, a pre-SofiaVergara-endorsed Ninja 600. The industry, and Ms. Vergara, had pushed his dull blades and low wattage aside. Blenders today have Bluetooth capability and lawnmower horsepower. These latest kitchen countertop status symbols can set you back four figures and are able to churn almonds into butter, purée (and even heat) tomatoes into soup, chop up meat, and basically annihilate just about anything into a sippable meal. I learned this as I scrolled through my phone, thumbing through the “What is the best blender for post-workout smoothies?” results. Our household had been jamming to eighttracks in a Spotify world.

The sentence was imposed: Suffer the

indignity of standing in line for a smoothie with tech bros. I drove to the epicenter of San Francisco cool, Hayes Valley. The neighborhood offers velvet-roped sneaker drops, Michelin three-star chef Dominique Crenn’s casual restaurant, a pirate-themed craft cocktail bar, and two Warby Parkers.

I parked and walked through a justcompleted outdoor boot-camp class toward the Project Juice Test Kitchen.

It started as a pressed-juice company in 2012, and five years later—as people wanted more protein, fiber, and customization in their lives—added made-toorder smoothies. As it goes these days with the Bay Area’s idea incubators, the rest of the country followed.

While juices smack of willowy, Great Recession Goop-ness, modern-day smoothies are the sustenance of masters and mistresses of the gig-economy universe. Coming soon to the canteen

Vitamix Ascent Series A3500, from $620; vitamix.com.

Kuvings Vacuum Blender SV500, $650; kuvingsusa.com.

Breville The Super Q, $500; breville.com.

Blendtec Professional 800 Blender, $1,000; blendtec.com.

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ALL PHOTOGRAPHS COURTESY THE COMPANIES

Wolf Gourmet ProPerformance Blender, $549; wolfgourmet.com.

D E PA R T U R E S

B

uff Beatnik in hand, I shopped for our new blender. Before hitting Lowe’s, Home Depot, Sur La Table, and WilliamsSonoma, I called the cofounder of Project Juice, Greg Malsin. He and his wife, Rachel, both NYC transplants, make smoothies, açai bowls, and pressed juices at four locations around San Francisco.

They are Vitamix loyalists. “They are the best,” Greg said, “but require some maintenance.” He told me that the new at-home models, built like Hummers, now have too wide a base for kitchen counters. “We have the 5200.

It’s slimmer, but it’s retired. Not sure you can get it.” I told him about Thor’s, the one with the vacuum pump.

He paused. “Nice.”

“Are you flashy?” I was asked this by a sales associate at Lowe’s, as I read his neck tattoo.

“The Lamborghini of blenders,” he said, is the Blendtec Commercial Stealth 885 ($1,900), which has two containers fully enclosed in what people call a “sound dome.” With 42 programmed cycles that you set up online, you can please both vegan and carnivore smoothers.

“Are you a minimalist? Go for Smeg,” he said, showing me a white, die-cast aluminum one ($320), its only ornamentation a single, backlit chrome knob that does all the navigation. Then there was the Wolf Gourmet Blender ($800), which weighs around 16 pounds and can tackle smoothies and grind meat. We don’t have much room, I told him, and don’t plan on having a lot of meals served through a paper straw. He had two other recommendations that have zero bells and whistles: the 3¾-horsepower Waring CB15 ($1,285) and the straightforward, compact, and stylish model from U.K. brand Russell Hobbs ($100). Continuing on the car theme, he called that the Mini Cooper.

Finally, I found it. The elusive Breville Super Q, released this summer ($500). Sleek, stainless steel, and imposing enough to say “I do Barry’s a few times a week,” yet demure enough to fit under our kitchen cabinet. And it has noise-suppression technology that will keep our dogs from barking and our neighbors from calling 311. The optional Vac Q ($100) is a large, egg-shaped device that rests on top of the pitcher and sucks all the intrusive air out.

At home, we threw in kale, dandelion greens, almonds, bee pollen, keto powder, and cashew milk and started the vacuum pump. Once the chamber was hermetically sealed, I pressed the glowing button heralding smoothie.

Exactly 45 seconds later, with a flourish of three final heaves, the air was released from the tank. Out poured a green drink the color of Prada boutique walls and the consistency of crème fraîche.

Ramon took a sip. “She’s good.”

SHOWCASE

in your shared workspace? A programmed smoothie machine made specifically for college cafeterias and office-building kitchens from a new start-up, Smoodi. You will find it next to the coffeemaker and yogurt-coveredpretzel dispenser.

Standing in line, I listened to orders from sweaty burpee-ers shrink-wrapped in neon running tights and torn statement tees. Give me three Peace, Love & Kales. An Epic Greens, with a collagen boost. Two Buff Beatniks, with almond milk and butter, blueberries, spinach, dates, rice protein, hemp seeds, and cinnamon.

Add camu camu and activated-charcoal boosters. Orders were tossed into a commercialgrade Vitamix 36019. The unit, priced at over $1,000 and the size of a first-generation Apple Macintosh, is said to sit on the countertops of NBA players, Oscar winners, and supermodels.

A fiberglass noise guard clamped down as the behemoth whirred past 250 miles per hour.

A bearded Thor type, whose T-shirt urged read kerouac, ordered a Blue Moon smoothie with coconut meat, cashews, and spirulina the color of Mylanta. He also grabbed a pressed juice, turmeric lemonade.

“Juice,” he told me, “isn’t efficient.” He was just thirsty. “Smoothies are meal hacks.”

The Airbnb UX engineer blends his own during the week, in a just-launched Breville. “You gotta make your own, man.” His has a top speed of 186 mph and can grind a pound of almonds into butter in 40 seconds. He said it has a vacuum attachment that renders his paleo shakes as smooth as cashmere. “I got the last one.”

Blenders at a Glance

KITCHEN GUIDE

Blenders today have Bluetooth capability and lawn-mower horsepower and can set you back four figures.