We returned last night from a perfect long weekend in Mexico to... well, the regularly scheduled Chicago winter starring sleet, snow, and their cranky bed mistress, the blahs. Ay carumba, I miss the Yucatan. By the time I trudged my way into work this morning, I wanted to smash my computer with a hammer. Instead I settled for a cup of tea and scratched at my itchy, sunburned shoulders.
What would cure this funk is a nice tall glass of the happiness I discovered on the brunch buffet Saturday morning - jugo verde. After chugging my third or fourth glass of its delightfully sweet, green goodness, I realized that I 1) felt awesome, and 2) had no idea what it was. Exotic tropical fruit? No, mamacita. Turns out it's simply jucified parsley, maybe with a little pineapple juice mixed in. That's it. I could actually spelunk into the depths of a cabinet right now, dig out my juicer and whip up a batch of the stuff tonight.
In Chicago. Where my soul has once again become encased in a layer of icy winter discontent.