Every morning, I make for myself a protein shake. It is my impression that this is good behavior, healthy and so forth. I do not consider it my business to engage in any even half-serious interrogation of this impression. The body requires protein, probably, and though I do enjoy gnawing on animal parts, it's a lot simpler to fire down a daily hit of protein out of a shaker bottle (or three) than it is to make sure I have handfuls of meat available in the fridge at all times. Every morning, I open the pantry and hunt around for the tub of protein powder. Very often on these hunts, I encounter other, different tubs, tubs and bags of things that look like protein powder but possibly are not, or tubs or bags of things that definitely are not protein powder, but look and smell like they are meant to be dissolved in water and then consumed, for health. Health being good, I find it wise simply to throw a scoop or two of these things into the shaker bottle, to make the resulting sludge maximally healthful.
Here are some things that are going into my current "protein" shake, in order of application.
Water
The first thing to go into the shaker bottle is plain water, from the tap. The experienced shaker bottle user knows to initially fill the shaker bottle only halfway, so that there remains plenty of shaking room beneath the lid. Failure to observe this best practice will lead to damp but unshaken powder caking along the mouth of the bottle and taking on a chewing-gum-like texture, which will cause the drinker to sputter and retch while just trying to get some goddamn protein into their diet.
Creatine Monohydrate
This slender little black container turned up sometime in 2023, and its contents do not expire until January. The monohydrate, as I recall, was once a powder, but something happened along the way, and now it is these little creatine rocks.
I associate the word "creatine," possibly incorrectly, with huge steroidal chests, like those seen in a World's Strongest Man competition. I have the idea in mind that if I were an NFL player, I would get suspended for adding these illicit rocks to my breakfast shake. As I am not an NFL player, I allow myself a few rocks; as I am not a veiny Icelandic colossus named Thor Sigmundersson, I limit myself to as many rocks as will fit into the tiny little scoop found inside the container.
I appreciate about the rocks that they behave normally in water, splashing home with a pleasing kerplunk that makes me think of Blueberries for Sal, and then slowly dissolving in a way that makes me think of Alka-Seltzer. Certainly it would be very nice to add one single disc of Alka-Seltzer to my morning shake, for "relief." I will have to shift things around in the pantry tomorrow to see if we've got any effervescent antacid in there.
Collagen Peptides
It seems like there has always been at least one canister of collagen peptides inside my pantry, possibly the same canister the entire time. This powder looks and smells exactly like protein powder. In fact, back before my protein shake became a cornucopia of healthy and beneficial ingredients, when it was a reluctant one-scoop affair, on more than one occasion I learned after the fact that I'd started my day with a rich collagen shake.
It's fine: As far as I know, "collagen" and "protein" are synonymous; all I know about collagen is that it is found in the cheeks of beautiful young people, and also possibly in ligaments. I have been warned at least twice that the scoop inside the canister of collagen peptides is not the correct size, but I cannot remember if it is too large or too small. Hedging against collagen overdose, I limit myself to half a scoop.
The word "peptide" suggests a relationship with Pepto Bismol, which obviously has healing properties. Healing is important, especially for hard-charging blog miners: I need those peptides. Into the bottle they go, where they also behave in a pleasingly normal fashion, mounding very slightly but then quickly dissipating into the water in a fine cloud.
Organic Fermented Greens
A dreaded bag, a test, a dare. The front of the bag warns that the powder inside contains vegetables, herbs, sprouts, algae, and—so help me God—grass. The powder is gray green, the texture of ancient attic dust; the smell is brewer's yeast, turned mulch, and overcooked spinach, unpleasant but in a clean, earthy, intriguing sort of way. There is a non-zero chance that this is misplaced fertilizer for the potted plants; alas, because the fine print on the back suggests mortgage closing documents written by and for fleas, I am forced to treat it as a superfood.
The serving size is one teaspoon, but the scoop found inside the bag looks more like half a teaspoon; therefore I am honor-bound to mix two scoops into my shake. There is a moment every morning when I wish that I had not added to my drink dehydrated pond slime, but then I remind myself that it is full of chlorophyll or whatever, and maybe fiber?
What is most troubling about the organic fermented greens powder is that it does not sink in water, but floats on the surface in a foul dark slick, not unlike the man-eating aquatic blob in Stephen King's The Raft. This is why you need the little shaker coil in there: To destroy this monster before it destroys you.
Protein Powder
The most normal thing, by reputation, to go into a protein shake is the protein powder. I have found that there is always at least one large container of protein powder in the pantry, either white or brown in color. It's preposterous to describe these powders as flavored with anything but some non-sugar chemical sweetener, but the white one advertises itself as "vanilla," ha, ha, ha!
I gather that one scoop of this fine powder—possibly whey protein, also possibly pea protein—contains 24 grams of protein. Worryingly, one scoop of the brown protein powder contains 22 grams of protein, which suggests that there is something in that scoop that is not protein, and that there is more of whatever that substance is in the brown scoop than in the white one. At any rate, obviously 48 grams of protein are more than 24 grams of protein, so the right thing to do is to put two scoops of this dust into the bottle. That is when the trouble begins.
What is it about protein powder that causes it to form a berg and to float, dry as old bones, atop the surface of water? Are the individual granules of protein hollow? Do they link arms and form a flotilla? It's not natural. Even swirling the bottle does not encourage the powder to sink. Is this what the powder does in my stomach? It rises in a slimy clump to the surface of my stomach acid, sheds its moisture, and floats around like a stark-white barge? A slow-digesting, nauseatingly vanilla-scented marine garbage patch? Am I supposed to spend the rest of the day doing jumping jacks, hoping to percolate this mass inside my guts long enough for my body to make it into muscle tissue? Best not to think about it. Best to shake and then chug.
Water
As it would be imprudent to add any more powders to the top of Protein Mountain, it is at this point that you must screw the lid on there and shake the hell out of the bottle, then top the sludge within with more water. The finished shake is foamy and lightly moss-colored, a spoiled and unambiguously ill hue that speaks to the mixture's tremendous beneficial properties. The flavor, it goes without saying, is repulsive, a nightmare. That's how you know it's good for you.
