DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

The Chronicle’s Food section ran an unusual story today about a magic peanut elixir. (I didn’t even know peanuts needed elixing.)

I had to try it. I rushed to San Francisco, parked on Divisadero just south of Haight, and looked around wildly for teeming crowds of high-energy peanut-milk faithful, surrounded by cast-off wheelchairs and crutches, radiant with positive vibes in spite of their ratty alternative clothing (this is Haight St. after all). I found no such throng. I couldn’t even find the cafe; I had to pull out my laptop to look up the address. I was right across the street from the place.

I walked inside. There were two other people there — the owners. Given today’s press, I thought sure the place would be filled. If you can’t find a miracle on Haight Street, or at least a dime bag, where can you?

But one wall inside the cafe did indeed feature a dozen written testimonials to the miracles of peanut milk. The praise is honest and heartfelt.

I don’t have AIDS, baldness, or rickets — not yet, anyway — so I wasn’t sure whether I’d notice any immediate benefit. But I ordered up a tall peanut smoothie (peanut milk, apples, bananas) and awaited my personal miracle. It arrived with a little paper cap on the straw.

Amy Moon said her peanut smoothie was “delicious.” I can’t say I agree. I’ve had some nasty smoothies — all from my own kitchen, like spinach/kale, which in what would have been a true medical miracle very nearly brought my stomach out my mouth — and this compares favorably. I finished it. I’m not sure I’d want another one, though. I can’t say “I wouldn’t cross the street for one of those,” because I already had. You get the idea.

And then I drove straight to Amoeba Records and bought a CD.

Hey, wait a second — I got out of Amoeba with only one CD?! I’m cured! I’m cured!