We Licked the Wall
A lighthearted Moroccan breakfast tale involving citrus betrayal, microbial mystery, and mild psychological scarring. Morocco . Letter #13
WARNING: This story contains citrus, confusion, and light culinary trauma.
Dear Ageless Wanderers,
Stella and I were snug as a couple of cats in a sunbeam at our cozy little dar in Marrakech. The landlord had generously left us fresh eggs and a bowl of oranges. If you’ve ever been to Morocco, you know the national beverage is orange juice. It’s everywhere and in season; it’s basically nectar from heaven.
Feeling inspired (and possibly a little self-congratulatory), I decided to make breakfast. Eggs went into the tagine pot, bread for Stella, and some fresh-squeezed orange juice.
The juicer was conveniently sitting on the counter. I juiced the oranges like a pro, plated our meal, and served it in our sunny little courtyard. We ate. We drank. We were happy.
That happiness lasted exactly seven minutes.
Back in the kitchen, Stella started washing up. Then I heard her say, loudly, “Oh my God!”
“What’s the matter, I say?”
She walks towards me carrying the part of the juicer that collects the juice, and I see it.
A thick layer of black gunk lurks under the surface. Hidden. Waiting. Possibly alive.
I stared at it, speechless. Then I said what any self-respecting adult woman would say:
“Oh my God. We just licked a wall.”
Now came the hard part: confessing to Stella.
“Hey, Stella,” I began. “Remember that podcast I told you about before we left? The one about probiotics?”
She looked at me sideways. “Maybe. Why?”
“They said if you don’t have any probiotics with you, you can always just… lick a wall.”
She blinked. “Gross. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” I said, “we just did.”
She stared at me. “What the hell are you talking about, Lucille?”
“Look at the gunk in the juicer.”
Let’s just say her reaction was colorful. But hey…at least she didn’t blame me.
We stared at the juicer. We waited an hour to see if we’d drop dead.
Spoiler: we didn’t.
So what’s the moral here?
Always check the kitchen gear before using it.
Bring probiotics if you’re feeling fancy.
And when in doubt, lick the wall…but maybe only metaphorically
Oh, and one last thing:
That gunk?
It turned out to be old, dried orange pulp.
We’re still not okay.
XXOO
Lucille LaPlante
P.S.
No juicers were harmed in the making of this story. We did, however, banish it to the darkest corner of the kitchen and glare at it like it owed us rent. Stella has since declared that all future juice must be hand-squeezed or come from a reputable source, preferably one with a health inspection grade posted in the window.
And for the record: I do not, under any circumstances, plan to lick a wall for probiotics ever again. That ship has sailed. Straight into the Sea of Nope