1625 Barton Springs Rd., 494-1767
7am-7pm daily
Lately, the general populace seems ready and willing to toss back just about
anything in the name of good health. The Juice Joint, serving liquid
fortification out of a carrot-topped stone cottage on Barton Springs Road, is
one of several drinking establishments that have sprouted up recently to quench
public thirst. Their selections range from smoothies (fusions of frozen fruit
and fruit juices — $3.50), to fruit and vegetable juices ($2.80 or $3.50). And
for a dollar (or less) more, you can a add health-enhancing extra such as
yogurt, spirulina, protein powder, ginger, or parsley.
I embarked on my juice journey with a pineapple-strawberry-banana smoothie.
Whereas some smoothies are thickened with yogurt, ice chips, or even a
frightening, non-dairy mystery ingredient, those at the Juice Joint achieve a
frosty consistency naturally: by blending a pineapple, orange or apple juice
base with your choice of two fresh, but recently frozen, fruits. A smoothie is
close enough akin to a milkshake to ensure an automatic appeal, but that isn’t
true of my next sample, wheat grass.
A shot of organic wheat grass ($1.50) from newly-germinated, freshly slain
plants contains up to 92 minerals, and many regard it as an elixir that will
cure anything from scarring to toothaches to graying hair. I love it, but a
word of warning to the uninitiated: It’s an acquired taste. The green foamy
potion is like a mouthful of lawn with a strong aftertaste of artificial
sweetener. But slamming a wheatgrass shooter is an event, and, unfortunately,
the Juice Joint serves all drinks, including my beloved wheatgrass shot, in
disposable cups: A lack of seats (and space) renders it a take-out-only spot
instead of a place to sip and visit.
While “carrot and spinach juice” may sound like a salad gone wrong, there is
nothing offensive enough about the sweet pulp of a raw carrot or dominating
enough about the mild flavor of fresh spinach to make this juice anything but
delicious. I ordered mine with parsley leaves blended in, which contributed a
definitive, yet welcome, bite. But oddly enough, when I inquired why one would
add parsley (a source of chlorophyll and a natural breath freshener, to boot)
to juice other than to alter the taste, the proprietor of the Juice Joint, Lynn
Carter, needed to refer to a nutrition book to answer this seemingly simple
question.
On to the apple celery beet juice — the light, sweet concoction was a
pleasure to drink until we added some spirulina ($1 per dose of this
blue-green, smelly algae; a detoxifying agent) to the mix, my drinking buddy
and I balked. Spirulina is evidently another acquired taste, but it’s one that
I won’t be bothering to acquire; if I ever want any, I’ll hide a capsule in
some apple sauce instead of swirling it around in my apple juice.
The star drink at the Juice Joint was a lusciously pulpy blend of hand-juiced
red and white organic grapefruit (on special that day, 16oz for $2.50). While
some of the produce at the Juice Joint is organic, going all-organic would seem
a judicious move — after all, we’re drinking to our health, right? This and
the promise of something to sink my teeth into, some solid food offering which
does not currently exist at the Juice Joint, might ensure a fairly regular
stop-off on my way to work. — Meredith Phillips
This article appears in January 17 • 1997 and January 17 • 1997 (Cover).