Skip to main content

Blood Orange Smoothie Recipe

There's no shame in having an addiction to blood oranges. They're unique, pretty and taste so good. But when Alex nonchalantly (and yet filed playful determination) reminds me of the army of fruit taking over our refrigerator, I realize it's probably time to get creative with the citrus. So I did a little Googling and after a little bit became a lot, I decided to head over to Martha Stewart's because she might have a recipe or two. As it turns out, she had thirteen. Overwhelmed with options, I guess those delicious thirteen will save for another day because in the process of food searching, I started craving our (simple) homemade smoothie recipe instead. Go figure. 

There are no rules and a lot of flexibility in this recipe. If you prefer a tangier smoothie flavor, toss in another slice of lemon. If you have a sweet tooth, try one of these options... extra strawberries, 2 tbps of honey or even a tbsp of raw sugar. Make sure to wash all fruit prior to blending. 

1 cup ice 
3 small strawberries, hulled 
2 thin slices of lemon, remove seeds 
Juice from 3 medium blood oranges
1 small banana 
1 pinch of cinnamon

Toss contents into your blender and mix together with complete enthusiasm. Garnish if desired and enjoy!

Comments

Rick Forrestal said…
I love smoothies . . . starts my day every morning.
I shall definitely try this recipe.
So delicious, so beautiful.
Allison said…
This is absolutely gorgeous - I'm in love with blood orange anything, and smoothies, so why not combine the two?!
Your photos are stunning, love. You are so talented!
Dani said…
I LOVE blood oranges. I am literally sitting here eating blood orange froyo as I type this. Actually it's making the keyboard sticky. But it's just SO GOOD! I have to try this smoothie recipe :)

<3 dani
www.shopdisowned.com
http://blog.shopdisowned.com
Rick, Allison & Dani you guys are freakin AWESOME... thank you so much for visiting and leaving me such great comments!!!

Popular posts from this blog

Tiny Dancer

Ode to pictures galore... we are NOT camera virgins. As the weekend swiftly dwindles away following a saga of dinner parties, Christmas tree mishaps (ornament wars), and that old familiar work hard, play harder mantra… my narcissistic denim tendencies beckoned like the call of the wild. In the very nearly retirement section of my closet they loitered, brooding in uncharacteristic glamour. But with a downcast feeling that pulls you from reverie… bluntly, I knew nothing else compared to the resurgence of my second-skin blue jean baby . And about a week (or more) ago, I was pleasantly taken aback when the lovely Carrie over at Bare Style sent an e-mail and subsequently mailed over a bundle of (unexpected) amazing goodies from her store Bare Accessories . Launching a slightly embarrassing (I won’t lie) celebratory dance, it took all of a minute for the clutch, bangle, and AA leggings to baptize themselves among the legion. Obviously fated to join the ranks of my closet, I can’t wait to tak...

Running with Tinsel

Yes, we're merrymakers in masks and sparkly frocks... Thoughts of Christmas scribble the page like a creative resurrection, but with all this metaphoric graffiti spattering the paper, I still found time to bathe in that ever-prevailing yuletide euphoria. Cookie-cutter homes stood vanguard, bejeweled with twinkling lights and shimmering snowmen… obviously Saint Nick’s navigational route to every fireside in suburbia. And while the December wind and holiday spirit seemed to blow past us, through us, and all around, we hoisted the anchor of expectancy. Celebrating the entrance of yet another year, the artificial Christmas tree now appears a depressing carcass of orphaned tinsel and prehistoric ornaments. But my mind marvels a series of Machiavellian tactics, as contractual obligations of our disheveled shopping bags lends reminder to the rest of the afternoon’s binge retail-activity. This is of course, a fleeting sterilization for those painstaking holiday blue periods. ...

The Writing Wall

 Affronted by a (practically) nonexistent warning sign, the weather-beaten plastic dangling idly from a nearby telephone pole, clearly stated, Private Property . Even though our previous attempt at this location resulted in a prying patrol car… the graffiti mural, a derelict carcass of a once prominent amusement park, was obviously too wicked to pass blindly. Sprinting around with certain schoolgirl giddiness, the ridiculous amount of camerawhoring was starting to feel like some new Olympic sport. But before finally fleeing the scene, we noticed the black and red letters smeared across the far right side of the building that perhaps claimed an excuse to previous visitors. ' The Devil Made Me Do It' . Disturbing to small degrees, it did seem outwardly apropos to our deviant trespassing acquisition… our forbidden spray paint entertainment. (Vintage sequin butterfly shirt, Betsey Johnson tights, F21 skirt & jacket, Bakers fringe boots)