The Blender I Stopped Hiding in the Cupboard

I did not own a blender for most of my adult life. For twenty-six years I ran a school cafeteria, and at work I had a machine bolted to a steel counter that could turn a case of frozen strawberries into sherbet without one word of complaint. At home I had about eight feet of counter and a single rule: if a thing does not get used, it does not get to sit there. Blenders, in my experience, did not get used.

Gary drank a smoothie most mornings for years. Back when he was carrying mail he would pick one up along the route. Then he retired, and the drive-through went with the job, and he started asking whether we could make them here instead. I put him off for about a year. I know exactly what a blender looks like after six months of good intentions: the base shoved to the back of a cupboard, one cup missing, the blade lid somewhere in the sink.

In May I bought the Ninja Fit. It is a compact personal blender, 700 watts, with two 16 ounce cups, a pour spout, and a small recipe booklet in the box. I read listings for a solid week before I ordered it. What decided it for me was the size on paper: 4.3 inches deep, 4.3 inches wide, 13 inches tall, a little over three pounds. That is a footprint I can spare, and a weight I can lift out of a cupboard with one hand while the coffee is still brewing.

It lives in a cupboard, and I want to be clear that this is not the same as hiding it. Hiding is what happens when a machine comes out twice in a year and then never again. This one comes out four or five mornings a week and goes back on the shelf beside the mixing bowls, and both of us know where it is without looking.

How the Ninja works, since it is not obvious from a photograph: you fill a cup, screw on the blade lid, turn the cup over onto the base, and press down. Pressing down is the only control there is. Let go and it stops. No dial, no button, no setting to choose, nothing to remember at six in the morning. Cold ingredients only, which I will get to.

It comes out four or five mornings a week and goes back on the shelf. Hiding is what happens when a machine comes out twice and then never again.

What the Ninja Fit does well is the everyday job. Frozen berries, half a banana, a spoonful of plain yogurt, milk to the line. That fills one 16 ounce cup and comes out thick enough that Gary eats it with a spoon rather than drinking it, which is how he likes it. It handles ice fine if you use some sense about it. A handful at a time, not a tray dumped in and leaned on.

It also solved a smaller problem I had stopped expecting to solve. Dressings. I make a vinaigrette most weeks, and for years I did it in a jar and shook it, which works but never quite emulsifies. A full size blender is useless for two tablespoons of dressing because there is not enough volume for the blades to catch. This one does not care about volume. Same story with pesto: basil, pine nuts, parmesan, olive oil, in an amount that suits two people and a Sunday batch of pasta.

Washing up is three pieces: the cup, the blade lid, the spout cap. The Ninja cup is wide enough to get a sponge down to the bottom without a bottle brush, and the whole thing comes apart without a twist and a prayer the way some lids do. I rinse and wash by hand. The blade lid is the one part I handle slowly, and it does not go into a crowded sink where it can disappear under a roasting pan. Gary does the dishes most nights and he has not complained about it once, which for him is a review.

Where it annoys me. You have to stand there with your hand on it. There is no walking away to stir a pot while it runs, because the moment you lift your hand it stops. Different machine, different job, but worth knowing before you buy. It is also louder than its size suggests, though a smoothie takes about fifteen seconds, so the noise is over quickly. And because it is cold ingredients only, there is no soup, no hot sauce base, nothing that starts on the stove and finishes in the cup.

Six months in, the honest scorecard: it earned its shelf. Not because it is remarkable, but because the job is small and it fits the job. Two cups means Gary makes his and I make mine without a negotiation. The 1 year limited warranty has not been needed. Nothing has cracked, nothing has stained, and the base still sits flat on the counter instead of walking across it.

What I'd Tell You If We Were Sitting at My Kitchen Table

I would tell you to measure the cupboard before you measure the counter. Everyone thinks about how it looks sitting out. The real question is whether it fits on a shelf you can reach without a step stool, because the appliance you can reach in your slippers is the one that gets used. The Ninja Fit is 13 inches tall and it slides in under a shelf with room to spare, which is the whole reason mine is not in the pantry closet behind the Instant Pot.

And I would tell you plainly who should walk past it. If you are making smoothies for four people, this is the wrong machine, because you will be doing two rounds while everybody waits. If you want to puree hot soup or make a big batch of sauce, you want a jar blender and you want the volume. If you have a cabinet full of parts from a blender you already own and cannot find, buy the cups and lids you are missing before you buy another base. I bought this one because I had nothing at all, and I have been glad of it most mornings since May.