A deeply personal review of an electric blender

An emotional journey through speeds one to five (pulse function included).

This is a post I wrote that also went out as part of the

Soaring Twenties

newsletter. Thanks to Tom and the rest of the talented crew who run things and contribute to the supportive community. Hope you enjoy!

There are certain markers we look for in a professional that tell us they are capable and can be trusted. You want your surgeon, for example, to be walking into theatre wearing scrubs. You want the tradesperson renovating your bathroom to have a firm handshake. And you want your new electric blender to have a good, solid, heavy base. The heaviness assures you it's sturdy, stable and that there is some serious motor under the hood. 'You just worry about what you want blended', it tells you, 'and I'll take care of the rest'.

Had I physically picked up the RAF electric blender R.295 I would have immediately noticed a distinct lack of weight to its base. In fact, it was suspiciously light. The stall I was in, Elektromarket, situated on a market street in Tirana, Albania, also seemed suspiciously light in genuine brand names. Or anything that didn't seem like it had come from a knock-off factory somewhere. It was a business with actual Google reviews though, giving it a legitimacy that felt at odds with the somewhat makeshift-looking stall I was standing in.

My wife and I had just moved to Tirana for a few months and so the blender was only needed for a short term contract. For this reason I was far less picky than I would otherwise normally be. Even if I had decided to look up online reviews for a brand I’d never heard of, there would have been none to read anyway. This review you're reading right now will be the first one, and I think what you'll find is a careful dissection, much like the basic operation of the RAF electric blender itself.

By the time I had brought the blender home, my increasingly hollow feeling of dread was matched equally by the seemingly hollow blender base. Just like seeing a surgeon strolling into theatre wearing a hoodie, or a plumber with soft, supple palms, I was not imbued with confidence. However, the brief was a fairly simple one, in blender terms. I would be requiring a fruit smoothie several times a week that I could enjoy post-exercise, with the toughest element being some frozen banana. I decided to load it up immediately and put it through its paces.

As I worked my way up through the different speeds, of which there were 5, it was apparent that most of them succeeded only in gently moving the items around inside. Luckily, once I hit the maximum speed, I was able to find what I was looking for. Five different speeds had initially seemed useful, impressive even, until testing it out and realising that all of the slower speeds are definitely not needed and you could certainly achieve the same results by stirring the contents of the glass jug with a spoon.

In the only other reviews for an RAF blender I could find online (a different model to mine), there were two reviews both left by the same person and in one of them they had simply listed off the exact features of the blender without comment. One of which was 'transparent body for easy viewing'. Even though these were slightly different models, I was pleased that my RAF blender was also part of the transparent body range.

Eventually, and mercifully, after some stop-starts, the contents were sufficiently whizzed. It was more of a slow and steady approach to the task, but a completed task nonetheless. There were more hiccups though over the following weeks. On one occasion I poured out my smoothie only to discover two half lengths of banana sitting at the bottom of the jug, appearing like a couple of dead bodies that had been dredged up from the bottom of a lake. Sometimes it seemed to labor with the task, and then several days later would be whizzing away easily.

Every time I thought I had developed an understanding with my new electric blender, there required more adjustment. I wanted to understand how best to work together. How would you better thrive in your role?, I asked. And: Is there anything I could be doing differently to make your job more rewarding?  Communication was required and we maintained good open lines. I was not prepared to give up on my blender, I just needed to find the best way of working alongside one another; as a team. There were struggles and off-days early on but ultimately it paid off, and in the end I came to see the quiet power of the RAF blender.

It was around this point I eventually realised, that after everything - despite my initial concerns and worries and debates over whether to cut my losses - I wasn't able to give up on it because on some deep level, I felt a subtle connection.

I saw myself in the RAF electric blender. And not just my reflection in the transparent body.

I too have always liked to go at my own pace in life. To arrive at decisions slowly. I am capable of going up to a maximum speed of 5, which I do often, but I do my best work when I'm not rushed. When I can spin and churn through things gradually in my mind. Big life things, but also, frustratingly and to my detriment occasionally, with smaller, easier decisions that shouldn’t take me as long. I'm quietly determined, a gentle ponderer that often feels like the world is trying to rush me. Social media forcing me to share my immediate thoughts, to keep up, to contribute ever faster and all the while my motor is overheating. I have suffered from burnout before and the lesson I learnt from that experience was that a pulse function is meant for shorter bursts. Short intense periods of work, and then rest.

I had also projected on to my blender what I disliked about how the world operated. That we expect everyone to fit the mould of the Nutribullet. Shouting and noisy. Valuing the loudest voice. Rewarding the move-fast-and-break-things mode of operating. And ignoring the quiet, persistent work that is just as valuable. The moving slowly and thinking on things approach.

And, like the transparent jug, I also sometimes feel like my inner world isn't easily hidden from the outside world. Things spin and stir in my mind and I’m not always good at hiding the results of that.

Perhaps what drew me to the RAF blender that day in Elektromarket was a fellow kindred spirit. I'd felt on some subconscious level that purchasing this blender would be a statement against where society is going and has gotten wrong and every time I and others alike had been dismissed and underappreciated. It was a vote for those doing great work. For thoughtfulness over speed. For carefully crafted passion projects over quick-to-market minimum viable products. It was almost certainly for these reasons and nothing to do with the $5 discount the shop owner had agreed to give me.

It’s a strange realisation to have, to notice similarities between yourself (a human person) and an electric blender. Ultimately though, I hope the journey I went on helps you to decide whether the RAF electric blender would make a welcome addition to your household.

And so if any of this resonates with you, if you feel like you need to make a statement with your next blender purchase, or if you would get any value at all from an extra smaller coffee grinding component - then the RAF electric blender R.295 is for you.

Would highly recommend. But then again, I'm biased.

4.5 stars.