We have a friend who claims that the first time he slurped back fresh, unfucked-with juice, he hallucinated--lost his mind with vitamin goodness, we guess. Powerful, no? Fresh juice is one of the more tragically untapped healthful ingestibles out there. You can get all the pure good stuff at the Yabba Pot you need--a glass of liquefied-on-the-spot ginger, garlic, and kale should scrub out the veins just fine--but you'd be a criminal to walk out of the bright, colorful lower Charles Village institution without a taste of something solid. The menu is shifting; an order is typically composed of one main protein dish--a recent visit was a wonderful thick Moroccan stew full of some kind of better-than-chicken soy chucks--and a selection from close to a dozen rotating side dishes. (A spicy raw corn chili almost made us weep with joy.) We hear stories from people "resolving" to be vegan or vegetarian, like it's some kind of chore. They haven't been to the Yabba Pot.
