Morning ReadSeven Names and One Number on the Back of a Los Angeles Jar: Three Grams for the Whole Blend, Sweetener Included, Fourteen Teaspoons to the Jar, and What Each Plant Weighed in the Trial That Tested It on Its Own
Brain Dust is a thirty-eight-dollar amber jar of dried plant extracts from Moon Juice of Los Angeles, sold to be stirred into the morning coffee, whose label lists six plants and a leaf sweetener, prints one figure for all seven together, and prints no amount for any of them. I read the label the slow way, read the best trial of each plant at the dose it actually used, read the reviews and counted who was paid to write them, measured how long the jar lasts, and read a return policy that gives you forty-five days from the day it arrives.
This is a paid advertisement. Sponsored by Moon Juice Inc.
Gerald Oakes is the pen name of this desk.
The customers quoted on this page are real; their reviews are public on the seller's product page and were read there on September 11, 2026, and three of the six were written by people who received a store reward for writing them, which is marked beside each.
I haven't met them and know nothing about them beyond what they wrote.
The small photos beside their reviews are illustrations, not the reviewers.
Everything about the jar, from the seven names on the panel to the forty-five-day return window, comes from the seller's own label and pages, read the same day.
I take my coffee black, at the same table, at the same hour, and I've been asked more than once what I'd think of stirring something into it.
This month the something was a small amber jar with a black lid, a mushroom drawn on the front, and the words Brain Dust.
It came from a Los Angeles company that sells powders in jars, most of them to women in their thirties, and its jar says "Adaptogens for Focus" with the asterisk every supplement carries.
I turned it over, and the back of the jar is the whole story of this page.
Seven names, one number.
The panel lists six plants and a sweetener in one line, calls the line a proprietary blend, and prints a single figure beside it: 3 grams.
Not one of the seven has a number of its own.
One teaspoon a day, stirred into coffee, tea or milk, by the label. Every figure on this page is for that teaspoon.
Here's what the jar is.
Brain Dust, from Moon Juice, a Los Angeles company with a street address in its terms, an email that answers, and no telephone anywhere on its site.
A squat amber glass jar holding 1.5 ounces, which is 42.5 grams of tan powder.
At a level teaspoon a day, the seller says that's fourteen servings, and I counted fourteen and a bit.
The panel, in the seller's order: ten calories, two grams of carbohydrate, one of fiber, no sugar, and then the blend.
Lion's mane extract, maca root, astragalus root, rhodiola root, ashwagandha root and leaf, ginkgo leaf, and stevia leaf, three grams for the lot.
I did what I always do at this table.
I read the label before I read the listing.
I read the best trial of each plant, at the dose and for the weeks it actually ran, and I put that dose next to a blend that weighs three grams in total.
I read the hundred most recent reviews and the small mark the review system puts beside the ones the store rewarded.
I measured the jar against the calendar.
And I read the return page, which is fairer than most, and the shipping page, which charges for a single jar.
What I found is a label that names good plants and weighs none of them, a mushroom whose one trial in people my age used more than this whole jar's serving, a ginkgo whose largest trial found nothing, four roots with trials in people half my age or none at all, a two-week jar sold on a monthly plan, and a return window that starts on the day the box arrives.
One more thing before the first pour, because most of you got here from one of our own advertisements.
Those ads talk about a boxed cereal, three foods, three drinks, and three words or phrases a man is supposed to be able to say.
None of that is in the jar, and I won't pretend it is.
It's on this page, in its place: the cereal, the drinks and the word test are the sixth pour, and the honest version of every headline we run is in the guide linked at the foot.
First pour · The jarAn Amber Jar, a Level Teaspoon, and a Panel That Prints One Figure for Seven Things
This is what's on the table.
An amber glass jar the size of a spice jar, with a black screw lid, a cream label, a line drawing of a mushroom, and the words Brain Dust, "Adaptogens for Focus," herbal supplement, and 1.5 ounces.
The side says vegan, gluten-free, non-GMO and caffeine-free, and I checked the last one twice, because it matters at this table.
The back is the panel, and I'll read it to you in the seller's order, per teaspoon:
Calories, 10.
Total carbohydrate, 2 grams; dietary fiber, 1 gram; total sugars, 0.
Then one line: Proprietary Blend, Brain Dust, 3 grams.
Under it, in smaller type: organic lion's mane mushroom extract, organic maca root extract, organic astragalus root extract, rhodiola root extract, organic ashwagandha root and leaf extract, ginkgo leaf extract, organic stevia leaf extract.
That's the whole panel.
There's no "other ingredients" line, because the sweetener is inside the blend, and there's no amount beside any name.
The rule for blends like this is that the names go in order of weight, heaviest first.
So lion's mane is the biggest share and stevia the smallest, and that's every fact about proportion the jar gives you.
The directions: blend one teaspoon per serving; the seller says it's malty and bitter and goes with coffee, tea, chocolate or milk.
One teaspoon, seven names, one number, and a mushroom that gets the next pour on its own.
Second pour · The numberWhat Three Grams Means When Seven Things Share It
Before any plant, the arithmetic, because the arithmetic is the honest part.
Three grams is a level teaspoon of powder, and it's the total for six extracts and a sweetener together.
If the seven were split evenly, each would be about 430 milligrams, and they aren't split evenly, because the label puts them in order of weight.
So the first name on the list weighs more than 430 milligrams and the last weighs less, and nobody outside the company knows the figures.
A blend with one number is a blend you can't compare to any trial, and every trial on this page has a number.
The trials weigh each plant. The jar weighs the pile.
I want to be fair about why companies print labels this way.
A proprietary blend keeps a recipe from being copied, and the law allows it as long as the total is printed and the names run heaviest to lightest.
But a man deciding whether a teaspoon of something is worth thirty-eight dollars a fortnight is owed the same thing the trial volunteers got, which is a dose.
This jar doesn't give him one, and I'll say so at every pour where it matters, which is all of them.
Seven ingredients, one figure of three grams for the lot, and no way to put any single plant beside the trial that tested it. That's the shape of the label, and the shape of everything that follows.
Third pour · The mushroomLion's Mane, the Biggest Share of the Blend, and the Trial That Gave 3.2 Grams of It Alone
The first name on the list, and the reason for the drawing on the front.
Lion's mane is a white, shaggy mushroom that grows on hardwood trees and is cooked in Asian kitchens the way we'd cook a steak.
Its one placebo-controlled trial in people my age is small and often quoted.
Thirty-one healthy adults over 50 took 3.2 grams a day of a lion's mane preparation, or a placebo, for twelve weeks, and the mushroom group scored higher on a standard mental-status test; the scores fell back after they stopped. [1]
A second trial gave a single 1.8-gram dose to 41 adults aged 18 to 45 and reported faster work on one attention task an hour later. [2]
Now put the jar beside that.
The whole blend weighs 3 grams, and lion's mane is one of seven things in it, so the mushroom in a teaspoon is less than 3 grams and probably a good deal less.
The trial gave 3.2 grams of it a day, on its own, for twelve weeks.
Even if the entire teaspoon were lion's mane, you'd still be a little short of the trial's dose, and the entire teaspoon isn't.
It's fair to say the jar holds an extract rather than the whole mushroom, and an extract is more concentrated than the thing it came from.
It's also fair to say the label doesn't print the concentration, so I can't do the multiplication for you, and neither can the seller's page.
One small twelve-week trial in adults over 50, at 3.2 grams a day of lion's mane alone, and a teaspoon in which lion's mane is the largest of seven unweighed parts. The plant is real, the trial is real, and the dose in the jar is a question the label declines to answer.
Fourth pour · The roots and the leafMaca, Astragalus, Rhodiola, Ashwagandha, Ginkgo and Stevia, Each Beside Its Best Trial
Six more names, in the seller's order, and the honest sentence about each.
Maca is a root vegetable from the Peruvian Andes, eaten there as food, and the label says only that it's "traditionally used."
I looked for a controlled trial of maca on memory or attention in adults my age and didn't find one, so the honest sentence is that there's tradition, and no trial I can point you to.
Astragalus is a root used in Chinese broths and soups, and the label doesn't print which species.
The same sentence applies: a long history in the kitchen, and no trial of it on the thinking of healthy older men that I could put beside this jar.
Rhodiola is a root from cold, high places with a real trial behind it, and the trial is worth reading for who was in it.
Fifty-six healthy young physicians on night duty took a standardized rhodiola extract or a placebo, and the extract was associated with better scores on tests of tiredness-related mental work during the shift. [3]
That's a room full of people in their twenties and thirties, awake all night, and a standardized extract at a printed dose.
This jar names rhodiola, prints no species and no dose, and is sold to be drunk at breakfast by people who slept.
Ashwagandha is a root from India, and this jar uses the root and the leaf together, which is worth noting because the trials used the root.
In the longest one, 125 adults aged 20 to 55 who reported feeling under strain took 300 milligrams a day of a root extract for 90 days and scored better on some memory tests than the placebo group. [4]
A shorter one gave a single 225-milligram dose, and then 30 days of it, to 59 healthy adults with an average age of 23. [5]
Nobody in either room was over 55, and this jar's ashwagandha, root and leaf, has no figure beside it.
Ginkgo is the one plant here with a large trial in people older than me, and the trial is the reason I read labels the slow way.
In the Ginkgo Evaluation of Memory study, 3,069 adults aged 72 to 96 took 120 milligrams of a standardized ginkgo extract twice a day, or a placebo, for a median of six years, and the extract group did no better on memory or on the outcome the study was built to test. [6]
There's a smaller, kinder result: 93 healthy adults aged 55 to 79 took 120 milligrams a day for twelve weeks and did somewhat better on a longer-term memory task. [7]
The government's own summary says the evidence for ginkgo isn't conclusive for any purpose. [8]
And this jar's ginkgo has no figure, no standardization, and sits sixth of seven on a list ordered by weight.
A ginkgo dose you can't see, below a mushroom dose you can't see, in a jar that lasts two weeks.
Stevia is the sweetener, last on the list and inside the blend, and it's why the powder is bitter and sweet at once.
One four-star reviewer found it overwhelming; I found it noticeable in black coffee and lost in milk.
Two roots with no trial on the thinking of men my age, two roots with trials in people half my age at doses this label doesn't print, one leaf whose largest trial in older adults found nothing, and a sweetener. Six honest sentences, and none of them is the sentence on the front of the jar.
Fifth pour · The reviewsSeven Hundred Reviews, a Store Reward for Writing Them, and Who Was Actually in the Room
The seller's page shows 736 reviews with an average of 4.7 stars, and that number is doing more work than it looks.
I read the hundred most recent, and the review system marks 62 of them as written by customers who received a store reward for writing, which the seller runs as a points program.
That isn't a scandal; the store discloses it in the system, and a reward for a review is a common thing.
It does mean that "4.7 stars" is mostly a rewarded average, and I've marked the three rewarded reviews I quote as paid beside their names, because a reward is a payment.
The reviewers also tell the system who they are, and that's the part I'd read twice.
Of the customers who gave an age, about one in eight was 55 or older, and of those who gave a sex, about six in seven were women.
The jar's typical buyer is a woman in her thirties, and this page is written for a man in his sixties; I'm not going to pretend the reviews were written by him.
I kept six, on purpose: two five-star, two four-star, one three-star, and the one-star, because a page that shows you only the top of the pile is selling, not reading.
I threw out the dozens that talk about worry, calmness, a cloudy head, a condition a clinician named, or the medicines they'd rather not take, because our rules don't allow that language and because none of it can be checked.
These are real customers, quoted word for word from the seller's product page; the small photos beside them are illustrations, not the reviewers.
It does seem to help me stay more focused. Just wish the taste was more pleasant.
Mixes perfectly into my coffee. The mix is similar to what I used to mix into my coffee, but I get to skip scooping from 3-5 different bags!
So far, no big differences between when I take it and don't. When I do take it I feel more energized but not a huge difference. I will keep trying it.
Too early to tell. I'm waiting for my second order to come. I subscribed to receive monthly but my issue is that there's not enough product to last a month, if I use it daily. I find that frustrating, since all three of the dust products are expensive.
I added the Brain Dust to my morning coffee, mixes well, tastes good but after a week, not seeing a difference. I'll continue using it until it's gone, if I see a difference, may order another.
The taste is awful
Read those the way I did.
Laura, who told the system she's between 55 and 64, is the one reviewer here in the age range this page is written for, and she says it seems to help and tastes worse than she'd like.
Elizabeth likes that one jar replaces several bags, which is the most honest reason I've read for buying a blend.
Annie and Leon are the two I'd trust most, because neither felt much and both said so while still finishing the jar.
Steven says the thing the label says, which is that fourteen teaspoons don't reach the end of a monthly plan.
Janice is one sentence long and disagrees with everyone about the taste.
Nobody I kept describes a trial result, and nobody could, because no trial has ever tested this jar.
Two who felt something, two who felt nothing, one who ran out early, and one who couldn't drink it: that's the honest shape of the reviews, and the plants' trials are a better reason to try the jar than any of them.
Sixth pour · The bowl and the cupThe Cereal, the Three Drinks, the Three Foods and the Word Test From Our Own Advertisements
Our advertisements have been saying, in one version or another, that a boxed cereal, three foods and three drinks have something to do with memory, and that there are three words or phrases a man ought to be able to say.
You're owed the honest version, in one pour, so here it is.
Start with the bowl.
A frosted, honey-coated or chocolate cereal is mostly refined starch and added sugar, and a serving can carry more sugar than a cookie.
No cereal "ages the brain faster than time."
Nobody has measured any such thing, and that phrase was written to be clicked.
What the studies do say is duller, and worth more.
In the Framingham Heart Study, adults who drank more sugary beverages scored lower on tests of memory, and daily fruit juice went the same way. [9]
In a Brazilian study of 10,775 adults followed for eight years, the ones who ate the most ultra-processed food, and the sweet cereal shelf is part of that, lost ground on tests of thinking about a quarter faster than the ones who ate the least. [10]
Both are associations across a population, not a sentence on your bowl.
And a quarter faster than slow is still slow.
The same Framingham families, in a different analysis, scored better on memory tests when their diets carried more choline, [11] which is eggs, milk, meat and beans, and none of which is in a teaspoon of powder.
The three drinks.
The "evening drink" in our advertisement is alcohol, and it's the one with the strongest case behind it: in 550 British civil servants followed for thirty years, the more a person drank, the faster their scores fell on a word-fluency test, and light drinkers had no edge over those who didn't drink at all. [12]
The second is sugar in a glass: soda, sweetened tea, the tall flavored coffee from the counter, which is a soft drink with coffee in it.
The Framingham finding above is about sugary drinks, and those are sugary drinks. [9]
The third, in one of our headlines, was coffee.
That was our worst headline.
Plain black coffee and plain tea aren't the drinks any of those studies were about.
Keep your coffee.
This jar has no caffeine, and the seller's whole idea is that you stir it into the cup you already drink; the coffee is doing the waking up, and the powder is along for the ride.
The three foods.
Processed meat, fried food, and the white-flour shelf: pastries, packaged cakes, white bread.
Our advertisement says "just stop eating these three."
The research says something slower.
In 960 older adults followed for nearly five years, the ones whose meals looked most like the MIND pattern, vegetables, berries, nuts, whole grains, beans, fish and olive oil, held their thinking scores better, and the gap between the top and bottom thirds worked out to about seven and a half years of age. [13]
That's a pattern over years, not a list of three, and it can't be sold in a headline.
Which is exactly why our headline doesn't say it.
Notice that mushrooms, the thing on the front of this jar, are on that shelf by the pound, with a number you can read on the scale.
Less sugar in the bowl and the glass.
Less alcohol in the evening.
Keep the coffee.
Eat more like the Mediterranean shelf and less like the vending machine.
Every one of those costs nothing, and none of them is in the jar.
The three words, or the three phrases.
There's no such list.
What our advertisement borrowed from is the short, scored mental-status test clinicians have given at the bedside since the 1970s: the date and the place, a few words to hold in mind and give back a minute later, a sum, naming, repeating one sentence, copying a drawing.
It's given in person and read against your age and your schooling by someone trained to do it, and a low score is a reason for a proper look, not a verdict.
Stumbling on a word when you're tired or being timed means nothing on its own.
Nothing begins at a word.
If the worry behind the click is real, that's fifteen minutes with your own clinician, and it costs you nothing from me.
And the advertisement about the things some men take every day.
That one sits closest to real research, and it's the one an advertisement has no business acting on.
Some kinds of daily medicine, including a few sold over the counter for allergies and for the night, are on the lists pharmacists check for people over 65.
Don't stop or change any of it because of an advertisement, ours included. Put everything you take in one bag, this jar included, take it to the pharmacist, and ask one question: is anything here a poor choice at my age?
Two of the plants in this jar are worth naming at that counter: ginkgo, if you take anything that affects clotting, and ashwagandha, if anyone is watching your liver or your thyroid.
The guide at the foot of this page has that section written out, with the studies.
So if you clicked on the cereal, here's where the cereal went: onto the table next to a jar that has nothing in common with it except the breakfast hour, where the real answer was always a plainer bowl and a black coffee.
Seventh pour · What it isn'tSix Things a Teaspoon of This Powder Won't Do
- It won't tell you how much of anything you're taking. Seven names, one figure of three grams, and no amount beside any name.
- It won't match the lion's mane trial. That trial gave 3.2 grams of the mushroom alone; the whole teaspoon here weighs 3 grams and the mushroom is one part of it.
- It won't do what the big ginkgo trial couldn't. Three thousand adults over 72 took 240 milligrams a day for six years and did no better, and this jar's ginkgo has no figure at all.
- It won't last the month. Fourteen level teaspoons is two weeks, and the monthly plan doesn't change the arithmetic.
- It won't act on any condition a clinician has named. It's an herbal supplement, and its own label carries the sentence that says so.
- It won't come with seven hundred independent opinions. Most of the recent reviews were rewarded by the store, and the store says so in the system.
If that list annoys you, I'd rather you were annoyed now than on day fifteen, when the jar is empty, the plan has charged you again, and you still don't know what a teaspoon weighed.
Eighth pour · The routineIf You Do Buy It: One Jar, One Level Teaspoon in the First Cup, the Receipt Kept, One Notebook
If you're going to spend the money, spend it as a test with a date on it.
- Buy one jar, not the subscription. Fourteen days is the test, and the return clock is forty-five days from the day it arrives.
- Keep the confirmation email in a folder. Returns go through the seller's online returns page, and it wants the order number.
- Stir one level teaspoon into the first coffee of the day, at the same time every day, and level it against the rim. A rounded spoon is a shorter jar and a different dose from yesterday's.
- Try it in milk before you judge the taste. It's malty and bitter with a sweet edge, and black coffee doesn't hide it.
- Ask the pharmacist about the ginkgo and the ashwagandha if you take anything daily. Two minutes at the counter.
- Write one line a day in a notebook. Not "sharper" or "foggier." What you were doing at ten, and how it went.
- On day fourteen, read the fourteen lines. If they read better than the two weeks before, you've found a habit; buy a second jar, not a plan, and remember the mushroom trial took twelve weeks and a bigger dose. If they don't, you've found out for thirty-eight dollars, and the return page tells you what happens next.
Look at that list the way I do.
Five of the seven things cost nothing.
The jar is the one you'll pay for, and the notebook is the one that will tell you the truth.
Ninth pour · Who it's forWho It Suits, and Who It Doesn't
This is worth a look if:
- You already stir something into your coffee and you'd rather it came from one jar than five bags, which is the best reason on the seller's page.
- You want a caffeine-free powder, and you've read that the coffee is still doing the waking up.
- You can hold two ideas at once: six plants with real names, and a label that weighs none of them.
- You'll run one jar as a fourteen-day test with a notebook, and keep the email for the forty-five-day return window.
- You've asked the pharmacist about the ginkgo and the ashwagandha, or you take nothing daily.
Give it a miss if:
- You want to know the dose of what you're taking. This label won't tell you.
- You want the lion's mane trial's dose. It was 3.2 grams of the mushroom alone; this teaspoon is 3 grams of seven things.
- You want something that acts on a condition a clinician has named. This is an herbal supplement.
- You'd like to phone the company. There's no number on its site; there's an email and a street address.
- You want a jar that lasts the month. This one lasts fourteen mornings.
Tenth pour · Where it's soldFrom a Los Angeles Company With a Street Address and No Telephone, Shipping Charged on One Jar, and Forty-Five Days From the Day It Arrives
The jar is sold by Moon Juice on its own website, and that's the only place this page links to.
The company is findable and mostly reachable.
Moon Juice Inc., with a street address in its terms, a second one in its privacy policy, an email that handles orders, returns and questions, and two shops of its own in Los Angeles.
There's no telephone number anywhere on the site, and I looked at every page that might carry one.
If you're a man who likes to call before he buys, that's a fact about this company to weigh, and it's on this page because the seller's isn't.
The current price is shown on its page, not here.
The day I read it, one jar cost thirty-eight dollars, which is about two dollars and seventy cents a teaspoon, and the page opens with the cheaper monthly plan already selected, so look at the buttons before you click.
Buy one jar.
Fourteen days is a test.
A monthly plan for something you haven't tried is a bet, and this jar doesn't reach the end of a month anyway.
Now the two things that matter more than the price.
First, shipping.
The seller ships at no charge on orders over sixty-five dollars, which means a single jar pays for shipping unless you add something, and the plan ships at no charge because it's a plan.
Second, the return window.
Read this twice, because it's better than most and has one thing it doesn't say.
The policy says the seller accepts returns within forty-five days of delivery, through an online returns page, and processes them within two or three business days of getting the jar back; for damaged or unsatisfactory product it asks you to email.
What it doesn't say is whether an opened jar counts or who pays the postage back, so ask by email before you post it, and keep the reply.
Read the panel, then read the plan.
Forty-five days from the day the box arrives, an order number, an online returns page, and one email to ask about the opened jar: that's the whole promise, and it's a fair one for a jar that's finished on day fourteen.
Keep the email, and buy the jar the window covers.
Every line on the panel is written out in the ingredient and advertising guide linked at the foot of this page: what each of the seven is, what the research does and doesn't show and at what dose, what to name at the pharmacy counter, and which of our own headlines the jar does and doesn't support.
Print it and take it with you if you take anything daily; it's written for that.
See the current price on the seller's site
One teaspoon of six dried extracts and a leaf sweetener stirred into coffee or tea, from a Los Angeles company that prints one 3-gram total for the whole blend and no amount per ingredient.
CHECK AVAILABILITYSold by Moon Juice of Los Angeles, a company with a street address and an email, and no telephone on its site · Shipping at no charge only on orders over sixty-five dollars: a single jar pays shipping · Returns accepted within 45 days of delivery through the seller's online returns page · The page opens with the monthly plan selected; one jar is fourteen teaspoons
QuestionsWhat Readers Ask Me Before Their First Jar
Questions readers ask
Is this medicine?
No. It's an herbal supplement, six dried plant extracts and a leaf sweetener in a jar, sold by a Los Angeles company.
The label carries the standard sentence every American supplement carries, the one that says the FDA hasn't evaluated its claims.
Does it have caffeine?
No. The jar says caffeine-free, and the panel agrees.
The seller's idea is that you stir it into the coffee you already drink, so whatever wakes you up is the coffee.
How much lion's mane is in a teaspoon?
The label doesn't say. It prints one figure, 3 grams, for all seven ingredients together, and lion's mane is the first name on the list, so it's the largest share.
The one trial in adults over 50 gave 3.2 grams of the mushroom alone, which is more than the whole teaspoon weighs.
Which of the seven actually has a trial in people my age?
Lion's mane has one small twelve-week trial in adults over 50, and ginkgo has one large six-year trial in adults over 72 that found nothing, plus a smaller twelve-week one with a modest result.
Rhodiola and ashwagandha have trials in people in their twenties and thirties. Maca and astragalus have none on memory that I could find.
Stevia is the sweetener.
Will it help my memory?
I can't tell you that, and you should be wary of any page that does. What I can tell you is that the plants have real names, that the label weighs none of them, and that nobody has tested this jar itself.
What the two customers I trust most describe is not noticing much after a week and finishing the jar anyway.
Can I take it alongside what I already take?
Ask your clinician or pharmacist and take the ingredient guide with you. Ginkgo is worth naming if you take anything that affects clotting, and ashwagandha if anyone is watching your liver or your thyroid.
Two minutes at the pharmacy counter answers it.
Are the reviews real?
They're public on the seller's page and most carry its buyer mark. About six in ten of the recent ones were written by customers who received a store reward for writing, which the system discloses and which I've marked beside the three I quote.
Most of the reviewers are women in their thirties; one of the six I quote is a woman between 55 and 64.
How long does a jar last?
Fourteen level teaspoons, which is two weeks at one a day. The seller's monthly plan delivers once a month, and one reviewer I quote ran out before the next jar came.
Does it ship to me?
Within the United States and to Canada. Shipping is at no charge only on orders over sixty-five dollars, so a single jar pays shipping.
What if it arrives and I don't like it?
Within forty-five days of delivery, start a return on the seller's online returns page with your order number, or email the company about a damaged or unsatisfactory jar. The policy doesn't say whether an opened jar qualifies or who pays the return postage, so ask by email first.
Once the jar is back, the seller says the refund is processed in two or three business days.
Your advertisement was about a cereal, or three foods, or three drinks. Where is that on this page?
In the sixth pour, in full, with the studies. The short version: less sugar in the bowl and the glass, less alcohol in the evening, keep your plain coffee, and eat more like the Mediterranean shelf, mushrooms included.
None of it is in the jar, and the ingredient and advertising guide at the foot goes through every headline we run and says which ones overstate.
Your advertisement said something about three phrases, or spelling three words. Is there a test I can take?
Not on a screen. The words and phrases come from the short mental-status test clinicians give in person, and it's read against your age and schooling by someone trained to do it.
Nothing begins at a word. If the worry behind the click is real, ask your clinician for the proper test.
It's fifteen minutes.
The short versionEverything Above, in Sixty Seconds
- An amber jar of powder from Moon Juice of Los Angeles: lion's mane, maca, astragalus, rhodiola, ashwagandha root and leaf, ginkgo and stevia, one figure of 3 grams for all seven, no amount per plant, no caffeine, fourteen level teaspoons to the jar, and no telephone on the seller's site.
- Lion's mane: one small twelve-week trial in adults over 50 at 3.2 grams of the mushroom alone, [1] more than the whole teaspoon weighs. Ginkgo: the six-year trial in 3,069 adults over 72 found nothing at 240 milligrams, [6] and this jar prints no dose.
- Rhodiola and ashwagandha: trials in people in their twenties and thirties at printed doses; [3] [4] maca and astragalus: tradition, and no trial on memory I could find. Stevia: the sweetener.
- Seven hundred reviews, most of the recent ones rewarded by the store and most written by women in their thirties; six quoted, three marked as paid, one from a woman between 55 and 64.
- Shipping charged on one jar; returns within 45 days of delivery through an online page, with one question about opened jars to ask by email first.
- The cereal, three drinks, three foods and the word test from our own advertisements, in the sixth pour: less sugar, less alcohol, keep the coffee, more like the Mediterranean shelf, and no test on a screen. None of it is in the jar.
- The honest use: one jar, one level teaspoon in the first cup for fourteen days, milk if the taste bothers you, the pharmacist's two minutes, the email in a folder, and a notebook.
The last lineWhat One Number Is Actually Worth
Here's the whole thing in one breath.
Six plants with real names and real trials, most of them in people half my age, and one with a big trial in people older than me that came out even.
A label that puts all six and a sweetener under one number, so that none of those trials can be laid beside the jar.
A jar that's finished in fourteen mornings, a plan that charges by the month, a review page mostly written for a reward, and a company you can email but not call.
And a return window of forty-five days that starts when the box arrives.
If you're a man who wants one jar instead of five bags, who has read that the coffee is doing the waking up, and who'll run fourteen days with a notebook and the email in a folder, that's worth one jar.
Not because of the reviews.
Because you'll know exactly what one number is worth, and exactly what it doesn't tell you.
Buy one jar, stir one level teaspoon into the first cup for fourteen days, try it in milk, ask the pharmacist about the ginkgo and the ashwagandha, keep the email, and write one line a day. The notebook is a better judge than I am, and the mushroom's trial took twelve weeks and a bigger dose to be sure.
Check the current price and availability
One teaspoon of six dried extracts and a leaf sweetener stirred into coffee or tea, from a Los Angeles company that prints one 3-gram total for the whole blend and no amount per ingredient.
CHECK AVAILABILITYSold by Moon Juice of Los Angeles, a company with a street address and an email, and no telephone on its site · Shipping at no charge only on orders over sixty-five dollars: a single jar pays shipping · Returns accepted within 45 days of delivery through the seller's online returns page · The page opens with the monthly plan selected; one jar is fourteen teaspoons
P.S. If you take one thing from this page, take the one number.
Three grams, for seven things, with no figure beside any of them.
Everything the trials know about these plants, they know by the milligram, and the jar doesn't speak that language.
P.P.S. If the afternoon fog has been with you for a year, and it's there before the coffee too, talk to your own clinician before you buy anything.
A teaspoon in the first cup is a small habit.
It was never going to answer a question a clinician answers in fifteen minutes and a blood test.
P.P.P.S. And if you do order it, keep the notebook, and keep the email.
When the jar is empty, you'll have fourteen lines about your own mornings and a month left on the return window, and both are worth more than the jar, whichever way the lines turn out.