Facing a longish drive home after a day in Alabama heat helping our son and daughter-in-law move into their new house, where does the imagination naturally leap?
You got it right first guess: the nearest frozen-something store.
Super-friendly clerks welcomed us with smiles into their spotless frozen yogurt shop and explained the procedure to us novices: choose a cup size, chose a flavor or two or three, then roam the range of toppings, everything from crumbled oreos and all else chocolate
with brownies waiting at the end of the line. The super-helpful clerk then offered the fact that the average filled small cup weighed in at around eight dollars.
I pulled my jaw back up. All this was a long way from my usual Piggly-Wiggly low-fat vanilla, $2.49 or so a box, and who cares if it’s a little freezer-burnt by the time I finish it off?
I can personally recommend the blackberry cheesecake with a side of creme brulee. (Strawberry cream cake–too sweet and with an after-taste; southern pecan–awesome, but not refreshing enough after the day we’d had.) James settled on green apple sorbet (I prefer my apples straight up), blackberry, and something dense and chocolatey.
Time to find the small cups and get started filling, but–we couldn’t find them. After a prolonged hunt, we decided that the tub-sized dishes in front of the swimming-pool-sized dishes must, by default, be the “small.”
Which is when I was ready to flee to McD’s, where a cup of plain vanilla something costs about a dollar and is just the right size (legitimately small) to refresh without spiking glucose levels sky- high.
Standing in front of the array of soft-swirl machines in my usual dither, I did the math. At forty-nine cents an ounce, an eight dollar “average person’s” small size is something like sixteen ounces of fro-yo and toppings.
That’s a heck of a lot of frozen yogurt.
Especially when you consider that every ice cream box I’ve ever read states that an actual serving is a half cup. That’s four ounces, if you’ve forgotten your second grade math text with its cute line drawings of cups, pints and quarts.
The shop’s “small” cups, by my calculation, would contain eight half cups. Eight times an actual serving? And even if, like most people, your home serving from a box is more like a cup than half that, that’s still four times what’s listed.
Then consider that most of us can’t resist 1) swirling their soft-serve above the cup or cone,
How many servings would that make? I shudder to imagine.
I guess it’s no news that we prefer instant delight to health, but it’s still startling to see the process made not just so easy, but almost inevitable.
Not to keep you in suspense: James and I startled the clerk by weighing in our cups at more than considerably below the average. Kind of super-below.
I have to admit, it tasted heavenly. I’ll certainly go back someday, though only if I’m feeling willpowerful– and have the image of that pitiful half-cup firmly in mind.