Baskin Robbins V. Pinkberry

The temperature broke 90 degrees fahrenheit in Los Angeles today, leading my wife to offer my wilting children a frozen treat run after school. “Do you want Pinkberry?” she asked, proferring the preposterously popular frozen yogurt that’s proliferating through posher neighborhoods throughout the country (well, in New York and Los Angeles to be specific), it’s success seemingly predicated on a fresh fruit/low sugar/moderate fat yogurt formula that allows people to feel they’re taking the virtuous route toward pleasure of the dessert-like variety. Me? I’ll take the Italian gelato model in which a small scoop of an exquisite frozen concoction suffices. Satisfaction at first bite. My children apparently lean in that direction, too. Their answer was, reportedly, something along the lines of: No. Not Pinkberry. We want ice cream. My wife rightly obliged and took them to the Baskin Robbins a few doors down from Pinkberry (I swear the Baskin Robbins manager has seemed a bit glum ever since the Pinkberry opened). Throwing fruitarian virtue and reduced whatever to the side in favor of unctuosness of a higher order. Later in the day I asked 5.5 year old Vi why she preferred ice cream (she went for vanilla chocolate chip. Desmond went for the unnatural dayglo appeals of chocolate mint. Like father like son). While any number of adults will hem and haw, weighing the trendiness, the quasi health benefits, the pseudo=hipster urbanite business model versus the dowdy old fashioned ice cream brand, Violet’s answer was honest and to the point: “Ice cream has more cream so it’s crearmier. It’s more sugary. It’s sweeter.” Precisely.
—Hugh