Monday, March 10, 2008

I can dream about you if I can't hold you tonight.

Let me tell you a tale of ice cream.

Here I am in Los Angeles on a vacation - or, rather, on a tour of all the restaurants that made me drool onto my protective bib while I lived here - and I've had two disparate encounters with everyone's favorite dessert food (and if it ISN'T your favorite dessert - well, then you're a fascist or something).

My first course of action upon getting to Los Angeles was to trundle over to the Glendale Galleria with The Ladies and Tom in order to do some power shopping. As Miss Crystal and Rachel were trying on various leotards and undergarments at Forever 21, Tom and I wandered up to the third floor food court so Tom could secure some comestibles from a place whose name I won't type here.

However, as we were sitting there and Tom was chomping down on the tendons and lipids of a former feathered friend, I looked behind him and reeled in horror at something nine thousand times worse than the charred flesh in a bun that was being consumed before me - a Cap'n Crunch milkshake.

First of all, Cap'n Crunch is THE most unpleasant breakfast cereal ever invented. It tastes like balls, it's got the texture of sandpaper, and it scrapes the living HELL out of the roof of your mouth.

"What, does it taste like blood?" Tom said as we both commented on the horrifying prospect of sucking that concoction down. Balls. Pure and simple. Balls.

And guess how many calories this blended misery contains? Take a guess. That's right - 740 calories. Carls Jr. lists the ingredients as "hand-scooped ice cream" (How else is it going to be scooped, shitheads?), milk, Cap'n Crunch cereal (!), and "whipped topping." Do we need to create a PowerPoint presentation to send to Carls Jr. to tell them just how many things are wrong with this milkshake?

  • Hand-scooped - that phrasing will impress people who are too stupid to tie their shoes, but no one else. HAND-SCOOPED? Big deal. If it were called "lemur-scooped" or "quadriplegic-scooped," you'd impress me.

  • Cap'n Crunch cereal mixed with ice cream. Ass vomit.

  • What the FUCK is "whipped topping"? Is it dairy? Is it Crisco? WHAT IS IT? Things with evasively generic names like "whipped topping" generally cause cancer.

  • Now, to quote my host, Miss Crystal - "Sugar is bullshit."

    After that horror, I forced everyone to go to the Vegan Barn up the street from my old house in Los Angeles. We love the Vegan Barn - also known as Greenleaves Vegan on Hillhurst. I had some wheat gluten and some more wheat gluten and then I topped that off with some motherfucking wheat gluten. Mmm-MMMM!

    Days passed and I hadn't found an opportunity to entertain to the REAL reason I had come out here, and so today I just said, "You know what? FUCK THIS." And I went to Cru, a raw food restaurant on Sunset in Silverlake.

    The first time I went to this restaurant, I ordered a "raw ice cream banana split." I wasn't expecting much; most raw foods taste nothing like their namesake items - they taste more like sprouts boiled in a dirty sock. When the banana split got to the table, I was amazed. It looked exactly like a regular banana split. It looked amazing. And then I took a bite.

    I sobbed uncontrollably over that dish of ice cream while I was eating it because I knew that eventually it was going to be gone. Quite simply, the most deee-licious thing I think I have EVER tasted since becoming a hippie pervert. (The other items on their menu were incredible as well, and if you're ever in Los Angeles I demand that you go to this restaurant. The ravioli will render you speechless.)

    I got there today as soon as it opened and demanded a banana split posthaste! The perky, adorable waitress trickled off to the kitchen, and I started making small talk with the couple next to me, who, it turns out, are traveling the country writing a book reviewing every single raw food restaurant in existence.

    I recommended the banana split. I said to them, I said, "This motherfucker will make you want to fuck, that's how good it is." They smiled and told me about various raw restaurants I should try in Orange County, and told me that Pure Food and Wine in New York would make me weepy too.

    I ordered two 1/2 pints of raw ice cream to bring home so my hosts could experience that shit themselves. (I'm hoping they don't care for it so I can eat it all.)

    So I got finally to experience good ice cream - to realize a recurring dream of the past eight months - after being assaulted by yet another putrescent example of why fast food chains are highly responsible for all of the children with chafing thighs and Michelin Man chins, and all I can tell you is this:

    Sugar is bullshit.

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