I was going to give you a list of the “Top 10 Dumbest Decisions I’ve Made,” but as you know that’s just not possible (whether or not that’s because I’m so brilliant I never make dumb decisions or because there are so many of such egregious quality picking ten would be impossible, is anyone’s guess – I, like you, am leaning towards option two).
After giving it careful thought, I’ve determined that I’ve just made the same bad decisions over and over again for the past ten months. Every single time I’ve eaten just a little too much, it’s been a terrible decision. It hasn’t mattered what the food du jour was: ice cream, donuts or green tea and coconut cake, each instance has led me to swear off food for the following 24 hours, and then break that promise to myself as soon as I’ve woken up.
So that’s it. That’s the list of the “Top 10 Dumbest Decisions I’ve Made.” But you titled this post “Nostalgia,” how does that play in. Glad you asked.
As has been established, I have an ice cream “problem” (quotes because I don’t think there’s anything wrong, but Crash has begun referring to me as a junkie – I’m not sure that’s fair, but, whatever). Yesterday, Crash and I took a trip down Nostalgia Road and returned to the scene of some of my first ice cream related overindulgences.
We were in a place called Happy Valley, no really, that’s the name of the town, for an appointment. We’d been in the area a couple of weeks ago and discovered there was a Jersey Mike’s in a plaza not too far from our destination. Crash, who hates all things chain restaurant, spoke up about how much she loved the wraps from the place.
We made the impulse decision that we were going to get dinner at Jersey Mike’s. Time for some 100% honesty, I was shocked first because of Crash’s hatred of chain restaurants, but second because she said it was a sub shop and with her gluten “issues,” I’d assumed the last thing she’d want would be to tempt herself.
Well, we turned into the plaza and couldn’t find Jersey Mike’s. What I did see was a TCBY. Do you remember TCBY or do you have any idea what TCBY is? The Country’s Best Yogurt (yes, I realize this is yogurt, not ice cream). Well, we couldn’t find Jersey Mike’s, until we were on our way out. Turns out it was right next to the TCBY…I’m sorry, I was distracted.
You have to understand, TCBY was one of the “go tos” of my youth. It was ice cream. A cookie dough shiver with French vanilla was the only thing I can remember ordering (maybe I had a waffle cone every now and then to change things up). Always a large. Always amazing. Always gone before we made it home (it was maybe a 10-minute drive). It consisted of pieces of cookie dough ice cream swirled into French vanilla ice cream. Magic.
TCBY had disappeared from Maine at some point during high school, or the start of college. I think the last one I saw was at a rest stop on the Mass Pike. I can’t remember the last time I ate at one.
Before we get into the ice cream (yogurt) portion of this, because, it’s not ALL about me, let’s talk about Crash’s old stomping grounds, Jersey Mike’s.
I’d never been before. To be honest, I’d never heard of them. If I never go again, it’ll be okay with me. Crash described it as “kind of like Subway.” And it would have been if Subway only served cold-cut sandwiches, added wraps to the menu, was operated solely by pimple-faced high school kids and one very angry “adult,” and got rid of all those silly vegetables (no, this blog is not paid to endorse Subway, but it could be!).
When I requested a meatball sub, the kid waiting on me immediately called in to question whether or not I was sane. He told me it wasn’t there best, and advised me to try something with 18 salted meats. In an effort to protect the innocent, I had told him it was my first time ever visiting one of their locations. Whatever, young punk. I had a meatball sub.
Long story longer, the sandwich wasn’t bad, although, as we sat outside the shop eating, I watched the clientele coming and going from the shop. If I had to estimate, I’d say about zero of the people going in and out couldn’t have stood to lose a minimum of 30 pounds. I know, I’m a horrible person, but at that moment I decided to not eat at Jersey Mike’s ever again.
Finishing our sandwiches, we went next door to TCBY…finally. It wasn’t the same as I remembered. I remember the store being yellow. Just reflecting a lot of industrial yellow light. I think. This place felt more like a vanilla frosted cake with rainbow sprinkles had exploded all over it.
It was about now Crash admitted she was a first-timer. My jaw hit the floor. I cleaned myself up and we ordered. Crash, who hasn’t found an ice cream establishment she couldn’t sample a couple of flavors at proceeded to do her thing (this is a strength…I think). I knew what I was going for and I knew I was getting a large.
I do not remember the larges being quite so…large. Think if you super-sized a soda at McDonald’s and then added another size to it (suggests the guy who’s never once super-sized anything at McDonald’s). It was massive, and I’ll admit, there was some fear.
Mostly, I was afraid of being judged by Crash, who hates vanilla ice cream and looks at those who like it as having something wrong with their moral fiber. I can’t say I blame her.
Once I explained what the cookie dough shiver consisted, Crash was all over it (I was surprised she was getting anything). She did make a couple of Crash-centric adjustments. She went with chocolate ice cream and had some peanut butter swirled in.
Her big debate was what size to get. A large would have represented half her mass, so the debate was between a regular and a small. She asked if I would help finish hers. Being overconfident I said she should go with the regular.
I think the Earth stopped rotating for a full minute once we both had our goodies. Crash said she thought mine, with the vanilla ice cream, tasted better. An admission like that, from someone with such a well-document for vanilla? Well, I think it’s enough to stop the Earth’s spinning. Thing is, it was true.
We went back to our table and the usual happened. Crash took small, polite bites, while I consumed as though the continuation of the human race were in the balance. That would explain why after 10 minutes:
It was at this point, as we continued to watch Jersey Mike’s clientele continue to come and go that Crash commented on how their customers seemed to be of a certain size. I said “large.” She asked if she was a bad person. I confirmed, but admitted I’d been thinking it earlier. We then watched as an exceedingly slim family wandered into TCBY. How do things work out this way?
After making this observation, Crash determined she’d done all she could do with her shiver. Ice cream sweats hadn’t set in yet, but I felt terrible, so I jumped right in, trying to power through. I like to think I had a half of her shiver, but it might have been closer to a third. Each bite was painful, but I hated to throw it out. Finally, I put down my spoon.
Crash moved to get the car, I went to throw out our containers. I tossed mine in the receptacle, and was about to throw hers in, but I couldn’t do it. I had a spoonful, then another, then Crash looked back at me, “you look like a fat kid sneaking cake,” she called. I threw the container away.
The ice cream sweats started as soon as I was in the car. Crash swore off eating. I swore off ice cream, and so far this morning I seem to be doing okay.
