There is nothing new under the sun. Or is there?
For a while, I have seen my food writing - or at least a part of my food writing - moving in the direction of some sort of mysticism. Allow me to explain.
For many of us, the world is a mundane place. We wake up, we go to the bathroom, we eat, we go to school or work, we watch television, hang out with friends, get married, have kids, do this, do that, and eventually die. Sure, depending on our religious beliefs, some of us might think we can have access to some sort of spiritual world through prayer, or perhaps someday when we do we will permanently pass into a spiritual realm. And of course, our lives may be filled with moments of joy and significance. But still, there is unquestionably a feeling of normalcy when it comes to the everyday world, a feeling of plainness, a feeling that anything spiritual beyond the brute physical world is indeed beyond it.
Various mystical systems, however, seek to connect humans to the divine, or spiritual, or whatever, in a more immediate way. The mystical traditions of the monotheistic religions seek to connect humans, in our seemingly mundane world, with god. Eastern religions have their own mystical strands, although the meditation of Buddhism, for instance, strives to relieve the individual of personal suffering and foster enlightenment, and does not promote the idea of connecting to a spiritual dimension which is otherworldly in the monotheistic sense.
Running through these various traditions is the idea that the very world we inhabit is sacred and mystical and we are only blinded by this fact. Some schools of thought even believe that the entire universe, and our particular planet within it, are actually a part of or identical with god himself. This idea, that the physical universe we inhahbit is the body of god, is called pantheism. Pantheism need not be taken completely literally. It should also be mentioned that the god of the mystics can seem very different than the god known in popular religion. Sometimes, the god of the mystics or of pantheism is not personal, is not a "being" in the usual sense. For instance, in some forms of Jewish mysticism, the god in the bible who delivers the ten commandments is not really god, for god is too ineffable and transcendent to be able to lower him/itself enough to communicate with lowly humans. Some Jewish mystics, therefore, posited that the "god" who speaks to Moses is actually a "watered down" pseudo-god that has the ability to bridge the gap between the human world and the completely unknowable world of god in-himself.
So, how does this relate to my food writing that I was speaking of?
Well, briefly, if our everyday world can somehow be related to certain mystical realms, then food, being a very primary human experience, should probably have some sort of connection to these aforementioned mystical realms. For instance, perhaps various dishes or ethnic cuisines are symbols of something spiritual? Or considering that food is what sustains us, there might be something mystical about the power of food to keep us alive as thinking, feeling beings.
Possible fun ideas that could spin out of this:
-The idea that certain foods or dishes, prepared in a certain way, could lead to foundational spiritual events. For instance, I could write a story about a Jewish rabbi who believes that if he makes the perfect brisket, he will usher in the age of the messiah (this actually just reminded me of the Christian idea of eating the body and drinking the blood of christ).
- The idea that certain foods or dishes, prepared in a certain way, could lead to enlightenment or being able to ascertain certain metaphysical truths. For instance, in a previous blog post, I computed the possible combinations of concretes at Shake Shack, which I related to the quest for the perfect concrete. Although not explicitly stated, this did have mystical undertones.
- The idea that certain foods or dishes, prepared in a certain way, might be used for good or evil. For instance, I could write a story about some sort of religious civil war that is prosecuted using gastronomic warfare.
At the beginning of this entry, I quoted the bible and said there is nothing new under the sun. That was because today I came across a book entitled, "The Physiology of Taste: Or Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy." At first I was horrified, because, in my mind, I am the first human in history to explore the relationship between food and mysticism. The subtitle of this book, though, would lead me to believe that some stupid Frenchman wrote about it hundreds of years ago. A cursory reading of the book alleviated my fears and led me to believe that there's nothing really spiritual or metaphysical discussed, at least not explicitly or in great detail.
Which means, for now, I am an original genius.*
*However, I only scanned the book, so I could be wrong. ("Tell me what you eat and I shall tell you what you are”is
perhaps the most famous food quote in history, and it comes from this
book. Although not overt, this could be taken to have mystical
undertones).
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
The Chronicles of Shakes, Sundaes and Creams
Woe Is Me; Or, The Worst Fate to Befall a Lover of Creams
In the previous chronicle, I mentioned my confrontation with a Coffee Bean Brownie Concrete with Roasted Pineapple. I enjoyed it, but was perhaps mildly underwhelmed. I returned to the Shake Shack this evening, Friday, January 27, 2012, hoping to enjoy my go-to concrete: vanilla custard, caramel sauce, shortbread cookies, and whipped cream. Of all the varieties of concretes, and lord knows I haven't tried all 567,000 of them, this is my standard favorite.
Well, my day had already been one of the worst in my life, so why I expected things to go smoothly, I don't know. But when I got to the end of my list of ingredients that I wanted in my concrete, smiling like an idiot at the cashier, the following words were spoken, most likely the worst combination of words I have yet heard on this planet:
"WE HAVE DISCONTINUED SERVING WHIPPED CREAM."
I stood there stunned, not able to say anything.
"Also, we will no longer be serving sundaes."
As this is akin to something disastrous, like finding out Darth Vader is your father, I screamed "Noooo, that's impossible!"
But it is possible, and a quick look at the Shake Shack menu confirms that whipped cream is no more. Sundaes were never officially listed on the menu (or at least I think), but I'm assuming using prior logic, no whipped cream=no sundaes.
And now I close with some final words...
We are gathered here today to pay final respects to our honored dead. And yet it should be noted, in the midst of our sorrow, this death takes place in the shadow of new life, the sunrise of a new world; a world that our beloved whipped cream gave its life to protect and nourish. It did not feel this sacrifice a vain or empty one, and we will not debate its profound wisdom at these proceedings. Of my friend, I can only say this: of all the creams I have encountered in my travels, its was the most...creamy.
In the previous chronicle, I mentioned my confrontation with a Coffee Bean Brownie Concrete with Roasted Pineapple. I enjoyed it, but was perhaps mildly underwhelmed. I returned to the Shake Shack this evening, Friday, January 27, 2012, hoping to enjoy my go-to concrete: vanilla custard, caramel sauce, shortbread cookies, and whipped cream. Of all the varieties of concretes, and lord knows I haven't tried all 567,000 of them, this is my standard favorite.
Well, my day had already been one of the worst in my life, so why I expected things to go smoothly, I don't know. But when I got to the end of my list of ingredients that I wanted in my concrete, smiling like an idiot at the cashier, the following words were spoken, most likely the worst combination of words I have yet heard on this planet:
"WE HAVE DISCONTINUED SERVING WHIPPED CREAM."
I stood there stunned, not able to say anything.
"Also, we will no longer be serving sundaes."
As this is akin to something disastrous, like finding out Darth Vader is your father, I screamed "Noooo, that's impossible!"
But it is possible, and a quick look at the Shake Shack menu confirms that whipped cream is no more. Sundaes were never officially listed on the menu (or at least I think), but I'm assuming using prior logic, no whipped cream=no sundaes.
And now I close with some final words...
We are gathered here today to pay final respects to our honored dead. And yet it should be noted, in the midst of our sorrow, this death takes place in the shadow of new life, the sunrise of a new world; a world that our beloved whipped cream gave its life to protect and nourish. It did not feel this sacrifice a vain or empty one, and we will not debate its profound wisdom at these proceedings. Of my friend, I can only say this: of all the creams I have encountered in my travels, its was the most...creamy.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Dunkers
At a certain point in time, or probably not a certain point, but gradually, he felt there was a hole in himself. When he was young, 8 or so, he started asking people, usually grownups, "do you also have a hole inside yourself?" The adults would generally give a quizzical smile and say things like "what do you mean, little boy?" or "what kind of hole are you talking about?"
The nature of the hole, the boy couldn't say. It might have been a physical hole, although not the many natural and anatomical "holes" that arise in the human form or within the organs and orifices. If it was a physical hole, it perhaps was a hole that opened into a great nothingness. It might not have been physical, though, but more spiritual. This spiritual hole also likely opened into a great nothingness.
After a while, the boy realized that people would simply laugh when he asked if they had holes, and he started to keep the feeling to himself. Indeed, as he grew older, every day he felt more certain of the hole's existence and also felt more and more like he must be the only one with this hole. An alienating condition, to be sure.
And then, after many years, who knows why, he was one day shopping in Trader Joe's and saw a carton of Dunkers, an elongated cookie perfect for dunking into milk or perhaps even coffee or tea, and he knew - again, who knows why - that he had found the solution to his problem. He placed the Dunkers in his shopping cart and excitedly went home.
He dimmed the lights in his apartment - he was now in his 20's - lit some candles, and sat in a lotus-like position, the carton of Dunkers placed directly in front of him. He picked up a Dunker and studied its shape, its long and slightly bent shape, its density and wholesome appearance. The hole was about to be filled.
He slid the Dunker into his mouth and tried swallowing the entire thing, for chewing on it would break up its form and likely not fill the hole in the right way. As he swallowed, he began to choke. The choking intensified and he began to turn colors. He violently began to squirm on the floor, choking, trying to expunge the Dunker. He started to feel himself losing consciousness, and he attempted pushing his hand in his mouth to force the Dunker out.
But it could not be reached; the hole had been filled; he was dead.
The nature of the hole, the boy couldn't say. It might have been a physical hole, although not the many natural and anatomical "holes" that arise in the human form or within the organs and orifices. If it was a physical hole, it perhaps was a hole that opened into a great nothingness. It might not have been physical, though, but more spiritual. This spiritual hole also likely opened into a great nothingness.
After a while, the boy realized that people would simply laugh when he asked if they had holes, and he started to keep the feeling to himself. Indeed, as he grew older, every day he felt more certain of the hole's existence and also felt more and more like he must be the only one with this hole. An alienating condition, to be sure.
And then, after many years, who knows why, he was one day shopping in Trader Joe's and saw a carton of Dunkers, an elongated cookie perfect for dunking into milk or perhaps even coffee or tea, and he knew - again, who knows why - that he had found the solution to his problem. He placed the Dunkers in his shopping cart and excitedly went home.
He dimmed the lights in his apartment - he was now in his 20's - lit some candles, and sat in a lotus-like position, the carton of Dunkers placed directly in front of him. He picked up a Dunker and studied its shape, its long and slightly bent shape, its density and wholesome appearance. The hole was about to be filled.
He slid the Dunker into his mouth and tried swallowing the entire thing, for chewing on it would break up its form and likely not fill the hole in the right way. As he swallowed, he began to choke. The choking intensified and he began to turn colors. He violently began to squirm on the floor, choking, trying to expunge the Dunker. He started to feel himself losing consciousness, and he attempted pushing his hand in his mouth to force the Dunker out.
But it could not be reached; the hole had been filled; he was dead.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The Chronicles of Shakes, Sundaes and Creams
An Infinity of Creams.
This week, while toiling away at my utterly meaningless job, which I do to support my utterly meaningless life, I came across a post on SeriousEats concerning the featured fruit topping of the month at the Upper East Side Shake Shake: roasted pineapple.
First, let me digress and ponder the seasonal fruit toppings at Shake Shake. They are fabulous. This proclamation comes from a man who tends to steer away from fruit in his dessert (obvious exceptions involving pie). However, the matter at hand: this past fall I sampled the poached fig topping at Shake Shake, which, when added to a simple vanilla custard, was sublime. Upon hearing that the Upper East Side Shake Shake was now offering roasted pineapple, I realized greatness was possibly at hand.
The writer at Serious Eats recommended adding the aforementioned pineapple to the Coffee Bean Brownie Concrete, and who am I to throw aside such a recommendation?
Saturday, January 21, 2012. The City of New York receives its first real pounding of snow of the season. Mind you, it wasn't an epic pounding, but there was a nice amount of snow. I set out from West End Avenue and headed east, crossing Central Park in the mystical white snow, with another mystical white substance in my mind: vanilla custard from Shake Shake with the previously described components.
I arrive at my destination and order the Concrete. I take a first bite and immediately taste the tart pineapple complemented by the smooth whipped cream. I am a happy man. The roasted pineapple was easily the star of this Concrete, and sadly there was not enough of it. The brownies were good but I found they were too large - I would have preferred smaller chunks more evenly distributed. Still, not a bad treat at all.
Next time, I will probably get just vanilla custard and roasted pineapple. Or perhaps I will add some shortbread cookies for textural contrast. Or perhaps I will get one with vanilla custard, pineapple, hot fudge sauce and chocolate toffee. Or perhaps no pineapple at all - perhaps chocolate custard and whipped cream and nothing else. Or the flavor of the day, plus peanut butter sauce and marshmallow sauce. Or perhaps...
Indeed, all of this got me thinking about the possibilities that exist when it comes to the Creams at Shake Shack. To know which concrete is the best, would we not need to try all possible combinations of custards and toppings? Only then could we really know; only then could we have Shake Shack Cream Enlightenment. Realizing I was in a bit over my head, I decided to pay a visit to my old college math instructor, Professor Von Shmackelpop. Old Professor Shmackelpop lives in a tiny, rent-controlled apartment in Brighton Beach. He left City College years ago to devote himself full-time to the mathematical study of the Problem of Creams, and many say he has lost his mind.
When I knocked on his door and he finally let me in, I entered a lair filled with books and papers and mathematical equations scribbled on the walls. Indeed, other than his desk and chair, the only other piece of decoration or furniture was a picture of a mound of whipped cream, mounted on the wall directly across from the Professor's desk so he could always take a gander.
At first, Von Shmackelpop, dressed in his customary tweed suit, was reluctant to initiate me into the mysteries of the Cream. I persisted, and he finally took me on as a student. Roughly a few minutes later, I understood how I might compute the Shake Shack Cream Possibilites...
If we account only for the locations in Manhattan, there are a total of 16 unique toppings spread throughout the locations (each location has 11 toppings, and there is a lot of overlap, although all locations have at least one unique toppings, hence the 16 total). Also, in any given month, there are 7 flavors - one for each day - in addition to the always stalwart vanilla and chocolate.
So, there are 16 toppings available, and you can choose all 11, down to choosing 0. Using the formula n!/r!*(n-r)!) where n=total options and r=number of options chosen, we eventually arrive at a number we multiply by 9(the custard possibilities), and we arrive at the total number of Concrete Possibilites in Manhattan in a given month: 567,180.
Indeed, it's a staggering number. Even if these possibilites were frozen in time, it would take a long, healthy lifetime to try them all. Yet, all is in flux, we cannot step into the same river twice. The flavors of custard are always changing, sometimes there is a special topping only available for a short while, etc., etc. etc., ETC.!
My only hope is that given the infinity of universes which modern physics tell us may exist, throughout these universes I am trying different combinations. But yet, we may imagine that in some of these universes, there are different custard flavors and toppings, compounding the possibilities to degrees a human mind cannot even comprehend!
I begin to appreciate the Problem of Creams, and I understand why it has driven Professor Von Shmackelpop mad. Yet perhaps his approach is wrong. Perhaps we should not take a mathematical approach, as real as the math may be. Perhaps we should take a more mystical approach. Perhaps we need to develop methods of meditation which will allow us to access previous lives or our lives in other universes, so in a unified way we may experience the infinity of Shake Shake Concretes and hence be set free.
To be continued...
This week, while toiling away at my utterly meaningless job, which I do to support my utterly meaningless life, I came across a post on SeriousEats concerning the featured fruit topping of the month at the Upper East Side Shake Shake: roasted pineapple.
First, let me digress and ponder the seasonal fruit toppings at Shake Shake. They are fabulous. This proclamation comes from a man who tends to steer away from fruit in his dessert (obvious exceptions involving pie). However, the matter at hand: this past fall I sampled the poached fig topping at Shake Shake, which, when added to a simple vanilla custard, was sublime. Upon hearing that the Upper East Side Shake Shake was now offering roasted pineapple, I realized greatness was possibly at hand.
The writer at Serious Eats recommended adding the aforementioned pineapple to the Coffee Bean Brownie Concrete, and who am I to throw aside such a recommendation?
Saturday, January 21, 2012. The City of New York receives its first real pounding of snow of the season. Mind you, it wasn't an epic pounding, but there was a nice amount of snow. I set out from West End Avenue and headed east, crossing Central Park in the mystical white snow, with another mystical white substance in my mind: vanilla custard from Shake Shake with the previously described components.
I arrive at my destination and order the Concrete. I take a first bite and immediately taste the tart pineapple complemented by the smooth whipped cream. I am a happy man. The roasted pineapple was easily the star of this Concrete, and sadly there was not enough of it. The brownies were good but I found they were too large - I would have preferred smaller chunks more evenly distributed. Still, not a bad treat at all.
Next time, I will probably get just vanilla custard and roasted pineapple. Or perhaps I will add some shortbread cookies for textural contrast. Or perhaps I will get one with vanilla custard, pineapple, hot fudge sauce and chocolate toffee. Or perhaps no pineapple at all - perhaps chocolate custard and whipped cream and nothing else. Or the flavor of the day, plus peanut butter sauce and marshmallow sauce. Or perhaps...
Indeed, all of this got me thinking about the possibilities that exist when it comes to the Creams at Shake Shack. To know which concrete is the best, would we not need to try all possible combinations of custards and toppings? Only then could we really know; only then could we have Shake Shack Cream Enlightenment. Realizing I was in a bit over my head, I decided to pay a visit to my old college math instructor, Professor Von Shmackelpop. Old Professor Shmackelpop lives in a tiny, rent-controlled apartment in Brighton Beach. He left City College years ago to devote himself full-time to the mathematical study of the Problem of Creams, and many say he has lost his mind.
When I knocked on his door and he finally let me in, I entered a lair filled with books and papers and mathematical equations scribbled on the walls. Indeed, other than his desk and chair, the only other piece of decoration or furniture was a picture of a mound of whipped cream, mounted on the wall directly across from the Professor's desk so he could always take a gander.
At first, Von Shmackelpop, dressed in his customary tweed suit, was reluctant to initiate me into the mysteries of the Cream. I persisted, and he finally took me on as a student. Roughly a few minutes later, I understood how I might compute the Shake Shack Cream Possibilites...
If we account only for the locations in Manhattan, there are a total of 16 unique toppings spread throughout the locations (each location has 11 toppings, and there is a lot of overlap, although all locations have at least one unique toppings, hence the 16 total). Also, in any given month, there are 7 flavors - one for each day - in addition to the always stalwart vanilla and chocolate.
So, there are 16 toppings available, and you can choose all 11, down to choosing 0. Using the formula n!/r!*(n-r)!) where n=total options and r=number of options chosen, we eventually arrive at a number we multiply by 9(the custard possibilities), and we arrive at the total number of Concrete Possibilites in Manhattan in a given month: 567,180.
Indeed, it's a staggering number. Even if these possibilites were frozen in time, it would take a long, healthy lifetime to try them all. Yet, all is in flux, we cannot step into the same river twice. The flavors of custard are always changing, sometimes there is a special topping only available for a short while, etc., etc. etc., ETC.!
My only hope is that given the infinity of universes which modern physics tell us may exist, throughout these universes I am trying different combinations. But yet, we may imagine that in some of these universes, there are different custard flavors and toppings, compounding the possibilities to degrees a human mind cannot even comprehend!
I begin to appreciate the Problem of Creams, and I understand why it has driven Professor Von Shmackelpop mad. Yet perhaps his approach is wrong. Perhaps we should not take a mathematical approach, as real as the math may be. Perhaps we should take a more mystical approach. Perhaps we need to develop methods of meditation which will allow us to access previous lives or our lives in other universes, so in a unified way we may experience the infinity of Shake Shake Concretes and hence be set free.
To be continued...
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Annals of Fried Chicken
I've often bemoaned the state of fried chicken in New York. Granted, I am coming from a position of ignorance, in that I've really never had fried chicken anywhere else. Still, there is a lot of talk about "great" fried chicken right here in New York, and I've certainly been to some of the talked about places. In general, I find them fine but lacking. This has led to a quest - no, an obsession - to fill the void left by the idea of great fried chicken.
In a recent interview, Jeff Ozersky commented on fried chicken in the City:
"I'm also sick of mediocre fried chicken in New York, deep fried and served without any kind of gravy. Almost none of them are as good as KFC. If only KFC would use good chickens, the world would be a better place."
I recently went to Popeye's and said it was about as good as any of the "great" places I've been to in the city. Ozersky goes a step further by saying KFC is better than most, not just as good. This, of course, will require a trip to KFC very soon.
In some ways, Ozersky's comments may come as some kind of vindication, some kind of reassurance that it's not me, it's the fried chicken. Indeed much of it is mediocre! However, to say that fried chicken is mediocre, is to imply that there is fried chicken that is not mediocre but excellent, delicious, scrumptious, satisfying, the platonic ideal of fried chicken.
And so the obsession rages on, myself haunted by the Ghost of Fried Chicken, pushing forward to an inevitable doom.
In a recent interview, Jeff Ozersky commented on fried chicken in the City:
"I'm also sick of mediocre fried chicken in New York, deep fried and served without any kind of gravy. Almost none of them are as good as KFC. If only KFC would use good chickens, the world would be a better place."
I recently went to Popeye's and said it was about as good as any of the "great" places I've been to in the city. Ozersky goes a step further by saying KFC is better than most, not just as good. This, of course, will require a trip to KFC very soon.
In some ways, Ozersky's comments may come as some kind of vindication, some kind of reassurance that it's not me, it's the fried chicken. Indeed much of it is mediocre! However, to say that fried chicken is mediocre, is to imply that there is fried chicken that is not mediocre but excellent, delicious, scrumptious, satisfying, the platonic ideal of fried chicken.
And so the obsession rages on, myself haunted by the Ghost of Fried Chicken, pushing forward to an inevitable doom.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Chronicles of Shakes, Sundaes and Creams
Whenever it's a dark and stormy November in my soul, whenever I take to the streets and drive my fists through the faces of babies, I find it high time to get myself a Shake, Sundae or Cream. Yesterday, January 11 2012, was such a day. Luckily, I was close to the Madison Square Park Shake Shack, an oasis of the objects chronicled in these chronicles.
Now dear reader, before you continue on this journey with me, understand that just several days prior I had a confusing Cream experience (see prior Chronicle for more). One confounding Cream experience in a week is disorienting and difficult enough, but what was to follow was perhaps even more inexplicable.
I will transcribe what followed, to the best of my admittedly poor memory:
- I'll have a sundae, please!
- Oh I'm sorry, sir. We're out of Sundaes...
- Really? Darn! Well, do you have concretes?? (insert: Concretes are custard with various toppings mixed in).
- Yep!
- Oh, great! I'll have vanilla custard, shortbread cookies, caramel sauce, and whipped cream!
- Oh! We're out of whipped cream...
- Dammit! Well fine, without the whipped cream then...
I think I was really too stunned to ask any questions at that moment. At McDonald's, I had explicitly asked why they had snack-sized McFlurry's but not Mediums. However, this was too much - yet another cream quandary.
However, now as I sit in the comfort of my home, the fire blazing, on my favorite recliner wrapped in a warm blanket, I can ponder the situation. Oh, excuse me, the kettle is boiling, I'll be right back.
Ah yes, I'm back, now with a cup of tea. Anyhow, the simplest solution is usually the correct one. Facts:
-They didn't have sundaes
-They did have concretes, meaning they had the custard
-They didn't have whipped cream
Now, what does it mean to have a sundae or not have one? Let us naturally assume the following components: ice cream (or in this case, custard); hot fudge; whipped cream; peanuts. I will grant you, my good man - or woman, I guess - that quite a lot of variation can occur in the Art of the Sundae. Yet, given my sundae experiences at Shake Shack, these have been the components that Shake Shake defines as necessary for a sundae.
Then, my dear Watson, given what we know, and the laws of deduction, they didn't have Sundaes because they didn't have whipped cream! Elementary.
Now dear reader, before you continue on this journey with me, understand that just several days prior I had a confusing Cream experience (see prior Chronicle for more). One confounding Cream experience in a week is disorienting and difficult enough, but what was to follow was perhaps even more inexplicable.
I will transcribe what followed, to the best of my admittedly poor memory:
- I'll have a sundae, please!
- Oh I'm sorry, sir. We're out of Sundaes...
- Really? Darn! Well, do you have concretes?? (insert: Concretes are custard with various toppings mixed in).
- Yep!
- Oh, great! I'll have vanilla custard, shortbread cookies, caramel sauce, and whipped cream!
- Oh! We're out of whipped cream...
- Dammit! Well fine, without the whipped cream then...
I think I was really too stunned to ask any questions at that moment. At McDonald's, I had explicitly asked why they had snack-sized McFlurry's but not Mediums. However, this was too much - yet another cream quandary.
However, now as I sit in the comfort of my home, the fire blazing, on my favorite recliner wrapped in a warm blanket, I can ponder the situation. Oh, excuse me, the kettle is boiling, I'll be right back.
Ah yes, I'm back, now with a cup of tea. Anyhow, the simplest solution is usually the correct one. Facts:
-They didn't have sundaes
-They did have concretes, meaning they had the custard
-They didn't have whipped cream
Now, what does it mean to have a sundae or not have one? Let us naturally assume the following components: ice cream (or in this case, custard); hot fudge; whipped cream; peanuts. I will grant you, my good man - or woman, I guess - that quite a lot of variation can occur in the Art of the Sundae. Yet, given my sundae experiences at Shake Shack, these have been the components that Shake Shake defines as necessary for a sundae.
Then, my dear Watson, given what we know, and the laws of deduction, they didn't have Sundaes because they didn't have whipped cream! Elementary.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The Chronicles of Shakes, Sundaes & Creams
Sometimes McDonald's is a great pleasure. When it comes to its sweeter fare, they make a perfectly respectable shake. Their sundae is totally fine - far better sundaes are certainly to be had, yet the McDonald's sundae is cheap and accessible. Arguably the real star of the McDonald's sweets menu (unless you count buying a hot apple pie and mushing it up in ice cream) is the McFlurry, more specifically the Oreo McFlurry, a true "cookies and cream" classic.
The Oreo and M&M McFlurry's are always available. As of late, though, Old Ronald has been offering special flavors. A few months back there was a Rollo's McFlurry. Currently, there is a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup one. I went on Saturday to try this Reese's concoction, believing vanilla ice cream with chocolatey peanut butter to be one of god's finer creations.
I arrived at McDonalds, the Broadway and 104th Street location, at around 9:30pm. This McDonald's is likely one of the worst in the country - horribly run, always out of things, apathetic service, etc. I waited in line for quite some time, and finally placed my order: "A medium Reese's McFlurry, please." The answer surprised me: "We only have snack sized." I was a bit confused, and finally said: "I don't understand, if you have this McFlurry, why can I not have a medium?" The answer was too obvious for me to have guessed: "Because we're out of Medium or Large cups."
Anyhow, whatever, I got my snack sized treat. How was it? Disappointing. The Reese's were not properly blended into the cream, leaving only a sparse layer of rich chocolate peanut butter chunks on the top. This meant that a few bites of the ice cream were very good, but the rest was just plain old McDonald's ice cream, which isn't bad at all, mind you, but when it comes to a McFlurry I want more.
As this McDonald's location sucks, I will go to another store and try again. Report to follow.
The Oreo and M&M McFlurry's are always available. As of late, though, Old Ronald has been offering special flavors. A few months back there was a Rollo's McFlurry. Currently, there is a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup one. I went on Saturday to try this Reese's concoction, believing vanilla ice cream with chocolatey peanut butter to be one of god's finer creations.
I arrived at McDonalds, the Broadway and 104th Street location, at around 9:30pm. This McDonald's is likely one of the worst in the country - horribly run, always out of things, apathetic service, etc. I waited in line for quite some time, and finally placed my order: "A medium Reese's McFlurry, please." The answer surprised me: "We only have snack sized." I was a bit confused, and finally said: "I don't understand, if you have this McFlurry, why can I not have a medium?" The answer was too obvious for me to have guessed: "Because we're out of Medium or Large cups."
Anyhow, whatever, I got my snack sized treat. How was it? Disappointing. The Reese's were not properly blended into the cream, leaving only a sparse layer of rich chocolate peanut butter chunks on the top. This meant that a few bites of the ice cream were very good, but the rest was just plain old McDonald's ice cream, which isn't bad at all, mind you, but when it comes to a McFlurry I want more.
As this McDonald's location sucks, I will go to another store and try again. Report to follow.
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