Toto, I don’t think we’re in Yogurtland anymore…

Today I was walking down the street in London when I spotted a place on the other side of the road called Snog. The name seemed vaguely familiar and no, not in the context of snogging as done in Harry Potter, but I had, for some reason, heard of the place before (I would later realize that someone told me to go there but read on for the juicy details). So I crossed the street (jaywalking is allowed in London–Take that LA!) and just from the sight of the cups-like bowls I knew what it was, the most divine creation one can ingest  (when confected correctly that is)–frozen yogurt.

I stood in front of Snog (http://www.ifancyasnog.com/) in a state of euphoria, the surrounding noises waned to a faint murmur, each cup of yogurt seemed to have a milky corona around it. They were beautiful, topped with decadent crumblings, each fro-yo cup perfectly brimming with sweet swirls, but then it hit me. Each cup was too perfect. As in they lacked the blemishes of fro-yo constructed by someone who erratically is trying to decide which to take more of, Chocolate Mint Cookie or Devil’s Food Cupcake Batter, and then, after making a decision, at the last minute, they change their mind and fro-yo spills out the side of bowl. No, these frozen yogurts were devoid of emotion, feeling, desire, in other words, they were constructed by people behind the counter (a la Pinkberry, Red Mango etc.). Despicable.

Amid my internal apocalypse, I heard a voice. Was it the Fro-yo Fairy coming to show these aimless souls the way? No, it was a woman standing outside the store handing out cards and repeating, “Get your card for a free sample!” She nudged me with one of her demonic cards. I thought to myself, nah, they are not giving cards out and trying to lure people into the store with a free sample size cup of fro-yo, as in the kind that is SUPPOSED TO BE FREE. So, I queued up (see I’ll be British in no time!) and when I got to the register I asked, “What do one of these cards get me?” (hoping that they would offer something more than a paltry sample cup). The (incredibly stylish and edgy) man disappeared into the back and emerged with….dum….dum…dumm….a sample cup of F****** TART YOGURT! I could not decide which was more egregious, the fact that they advertise free sample size cups of yogurt as something that you need a coupon for or that this man had gotten me tart flavored fro-yo.

Right after I stormed out of the shoppe, I poked my tongue into the overly-airy-too-gritty-insipid frozen yogurt (if you can call it that) and it quickly recoiled back in to my mouth. I was sure to accompany such a hideous reaction with an equally repellent face and a sound that was translatable to every language (UGHHEWWWW–See? Practicing sounds in the airport paid off!). Then I made a show of holding the (mostly full) cup of tart yogurt in front of me as if it were radioactive as I searched the streets for a garbage bin. However, this story does end on a sweet note, while looking for a garbage (there are a lot less than you would think) I came across a McDonalds and we all know (or should know) what that means, ICE CREAM (see exhibit A)! The cone was only 59 pence and absolutely delicious (if you are not already aware of MD’s greatest offering, consider yourself enlightened). So in sum, Yogurtland is still the preeminent fro-yo outlet (in the world?) and McDonalds ice cream can mend all problems.

Exhibit a:

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