I’m a very picky frozen treat eater.
Frozen Yogurt, although highly popular in our city and with the rest of my family, is not my thing. I’ve tried multiple combinations of flavors and toppings and I just can’t make it work for me.
Also, I am highly against mixing fruit and milk.
Strawberry ice cream? Disgusting.
I can pass up almost any ice cream – unless it’s one particular brand of one specific type: Edy’s Rocky Road.
It has to be Edy’s because they use real marshmallows – none of that cementous marshmallow cream crap.
(That’s the kind of nasty product that those colon cleanse commercials are talking about. “Did you know you have five to twenty five pounds of waste stuck to the walls of your intestines? It’s like spackle or paste!” — especially if you consume marshmallow cream or a high quantity of Bit O’ Honeys.)
Back to Edy’s. They also use big chunks of almonds. No slivers for me – I want to bite into a hefty piece of nut.
But since Chris and I had a weight-loss contest last year, ice cream was one of the things that went by the wayside, so I don’t think I’ve actually had Edy’s Rocky Road since around May of 2011.
Until last Saturday night.
I wasn’t feeling well, and hadn’t been feeling well for a couple of weeks. I had gone to the doctor that morning (and from it had a most fantastically bloggable experience, except for the slight complication of putting my own dignity above blogging), and we were having company over for dinner that night.
Chris, being the gracious, servant-hearted husband that he is, volunteered to shop, cook, and completely prepare for dinner.
Which is pretty awesome, except for the bruising of my precious grocery budget – the man loves to buy just an extra thing or two here and there. This proclivity, added to his extra-large serving of the gift of mercy, absolutely guaranteed that he was going to drop some serious change in the hopes of restoring his wife’s mood and health.
One of those many get-well-soon items purchased was Edy’s Rocky Road Ice Cream.
From the moment I discovered it’s new home in my freezer, I anticipated it greatly.
We finished dinner and I began to serve dessert.
I gave our guest a serving. Then Ali. Then Noah. Then Chris. Then, finally, I dished out my own delectable serving of ice cream.
I savored that first bite, letting the perfectly chocolate ice cream slowly melt across my tongue.
I bit into a satisfyingly thick almond, and felt a marshmallow squish between my teeth.
Oh, I had missed this.
I continued to relish in my precious treat while conversing with our dinner guest, and wondered if I’d look piggish for getting a second helping. I was definitely feeling the miraculous healing powers of a well-made Rocky Road.
Ali also seemed to be enjoying her ice cream. I watched her as she ate a bite, got another bite, then looked down at her spoon, studying the contents of Mommy’s Favorite Treat.
Then looked up, cocked her head to the side, and said,
“Hey Mommy – remember that time that Noah had almonds in his poop?”
And there it was.
Yes, I can see why you would remember that right now.
Thank you for curing my need to have that second helping.