Tasty D-lite Bites the Dust

Tasty D-Lite sucks. Period. Those of you not from New York, or who've been here but haven't tried it, consider yourselves lucky to have been spared the misfortune of what for a New York transplant (like me) fond of Frozen Yogurt (like me) from Los Angeles, a city of several satisfactory and few exceptional Frozen Yogurt joints (like me) is an inevitable experience: trying the gross, chemicular, monopolizing, ridiculously over priced so-called derivative of dairy that is Tasty D-lite.

I might not have believed you if, before I moved, you'd told me that Frozen Yogurt would take on such a menial role in my indulgence-regime, but this has indeed come true for the sole reason that New York City, capital of the bests in all foods, hasn't a good option when it comes to Fro-yo. Not that I know of, at least, and I've researched this quite thoroughly. PinkBerry has been suggested,' it's an acquired taste,' they warn. I've only had it once, I didn't like it, and I can't understand why a treat is something you should have to acquire a taste for.

This said, I look forward to going home for many reason: to see my family, my friends, my dogs, and to ending my sometimes months-long fast from Frozen Yogurt. This long anticipated break-fast happens at one place only: Golden Spoon Frozen Yogurt, where the fro-yo is delicious the first time around, where it has no undertones of arsenic, and where the prices are neither comparable to, nor fluctuate as much as the price of Gold.

If I'm lucky, I share this reunion with fro-yo with a friend. If I'm luckiest I have Dew (Jessica, last name DeWert, thus 'Dew') as company. With Dew, the inside jokes about Golden Spoon abound. Suffice it to say that Golden Spoon was to Jessica and I, what Beer was to the average High Schooler.

This was a good day. Dew along side me, I walked into an all-too-familiar space: red tiles, black tables, a red floor mat with "Golden Spoon" in black letters across it, gold accents, and a large, red board with changeable tiles that announces the flavors of the day:

Dew, a local, knew exactly what she wanted:

I was overwhelmed. If you asked me my favorite G-Spoon flavor, I'd tell you peanut-butter cup, no question. But what others must I have? In a mini (the smallest size, the size you see above, totally satisfying but not too much) you can get three flavors and I was most certainly going to. With one decided, I had plenty of questions running through my head: Is this flavor new? Have I had it before? Do I feel like fruity flavors? A topping? If yes to the last one- what topping would go well with PBC and the other two flavors not yet decided? A sample was in order: I asked to try the raspberry.

I decided no to that. The allowed, no, courteous ordering time was about to elapse and while patient, the server began to look anxious when other customers entered the store. I decided against the Heath Bar that I was contemplating, and went for a trio that's tried and true: Peanut Butter Cup, Cookies & Cream, and Cake Batter:

These flavors are uncanny resemblances of the full fat, calorie packed, make-you-feel-sick-after things they describe. The texture? Silky, as always. The service? Friendly, as always. The price? $1.80, as always. The company? Gleeful, as always. And the spoon? Well, its Golden- always. I can't understand why this can't be recreated in New York!

Against Golden Spoon, there's just no contest.