Remember that little ditty from your childhood? Well, maybe not, if you’re under 60, but I remember it clearly. And some of my fondest early memories revolve around, or at least include, a huge double-dipper in a sugar cone . . . with sprinkles, please.

But this week I ran across a horrifying headline implying that America has fallen out of love with ice cream. EXCUSE ME??? What parallel universe are we living in, and how quickly can I get back to reality? As I read on, I saw that the author was focused only on regular, full-fat ice cream — not low- or non-fat, and not sherbet or frozen yogurt, which aren’t ice cream anyway. But still . . . this cannot be true. The article went on to cite U.S. Department of Agriculture statistics indicating that the average American’s annual consumption of regular ice cream has dropped from 18 pounds in 1986 to only 12 pounds in 2021.

Clearly, I was not included in that study.

I was a child of the 1940s and ‘50s. A favorite family treat was a simple thing in those days: a drive into the countryside, a stop at a farm to buy some fresh vegetables or pick a couple of quarts of blueberries, and finally a detour to our favorite ice cream stand for a cone. And later, in high school, no movie date or school dance was complete without an ice cream sundae afterwards, or the ultimate treat: a banana split, with three scoops, a whole banana bisected lengthwise, mashed pineapple and strawberries, chocolate or caramel sauce, whipped cream, and three maraschino cherries — one atop each scoop. (I was never a fan of the chopped nuts, but they were available if you wanted them.) That was Heaven in a dish.

Tastes change; people’s habits change; and a lot of traditions gradually become dim, distant memories. But not ice cream. If the USDA thinks I’m going to conform to their description of “average” when it comes to my favorite dessert, they’re nuts (chopped or otherwise). Consider this: 12 pounds of ice cream per year equals just one pound, or 16 ounces, per month. In any given month, that’s around half an ounce, or a single tablespoon, per day. Yeah . . . right.

Today, in 2023, if you ask me to name my favorite dessert, I will unhesitatingly reply, “Ice cream.” I do love pie, cake, cookies, donuts, cobblers, baklava, and tiramisu. But if I have a choice, it’s ice cream every time. In fact, my principal guilty pleasure these days is a small (3.6-ounce) cup of Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream. Every evening, after dinner. No exceptions. And I finish each day with a contented smile . . . calories be damned.

Now, if you take those 3.6 ounces and multiply them out by 365 days, we’re talking about 1,314 ounces, or 82.125 pounds, of high-fat, sugar-sweetened, cholesterol-packed, sinfully delicious malfeasance. And I don’t give a damn. This world is tough, and I think that I — in fact, we all — have earned the right to a little treat, don’t you? I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I drink very little alcohol. And I’m sticking with my Haagen-Dazs addiction. End of discussion.

And as for you, U.S. Department of Agriculture: I suggest you take my 82.125 pounds of ice cream and go . . . factor them into your calculations. Because I’m not quitting as long as I can still lift a spoon.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
7/19/23