-
I am a Yogurt everyman
If you are anything like me, you’ve always been a little afraid of “fruit on the bottom” yogurt. It’s one thing to eat something that’s still alive (re: “live and active cultures”). It’s quite another to crack the seal on your yogurt and worry that you might have seen it move. That’s why I’ve been such a fan of Yoplait’s line of blended yogurts. They’re smooth, creamy, and relatively homogenous. Stirring Yoplait yogurt is more a matter of preference than defense mechanism. The problem I’ve had with Yoplait is their portions. When you get right down to it, Yoplait is a snack not a meal. When I eat yogurt, I’m looking for a meal. (Damn freaking diet.)
Today, my yogurt was born again.
In a rare moment of marketing weakness, I bought a product based on it’s label. Breyers “fruit on the bottom” yogurt proclaimed, “NOW Better Tasting,. Smoother and Creamier.”
Wow! With all those capital letters it must taste good! In deed it was. Equally important: Breyers “fruit on the bottom” yogurt is a bigger caloric haul than Yoplait. It’s more than yogurt… it’s a meal.
Much to my surprise, the fruit on the bottom lay underneath a homogenous layer of innocuous looking blended yogurt. True to their word, it was smoother and creamier. That’s probably better marketing than “not nearly as scary looking.” Or is it? Maybe there are scores of people out there who would be yogurt eaters, if yogurt didn’t tend to look exactly like what it is, a dairy product that’s run its course.
Maybe I am a yogurt everyman, maybe Dannon can learn something from me.
-
The devil is in the cookie crumbs
Damn those girl scouts and their cookies!
-
Old age is nigh
One day you wake up and the sentence, “I’m sure glad my wife bought whole wheat hot dog buns” makes perfect sense. A few years back, heck, just a couple of months back, I would have rejected the concept of a whole wheat sheath for the world’s most popular mystery meat. Who REALLY prefers the taste of whole wheat to white? It just doesn’t happen. It’s like preferring ANYTHING diet to the regular ‘ole sugared, greased lightning version. It’s like selling your soul to decaf.
This is the indignity of dieting, of “eating right.” You find yourself stooped over the meat drawer trying to spy the calories in a Ball Park Frankfurter (Frank to his friends).