Picked the Wrong Week to Stop...

So I went to the doctor the other day and learned:

A) My coat weighs about 12 pounds and my ego would appreciate if I did not wear it the next time I stepped onto a fancy doctor scale.

B) They have to shave your chest to get an EKG.

C) If it feels like a heart attack, it might just mean your stomach has decided to move on up, Jeffersons-like, into a deluxe apartment above the sternum, where your esophagus rightly claims precedence.

D) Said condition can lead to a disease that I had previously thought invented by a cabal of pharmaceutical companies, acid reflux.

E) After one last Willie Nelson's Peach Cobbler vs. Stephen Colbert's American Dream throwdown (already "in the can," as it were) I'm going to cut back on the iced cream reviews.

But the worst, the absolute worst, is that I have to cut back on my coffee intake. Coffee and the demon that walks like Camel (Light) are the two crutches that leave my hands free to type. I have a long-term plan to deal with the smoking (that is, I'll quit...in the long term. When I hit the next deadline, with any luck.) But the coffee is something I can theoretically get by without, not being quite as addictive, or so I'd always assumed. And even though caffeine is apparently also A Thing I Have To Do Without, screw that noise. There is caffeine in less acidic beverages--green tea, for example. And really, a pot and a half is just silly, and the fancy Cuban coffee joint down the street is a bit pricey.

But it just ain't the same. I reckon I'll cut back a bit, maybe get that pot and a half down to a cup and a half, with maybe another half or three as needed. Slow and steady wins the race. And thanks to the fact I live in the good ol' U.S. of A., I have roughly 73,000 different heartburn medications to choose from.

Iced Cream Review: Ben & Jerry's Fossil Fuel

Having wrapped up a big deadline (for an as-yet-unannounced project) and in need of sugar-driven power to finish the next one, I happened upon this new selection at our local, over-priced Broadway grocery. In a fit of inspiration, I chose the iced cream that seemed to have the most in common with the name of this blog.

A pleasant surprise, the Fossil Fuel flavor does not actually contain petroleum or petroleum by-products (unless "delicious" is a by-product). It certainly fills the mental gas tank and powers the emergency generator of creativity. It does, however, take a little time to figure out what exactly you're getting.

For the record, the ingredients: Sweet cream ice cream with chocolate cookie pieces, fudge dinosaurs, and a fudge swirl.

I'm not sure what the difference is between sweet cream ice cream and the normal vanilla variety B&J do so well, except it didn't immediately taste as sweet. In fact, the first bite reminded me of one of those sugar-free faux frozen treats that are supposed to keep dieters from making midnight runs to 7-11. So I guess the "sweet cream" isn't really as sweet as all that, and it does float to the top.

After that initial mild disappointment, things improved exponentially with each spoonful. Once past the weird, somewhat bland "sweet cream effect" (like the butterfly effect, but creamier and with less Ashton Kutcher) I hit my first vein of fudge swirl. And my friends, this fudge swirl makes it all work. The cookie pieces are fine, your basic chocolate cookie; the dino-fudge thingies too are fine, though Vermont's finest ice cream makers might want to consider figuring out a way to justify the name of a product that *doesn't* include the chocolate equivalent of a nametag (I refer you to the chocolate cows in their Vermonty Python flavor).

But that fudge swirl? Damn. Well played, Ben. Kudos, Jerry.

Somehow, combined with the other ingredients, the fudge swirl immediately tastes like a hot fudge sundae, the really simple but perfect kind you remember from childhood (at least, I do, I was a fat little kid). If anything, I wanted more of that and less of the cookies and the choco-dinos.

You know what would wrap up this nicely? Some scores, based on a scale of one to ten.

Ingredients: 6
Sweet cream? I don't know what that is, it's ice cream, it should be sweet anyway, yeah? Cookies? Good, but uninspired. Ditto for the chocolate--excuse me, *fudge*--dinosaurs. But that fudge swirl makes it all work.

Flavor: 8
Thanks to the fudge, what began as a "meh" experience became a thrilling blast from the flavor past.

Packaging: 5
I dig the dino-teeth, but it would have been so much cooler to see an actual dinosaur. Or an oil rig. Or a dinosaur eating ice cream atop an oil rig.

Overall (Not necessarily an average): 7
Remember, in the relative world of iced cream ranking, you have to try really hard to make iced cream taste bad. But can you make it taste not just good, but spectacular? That's the challenge. I had my doubts at first, but thanks to a rich vein of fudgy goodness, the boys from Vermont were able to remind me of ice cream sundaes and birthday parties when I least expected it. A solid 7.

Iced Cream Review: Ben & Jerry's American Pie

I've enjoyed my share of fine iced creams (as should be apparent) and rarely have I been let down by the two Gentlemen of Vermont. Now on some level it's impossible to be truly "let down" by ice cream, I mean, it's ice cream, and Ben and Jerry do it well. But there's something(s) literally missing in their American Pie limited flavor.

It's exactly what it says--apple pie-flavored ice cream with chunks of apple pie--but come, Ben, Jerry, you're Ben and Jerry. You don't just put apple pie and ice cream together and call it a limited edition. Humankind has been doing that for at least three years, if not longer. I guess I'm looking for more. Crunchy cobbler-type stuff mixed in with the pie. Swirls of cinnamon-caramel. I dunno, Frosted Flakes. The carefully-rationed ashes of Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper. Okay, not that. But something.

Apparently, a percentage of proceeds from the American Pie flavor go to a reading program or programs, so by all means buy it for that if you like, but if you're looking for an iced cream worthy of the Van Gogh-like creative madness that gave us Chubby Hubby, you'd be better off sending the kids a check and hitting that Phish Food.