There's a painfully trendy new burger joint down the street, and its entire aesthetic is "Something You'd Hate-Like on Instagram." The lighting is designed for #nofilter photos of its gleaming white tiles and industrial-chic furniture; the burgers are delivered by sentient man-buns with Sailor Jerry forearm ink; and obviously nothing is served on something so passé as a plate. But what it's really known for are the ginormous milkshakes, which are all topped with a half-package of Oreos, a breakfast's worth of cereal, or, in one case, a Technicolor slice of birthday cake.
They're ridiculous, but they look great on the 'gram, so they totally outsell the burgers. A couple of days ago, I watched a woman order one, hold it in front of the shining white tile, and snap more photos than I've taken during entire relationships. She ate maybe half of it, shouting "I'M SO BAD!" between every bite. "I NEVER DO THIS!" she yelled, as she pushed it toward an aggressively mustached server who you just know rode to work on a unicycle.
I'd never criticize anyone's approach to eating — especially since the celebrity chef I most relate to is Pizza Rat — but I also can't do that "all-or-nothing" thing anymore.
Food is one of my favorite pleasures, right up there with well-struck penalty kicks, glam rock records, and an endless queue of ghost-related documentaries. It's taken me ages to understand that: I've been that woman, the one who describes her meals as "good" or "bad," or who describes herself as good or bad based on what she eats that day — and it's exhausting.
I've finally learned that obsessing about what I can and can't eat, or should and shouldn't eat, is more stressful than actually enjoying the thing I'm eating. I do try to eat mindfully most of the time, and I try to make good choices for my meals and snacks. (To me, "good choices" means minimally processed foods, fresh fruits and veggies, and nothing that I've both purchased and prepared inside a gas station.) It also means I've stopped depriving myself of foods that I enjoy; when I treat myself, it's a legit treat.
I'd rather have the rich flavor of Yasso Frozen Greek Yogurt — like the "this is really peanut butter" taste of its Chocolate PB & Yay or the actual brownie pieces in its Coffee Brownie Break — than to endure the "name that chemical!" aftertaste of those faddish faux ice creams that my friends are way into. (Guys, if every bite tastes like frozen sadness, who cares that the entire pint is "healthy"? And I'm putting the most sarcastic air quotes around that last word.)
Yasso is made from nonfat milk and Greek yogurt, so it combines the creaminess of ice cream with a more sensible calorie count. You probably know Yasso for its bars, but they also just showed up in your freezer aisle as pints. One serving has between 100 and 150 calories and 6–7 grams of protein. What it doesn't have is erythritol or the other weird sugar alcohols that inhabit some of the other "light" brands.
Back in that restaurant, I wanted to tell that woman that she was zero percent "bad" for ordering dessert, even if she had a milkshake every night. I wanted to tell her about the dope frozen Greek yogurt I'm currently obsessed with. And I wanted to ask if her burger had been served on a tiny chalkboard too.
This post was created by the Kitchn Creative Studio and is sponsored by Yasso Frozen Greek Yogurt.
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