By Kay Steiger
Yesterday, as is a haphazard tradition in my office, we brought one of our interns out for frozen yogurt on her last day as a way of thanking her for all her hard work over the summer. We decided to walk to Frozen Yo in Metro Center. Afterward I felt sick.
Perhaps it was the heat. Or the fact that I had just eaten beforehand. Or perhaps it’s the fact that Frozen Yo serves their self-serve yogurt in gigantic freaking containers. They have to be at least twice to three times the size of the containers you get at other fro yo places in town like Mr. Yogoto, Sweetgreen, or Tangysweet.
The first time I walked into Frozen Yo, I noticed how much it was like a buffet, where you load a bunch of crap onto your plate and see what you like best but ultimately end up eating way more than you planned. It just seemed so — American. And I say that as a born-and-raised, third-generation, 14th Amendment-style American. But come on, a huge container where you load up whatever you mix then pay by the pound? That screams excess.
Granted, I’m not much of a dessert person in general — I far prefer a savory treat. I would probably take french fries over frozen yogurt any day, so it’s not some kind of strange diet I’m on. I’ll say it, at risk of pissing off all the native Californians out there (where I understand this tradition comes from): This enormous tub o’ fro yo thing just turned me off.