A snack, with a sidenote apology to the Jews

What’s the deal with airline peanuts Tasti D Lite? (Or as I, and I alone, call it "Tasti D".)

It’s not ice cream or frozen yogurt, or uh, good. No, good is not an adjective I’d use to describe the stuff. Cold. Cold is the word I’d pick. I want it to be like fat-free soft serve, but it’s some sort of whipped chemical “fudge” or “marshmallow” or “raspberry” flavor.

It doesn’t actually matter if it’s good though, because your tongue goes numb from the chemicals long before you’ve finished a cup of it. I don’t know why I keep forgetting this lesson. Like a person with short-term memory issues, when the weather gets warm, I stop by to try one of their 400 rotating flavors only to pitch it halfway through when I start smelling burnt hair and tasting pennies.

As my friend Julie told me around this time last year, “It’s a lesson we all have to learn. It averages out to three tries before you realize it’s always gross.”

(Unrelated: I thought I saw Julie in Midtown the other day, so I pointed at her and said, “Hey! Ju-” before realizing it wasn’t her. So essentially I pointed at some random girl, yelled “Jew” in her face, then retreated into the crowd. I’m still awesome. This might top the baby I used to watch who called juice “ju” and she’d demand it from strangers on the street with her tiny little j’accuse finger pointing at them. Sorry, Jews of the tri-state area.)

I'm sticking to the Mr. Softy truck from now on. It warms my heart in the summer to see businessmen in suits waiting patiently while their cones are dipped in rainbow sprinkles.