Ben & Jerry’s doesn’t do much in the fruit arena, and it’s nice to see this flavor endure. While she should have gotten a fat check, frankly, at least the ice cream is still good. The woman got a year’s supply of ice cream in thanks. It debuted the following year and became one of the company’s most popular flavors. Fun story: The flavor originated when a woman named Jane Williamson sent a postcard to the Burlington office in 1986 suggesting the flavor. One of the OG flavors, Cherry Garcia is still one of the best. The light, crunchy sweetness of the fudge-covered bits are as wistful and nostalgic as the times we thought it was funny to watch a pretend right-wing blowhard spew hatred and misinformation. The smell of sweet dough appeals to anyone who’s been to a state fair or inside a Blue Bottle, and this flavor, modeled on the persona of “Report"-era Stephen Colbert, manages to capture some of that magic. Chocolate ice cream with marshmallow, caramel and fudge fish leave this just a few nuts away from perfection - but then it’d just be Rocky Road, wouldn’t it? Instead of what it is: an exceptional-tasting ice cream with smooth, creamy textures that let you linger and get lost inside, like a Trey Anastasio guitar solo. While Phish never really clicked with me, this ice cream certainly does. You see, it’s Meehan’s fault that I purchased the Phish album “Junta” in high school, in an effort to be cooler than I was and sat for hours at home trying to make sense of lyrics like, Times Food editor Peter Meehan, who was and maybe still is, the biggest Phish fan I know. But this is why we love Ben & Jerry’s: We want to chew our ice cream, not merely lick it.
#JERRYS GUITAR BAR REVIEW FULL#
New York Super Fudge Chunk is that ideal, perfected: Every cubic inch is so full of something that is not ice cream - pecans, walnuts, almonds, fudge chunks - it’s frankly a wonder they don’t market this as frozen trail mix. Every pint of Ben & Jerry’s is just loaded with chunks of stuff. If there’s one thing we loved about Ben & Jerry’s when we discovered it as kids, and what we still love about it, it’s all the stuff.
Look, I didn’t say the analogy was perfect. Defensive specialist Randy Brown is the part of your brain that’s honestly just happy to be along for the ride and wants you to keep going even when Phil says to take a break. Phil Jackson is your conscience, telling you not to eat too much. Luc Longley is the … spoon? The United Center is the freezer. Kukoc and Rodman are like the brownie and cookie dough chunks. They hold it all together and do most of the work. To make a 1998 Bulls analogy - Jordan and Pippen are like the two ice creams. Of course chocolate and peanut butter go together like Cheech and Chong I found that the stickiness of the brownie bits offsets the graininess of the cookie dough. Chocolate and peanut butter ice creams converge in a maelstrom of calor-rific glory and are peppered with brownie and peanut butter cookie dough chunks. I’m not much of a cookie dough guy, but I can’t deny the greatness of this ice cream.
But they must, alas, be ranked - in that, there shall be no bargaining. I’ve ranked these by taste, of course, as well as a metric that honors the various states of incapacitation when we devour an entire pint at 2 a.m.: If this ice cream were a person, how stoned would it be? One more thing: Unlike most Power Rankings, where there are items that clearly fall into Good and Bad categories, nearly all of these ice creams were good. We’re dealing with ice cream only for the purposes of these rankings, folks - nothing “lite,” no fro-yo, and none of your fancy nut milks. Yes, even our nation’s most adored 420-loving capitalists must eventually fall under the tires of the Power Rankings cement truck. It is in that spirit that I bring you the infallible, completely factual and 100% correct Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream Power Rankings. As you can see, in quarantine, absolutely anything is negotiable. Would I pay someone $20 for a hug right now? Likely more. How’s everyone’s first year of quarantine going? I’ve firmly moved into the “bargaining” zone of the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief: How many times will I eat pizza this week, three or four? Are showers on the table? Maybe.
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