With every report and news analysis that hits the presses, it becomes clearer that the United States is cradled in recession. Yet, for all of the deep-seated flaws that our nation’s thinkers and decision makers have unearthed in purveying the state of the economy, our first instinct is to reach for the security blanket of consumption rather than, say, learn to read.

Of course, six hundred dollars of shotgun tax revenue can buy a lot of desserts, and with the frogurt renaissance of Southern California showing no sign of abatement, consumers continue to flock to PinkBerry and its cold war rivals, still establishing satellites throughout the Southland. The most commanding of these second generation frogurt boutiques move their product in the spirit of Pareto efficency, offering customers a wide range of self-serve options and charging by the ounce.

The result is a microcosm of sorts, swirling our obsession with choice with our limitless urge to consume and wrapping everything up in a true sunshine trend. When faced with the almost intimidating array of machinated dessert components at Yogurtland and Cherry on Top, most customers dart from flavor to flavor in a frenzy of impulse intake, allowing their cups to overflow with the chaos of freedom before even making it to the topping bar.

Notwithstanding his approval of the remedy of consumption-bent tax relief, Ben Bernanke would be ashamed. In a lengthy spotlight on the Federal Reserve, the New York Times outlines the technocratic chairman as “exceptionally methodical…He once told Alan Blinder, his Princeton colleague, that you can learn a lot about people by noting when they fish their car keys from their pocket; Bernanke does so as he leaves the office, long before he reaches his car.”

Speaking from the dinner table of one who reaches for his keys before the office door has a chance to close, I’ve discovered a much sweeter indicator of the method man: the amount of effort expended in the self-service of frozen yogurt. As the rest of the frogurt populace blithely dips its spoon into the sweet pool of extremes and diversions, I am building a more elegant, albeit less exciting, testament to the old fashioned sundae.

First, I layer two primary flavors of frogurt in rings to establish a base. Then I level a third flavor into the center, drawing from years of experience as a spectator at Foster’s Freeze to sculpt a soft-serve sundae crown worthy of The Outsiders. If the parlor isn’t too crowded, I take the time to layer my toppings, placing more substantial items like brownie chunks and cookie dough at the bottom and sprinkling the lighter ingredients evenly over the top. My aim is to channel choice into craft. By favoring an economical design, I miss out on 90% of the offerings on any given night, but walk away with a pure symphony of sugar. My dessert is fashioned as deliberately and single-mindedly as an Ayn Rand character, with the added benefit of a soul.

At the end of this economic morality play, though, I’ve spent just as much money as the girl mixing seven different flavors of yogurt at once. My rationalization of added value can’t obscure the fact that when it comes to consumption, I’m as eager as the next American to be a part of Jack-in-the-Box’s latest three dollar deal. While my neurotic and artistic sensibilities may prevent me from joining my countrymen in frogurt suicide, they don’t prevent me from recognizing the necessary glories of an unfettered yogurt land. God Bless America, and may our tax refunds be spent as sweetly as the carbohydrates of which our laurels are made!

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This entry was posted on Monday, April 7th, 2008 at 8:03 am and is filed under Los Angeles.