After a few days of rather mild temps, it’s starting to heat up here in Kansas again. That means, of course, that I’m hankering for cool treats, and my jones has been made all the worse thanks to a friend from NYC who sent an email today raving about her latest find: a gelato from a new place called Grom that opened in Manhattan just over a month ago.
“You’ve never tasted anything like this,” she tells me. “Sweet, creamy. Every spoonful tastes like an Italian vacation.” It doesn’t help that my friend is one of those fortunate few who’s been blessed with a hummingbird’s metabolism and has never, despite having three kids, outgrown her size 2 jeans. The bitch.
So it’s some comfort to me, at least, that she’s having to stand in line for half an hour to place her order. Half an hour! Sorry, by that time I’d have had to go somewhere else to grab a bite to eat lest I faint from hunger. Not her, though.
An even greater comfort: that half-cup of Grom Gelato is 215 calories. She’s ordering two at a time every day, claiming that with her metabolism she can handle the extra callories.
Meanwhile, Grom’s owners are banking on their product’s addictive qualities. Says Mr. Grom:
“..we think our gelato is like a drug. Once they have their free taste, they’ll be hooked.”
Anyone remember that Seinfeld episode where Elaine, Neuman and others went gaga over the frozen low-fat yogurt that turned out to pack a caloric wallop? I am so praying that life imitates art.
Yeah, I guess I’m evil that way. But did I mention: three kids and size two jeans? The bitch.
