Having tasted our first Pinkberry frozen yogurt earlier this month in Wellesley’s Linden Square, we started wondering what might be the most un-Pinkberry-like frozen treat in town that we could stuff our faces with: You know, something to kind of balance off that health-in-a-bowl approach.
Then we remembered having seen “The White Mountain” listed under the Sundaes section at White Mountain Creamery and knew we had to scale the legendary peak because it was there.
As we suspected, few dare to fork over the nearly $10 it costs for The White Mountain (after taxes and tossing the change in the tips cup). Though it’s technically a bargain when you compare it to buying individual ice creams, as one server noted.
Our server boasted that he devoured one in about 15 minutes, though almost sent it back up in the other direction. Impressive, though my plan was to conquer The White Mountain with two young sherpas armed with spoons of their own.
The much anticipated behemoth includes 5 scoops of our choice of ice cream flavors (we picked mint chocolate chip, cookie dough, Oreo, strawberry and peppermint stick), any choice of sauce (we went with butterscotch), whipped cream (though they forgot to put it on in all the excitement) and any toppings (we chose gummy bears…we’re guessing not the organic, Pinkberry kind). We didn’t ask for a calorie count.
The White Mountain was served to us in a quart cup — not the most elegant of presentations, as it failed to expose the magnificence of the creation. We couldn’t see what we imagined was a glorious rainbow of ice cream scoops, which quickly fused into a squishy mass, with only the gummy bears showing on the surface. (White Mountain has the old-timey feel going for it, though might need to pick up some marketing slack in the face of new competition in town.)
It took us all of about 5 minutes to dispose of The White Mountain, with one kid saying he went 14 spoonfuls before swallowing, afraid he might get shortchanged if he didn’t keep going back in. The butterscotch sauce quickly congealed, making for a mess of stringy intertwined spoonfuls of mixed ice cream flavors. “My tastebuds are in heaven,” said one kid, who also commented that he will never be able to have ice cream again because it could never measure up (yeah, right). We regret that many napkins were sacrificed for the sake of this culinary investigation and that bibs probably would have been in order.
Mrs. Swellesley sat spoonless at our table with her arms crossed and a disgusted look on her face. I guess she’s more the Pinkberry type.
