One thing we’ve discovered here in California Land is frozen yogurt. Or as we now jokingly call “froyo.” Because that’s what SoCal people do, right? Shorten two words into one? Right??

So being the former owner of a failing Marble Slab Creamery, I didn’t expect to be impressed with frozen yogurt. In fact, I never ate the yogurt we sold. The ice cream was just so much better.

But here there’s a frozen yogurt store in every strip mall. Yogurtland is our favorite, and near Max’s school. Here’s why I love it.

You serve yourself. Not genius, but unique. You pick your flavor, fill up your cup and add a topping. The pimply teen behind the counter does no more than check the weight and ring you up. Done. You pay per ounce (and already I’m nitpicking when I have to pay $.39/oz vs $.32).

I had a Pomegranate Raspberry with blueberries on top. I’m still fantasizing about that one. I also like Plain Tart, which tastes like plain yogurt with a bit of sweet. Max likes to put gummies and jellybeans on his. A cardinal sin in my book, but what are you gonna do? He’s 5.

Now he asks, “Can we go make froyo, Mama?”

How do I say no to that?

I’d thought that maybe I was swayed by slick advertising into thinking that frozen yogurt was better for me than ice cream, but that it probably is just as bad for me. Ha ha! Here it tells me that my Raspberry Pomegranate is just 26 calories per ounce. I ate 4. So 100 calories. Not bad.

Sorry to cut this post short. I, er, need to go get some froyo. Later tater.