Pronounced ‘Fa-Ye’, Yet Anything But Tasty
Feast a gander upon this propaganda.
(+ a recommended serving of Spongebob).
In the past three days (no potato salad), my yoghurt intake had increased from a single cup a day to two cups. Occasionally, sneaking to three. As the superior soft serve that screams over ice cream, the only brand loyalty I proclaim is towards Oikos.
Triple Zero, in particular.
It’s the breakfast I eat religiously, every morning, after my series of exercises, beginning with stretches, followed by interpretive dance as cardio and ending with brief HIIT variations including a minimum of 69 to maximum 200 reps of crunches, alternating every two days from planking to push-ups.
Vanilla is at the top of the hierarchy, followed by close runner-ups: mixed berry, strawberry and cherry. Oikos Triple Zero also doubles as an afternoon workout treat. Emphasis on the empirical deduction that yoghurt tastes better after a workout.
The Triple Zero branding is defined by zero added sugars or artificial sweeteners and zero milk fat from Grade A, nonfat milk. This leaves only a modest percentage of unrefined carbs while leaving significance to protein volume.
But, this isn’t intended to be a promotional advertisement for a yoghurt brand that I, unfortunately, don’t have paid sponsorship. This is to give a final stage to Fage. The least I could do before giving the last cup I have a second chance. Possibly, with the saving grace of whole fruits.
If I could encapsulate the very essence of ‘dairy’, it would be the shear stress of thickness contained in a Fage cup of strained, plain Greek yoghurt. Oikos is slightly less thick in comparison, likely accorded to the addition of Stevia leaf extract to provide flavour to the flavoured variants.
However, to make things even, if ever I chance upon a cup of unflavoured Oikos, similar to the strained, plain marketed as the original Greek, I’m sure my preference would be compromised.
If nothing else, Fage reminded me of the reason why I renounced dairy. Or, at least, diminished in dietary consumption. Specifically, concentrated in the form of cow juice.
With Oikos, milk is a null factor, produced with nonfat particles masked by a variety of beans and fruit. Fage, in contrast, stays true to udder, low in fat, yet still patently milk by ‘skim’, but not slim, labelling.
Every subsequent spoonful was a marriage between expired milk and cheddar cheese. With a sprinkle of the numerous anecdotes I’ve heard involving the substitute of sour cream with plain Greek yoghurt.
The only experience my taste buds recall of sour cream is from adolescent crunches of its artificial sibling in crisp potato form.
On the topic of soft serves, I would certainly define the texture and consistency of plain Greek yoghurt as “curdled ice cream”.
Process that information however you will the next time you’re craving a pint or tub.
Simply put, Fage, or rather “Fa-Ye”, fluffed in pronunciation on the packaging, is not my cup of yoghurt. The thickness is delightful, but the taste is terribly tart. Unlike the speed at which I finish Oikos’ cups, it seems that Fage, while sharing volume, is a chore, if not torture, to empty.
Each tablespoon regenerated more yoghurt as punishment for my tongue’s aversion, appearing to be an endless serving of cream and curd.
So, maybe this is an advertisement….
Yet, the message is Janus-faced.
The verdict is neither for nor against Fage.
However, upon further reflection, it has just come to my attention that promoting Oikos Triple Zero Blended Greek Yoghurt will likely mean increased sales.
Great for the company!
Bad for me.
The usual suspect who won’t be able to do their eager stockpiling when the section begins to get suspiciously scarce, face falling quicker than the spoon upon a sample of Milkpo.