Frosted Lemonparty
I’m all about some seasonal specials, and Chick-fil-A knows it. For the most part, the specials seem to be dessert-related, but they always correspond directly to the time of year, a marked contrast from something like the McRib, which, as far as I can tell, just shows up whenever an unlucky lost pig wanders into a McDonald’s. You’ve got your Peppermint Milkshake around Christmastime, your Peach Milkshake once things start really heating up, and your Banana Milkshake when...well, you know. Wink emoticon.
This year, Chick-fil-A is throwing a lemony wrench into my tastebud spokes with its newest hybridization, the Frosted Lemonade. I don’t know what this means for the fate of the Peach Milkshake - I hope it survives, a menu cut could mean unemployment for millions of peaches - but it looks like the Frosted Lemonade is here to gently take our hands and guide us into spring like an exceptionally chilly seeing-eye dog. The marketing spin on the Frosted Lemonade is pretty basic: it’s a “hand-spun combination” of Chick-fil-A lemonade and “our famous vanilla Icedream®.” Now, Chick-fil-A lemonade is tremendous, I know that. I’m 50% of the way excited already. I’m less sure about the “famous vanilla Icedream®” because, to be honest, I have never understood what Icedream is or why it’s always holding hands with that creepy registered trademark symbol. Is it ice cream? Is it ice cream’s dream? Why is ice cream dreaming about something other than ice cream? I don’t have answers to those questions, but I’m an established supporter of ice cream desserts generally (I anonymously contributed ten million dollars to the ice cream Super PAC for the 2016 election), so I’m more or less content to leave them unanswered for now.
My Saturday visit to Chick-fil-A (this is a rare Out-of-Office Post) was accompanied by various upsetting rumors buzzing in and around my earwaves like naysaying bumblebees. One rumor in particular - a completely unverifiable quick-take review by a friend of a friend - was that the Frosted Lemonade is somehow far less than the sum of its parts. That it is, in a word, “disgusting.” I’ve eaten a lot of Chick-fil-A over the years, and “disgusting” is not a word that I could even pretend to apply to a single thing I’ve ever eaten there, so I took that description with a healthy dose of salt (that was disgusting). But it was still a concerning thing to hear.
However, I come bearing good news: the rumors are completely off-base. Whoever that friend of a friend is - if he even exists at all - he’s probably locked away in Chick-fil-A’s offshore maximum-security prison by now for spreading misinformation. Because the Frosted Lemonade is damn tasty. The easiest comparison point is probably The Varsity’s Frosted Orange beverage/treat; both drinks taste exactly like liquified creamsicles, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. It’s probably not easy to liquify a creamsicle! You could just let it melt, sure, but then it’d be warm. I don’t want a cup of warm melted creamsicle. I want a Frosted Lemonade.
I ordered my Frosted Lemonade (which only comes in one size - mandated portion control, I guess) after waiting out the longest line I have ever seen at a Chick-fil-A and dealing with a cashier who was inexplicably sure that I had just ordered a #2 Combo (I had not, I had just ordered...a Frosted Lemonade). The Frosted Lemonade comes in a stealthy clear container, which is servicable but not nearly as swank as the glass in all the promo materials, and you drink it up with a standard milkshake straw like some kind of frenzied Daniel Plainview (bowling pins for bludgeoning Paul Dano are extra). A spoon would probably do the trick too, but I’m no spooner, bro. Employing my Frosted Orange comparison again, it’s a little tarter than an F.O. by virtue of the lemons, and it’s way creamier. In fact, my cashier - once we’d established that under no circumstances did I want a #2 Combo - shot me a disclaimer before she let me make my purchase: “Now, you know this is frosted lemonade and not frozen lemonade, right? Some people get confused.” I told her I understood, I was not confused, but I guess she had a point: if you’re expecting Minute Maid Frozen Lemonade, the treat of choice for sticky theme parks and golf events everywhere, you’re not gonna get it. This is in the ice cream family, not the snow cone family. If anything, this is a Snow Cone Cousin (my memoir, “Snow Cone Cousins: A Memoir,” drops next week).
The important thing, though, is that Frosted Lemonade is good. I can’t think of any way to really improve on it, and I admire the simplicity of the whole operation; it’s just two pre-existing menu items Frankensteined together! It gives me hope for future Frankensteins, too; if anyone at Chick-fil-A’s corporate office is paying attention to my daily emails and weekly sit-down (non-violent) protests, we’ll have that Strawberry Nugget Sweet Tea Milkshakesicle before too long.
Frosted Lemonade: 9/10
Date: 4/4/2015
Weather: Sunny/hot, ideal Frosted Lemonade weather
Time: 1:45 PM
Line: Nuts. Different Chick-fil-A location, though, so maybe nuts is normal.
HBITSCTAS: n/a
