If America is a land of excess, L.A. is a city of controlled excess. It’s a place where excess is briefly muzzled, spritzed with enough cologne to euthanize a dingo, and let loose on suspecting masses at the Standard. It’s strange. Angelenos are enthralled by excess, but don’t want to admit it. So many dreams are tied to the gossamer promise of Hollywood. I guess people want to pretend nothing happened when that promise isn’t realized and they tumble down the escalator.
As an illustration of L.A.’s dance with excess, consider this: Angelenos have Electric Daisy Carnival, Carmageddon, and the bacon-wrapped hot dog. ‘Nuff said.
Now, another culinary innovation is making a splash.
The wine milkshake is being unleashed on customers at The Counter, an upscale burger bar. According to laist.com, three different flavors of milkshakes are currently available: Pinot Noir blended with cherries and chocolate, white wine with peaches and vanilla, and sparkling wine with oranges and vanilla.
Wine is now paired with milkshakes and fruit in America. Somewhere in France, the Bastille is being stormed. That would be Paris. (The Counter)
If you’re worried about how these concoctions might taste, fear not. Reporter Lindsay William-Ross has spoken to The Counter and has been told “the vino cuts some of the rich sweetness of the shake, with the taste kicking off more milkshake-y, with a wine finish.”
With this latest mash-up, The Counter management hopes to entice customers who are either hawkish about efficiency or too bored to choose between wine and dairy. Perhaps more figuratively, the wine milkshake is L.A.’s answer to the South’s conundrum that is the drive-thru daiquiri stand.
Whatever you think about America, this is the type of relentless ingenuity that has contributed—for better or for worse—to our mythos and our might. We place a premium on invention. We try to take slapdash projects and make them better. On a scale of tinkerers, we have everyone from Thomas Alva Edison, who gave us the lightbulb, to Ron Popeil, who gave us the best damn rotisserie laziness could buy.
Some of the time, American ingenuity fails. Children of the ’70s may remember the pet rock, a flamboyant gimmick that succeeded only because people were really high and still listening to The Bee Gees, who were cultist practitioners of mind-control. And who can forget the spaghetti-aid, which promised all the ease and comfort of a portable steam engine at the dinner table?
The glorious spaghetti-aid, which ultimately succeeded water-boarding as the government’s premier enhanced interrogation apparatus.
No one is more discerning than the customer. The company aims to please, and the customer grades the effort. So we give you want you want, public: booze-laced dairy-bombs! Enjoy them like you enjoyed your first veal cutlet cooked in a George Foreman Grill, because you only taste novelty once.
