The Yogurt Stop

(Image Credit: yogurtstop.net)

8803 Santa Monica Blvd., (310) 652-6830, yogurtstop.net

Bemoaning the fact that L.A. is being devoured by trendy froyo establishments? So 2007. You might as well throw your wooden shoes at the Edison building and call for a return to steam power. Yogurt is here; it's queer (in this case); get over it. Because once you do, you can appreciate the remarkable advances spurred on by years of active-culture wars. The frozen renaissance is upon us, and The Yogurt Stop is its paragon.

Everything here is self-service, which makes me feel like I'm on one of those Toys R Us shopping sprees that kids used to win on Double Dare. First, you decide which size cup you want; in a clever move on the store's part, the only sizes offered are big, giant, and Lipitor. Then you fill it with any combination of eight flavors of yogurt, which have names that Yogurt Stop calls "double entendres" but are really at most 1.5-entendres if not full-on single entendres ("Orange you a top? Orange you a bottom?" for example). Fair enough; when most of your foot traffic comes from the bustling man-caves that line the upper 8000's of Santa Monica Boulevard, subtlety isn't going to win you many points. But it's the flavor that counts, and Yogurt Stop doesn't disappoint, delivering such diverse offerings as cake batter, root beer, and acai, as well as the expected Original Tart and stick-girl-friendly sugarless options.

You can do all the taste-testing you want before you commit to your final lineup, since there are no employees to prod you (you won't see anyone in uniform until it's time to pay). The whole filling station area tends to resemble the merch booth at a Death Cab show as a result, but some polite tenacity will get you through (either situation) just fine.

And then... well, loosen that Hot Topic skull belt, because it's time to hit the topping bar.

I don't care where you've been before; you are not ready for this. Yogurtland? Please. That's the bush leagues. There is no rational explanation for the beyond-overwhelming cornucopia on display here. The person who was sent to shop for toppings must have freaked out and bought the whole store. Well, their temporary insanity is your gain. Sentences beginning with "I wish they had..." do not exist in this dojo. Keep looking; I assure you it's there. There's also stuff you never would have asked for but turns out to be a great idea, like crumbled red velvet cupcake (helpfully provided by local bakery Cake and Art). Pro tip: skip the chocolate and caramel syrup pumps; even though they're Ghirardelli, they just taste like mildly flavored HFCS.

How do you know when you've piled enough on? That's between you and your deity of choice, but I usually apply the principle that my friend Paula once shared with me in regard to clothes shopping: you're not done until it's too heavy to carry.

Outside, there's an ample supply of tables and chairs, which, if you come in the evening, will often provide for a fairly singular people-watching experience. There's also free wifi, presumably to facilitate the process of ordering insulin refills.