On smoothies, milkshakes and grenadine syrup

We were at Lips the other day after school (Lips is the one just on the right of the fountain after you’ve walked in the entrance of Marina Mall).

We had a long discussion about the merits of milkshakes versus smoothies versus juices. I know I’m kidding myself ever so slightly, but I feel that the smoothie is packed full of goodness – on account of using the real fruit – while the milkshake undermines itself with the use of that rubbish flavouring. In addition, in this part of the world, the milkshake or iced chocolate tends to arrive smothered in that dreadful fake cream. In short, apart from the milk, the milkshake is just a glass of fake food.

The conversation ended when I agreed that we would order milkshakes this time, smoothies the next time. Eldest child ordered strawberry rather than chocolate and tried to tell me that was healthy because it was strawberry. Yeah, not so much.

Anyway, we’d just finished the discussion and put in our order when a reporter from The National came and asked whether we could give our opinions about some new regulations (or rules or guidelines or legislation, not sure exactly which) governing foods in schools and interviewed my children about their school lunches.

After she had gone, I had to endure yet another conversation about how *everybody* else gets donuts and muffins from the store.

Youngest child’s current coveted foodstuff is ‘cheese dunks’ which is a packet, and you peel the top off and then you dunk your crackers in the cheese (and I’m sure that cheese is more ‘cheese’ than cheese).

‘No chance,’ I said. And then the milkshakes arrived.

(For the record, I ordered a drink called an Arabian Night which is fruit juice and I suspect a fair lashing of the grenadine syrup you often get with your lemon mint juice, a syrup to which I am more than a little partial).

PS The mister and I diverge even more wildly on the merits of fake cream than we do about Coke. The mister has something more than a soft spot for the kitchener bun and is outraged whenever a bakery gives him one that has real cream and not that other dreadful stuff. Myself, I am happy to dip my finger into the kitchener bun, remind myself about the fake cream and move on.