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"VERMONT'S FINEST"
Grassroots politics and New York bodegas

By Michael Engenthal
RAW STORY COLUMNIST

Vermont’s finest taught me the lesson of grassroots politics this past week. And Howard Dean still only can look on from afar, tongue wagging. No, my lesson was not handed down by the governor of the Green Mountain State and former Democratic presidential candidate, rather I learned from a source with a sweetness most politicians only dream of.

Last winter, like many hardworking, fairly poor New Yorkers, I had little salvation from the bitter conditions outside. Yes, amidst the snow, the freezing rain, the garbage, the rats, the stress, the subway, etc., my only solace was the thought of walking into a warm apartment, shedding my many layers and basking in the promise of what awaited me in my freezer: the sweet serum of Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Caramel Fudge. Ah, yes, the Vermont treasure, the golden goose of all ice creams, a king among royalty, the classy roost. The greatest ice cream flavor in all the land. Every bite a succinct apportionment of the tremendous troika. First there’s the ample base of smooth vanilla ice cream made from only the finest natural ingredients. Then there’s the perfect fusion of silky fudge ribbons and spiraling caramel, always soft, always perfectly blended. Unparalleled.

Then, one day after making the trek to the office in 7-degree weather, I check my inbox and find an e-mail from my brother with a link to the Ben & Jerry’s site. Ice cream being the last thing on my mind after feeling my marrow gently solidify for ten blocks, I close the e-mail.

Later in the day, bored at work, I click on the e-mail again. But this time I realize it’s not just a link to the B & J site. It keeps staring at me: www.benjerry.com/our_products/flavor_graveyard; I panic. I know what it means. The end is near. Our run is up. As I click on the link I still have hope that it’s all a joke and that “graveyard” means something else. The page downloads at what feels like a file a minute. But then there it is with little fanfare, mixed among the other outcasts, Vanilla Caramel Fudge had been moved to the “Dearly Departed Flavors” list and no longer would be made.

For a few weeks, I coped. I tried to put it out of my mind, partaking in various other treats, pastries, cakes and even Ben & Jerry’s B-level caramel concoction, Karamel Sutra. It wasn’t the same. The fudge chips were too large and rigid, the blend was wrong, the ice creams were overly rich, among other problems.

Dejected, I decided I needed to take action. I called Ben & Jerry’s headquarters in Vermont and spoke with a nice hippie named Lisa. I explained my plight and she understood. She told me it was her favorite flavor too! Though Lisa sympathized, she explained that she only had so much influence. She did suggest however, that if I get as many other Vanilla Caramel Fudge-loving friends as possible to call, it might help my cause. By the time the week was out seven friends had called to voice their concern. She sent us all free coupons, a personalized letter suggesting similar flavors and a promise that she would put the word in.

Several months went by and nothing happened.

Then one day last summer I received a letter explaining that because of a tremendous public outcry for Vanilla Caramel Fudge, it was being reinstated and will be pulled from the “Dearly Departed Flavors” list. It was back! I felt very excited. That night, in celebration, I went out and bought some Haagen-Dazs vanilla, some hot fudge and some caramel syrup. Lisa said to give it some time before the real stuff would appear at my local grocer.

I waited patiently for eight months, every now and then poking my head into various bodegas hoping it would be there. Occasionally I thought it was, but to no avail. It would always be a Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch (they have the same lettering).

On March 13, one of the coldest nights of the year, I wandered into the deli/grocery on the southwest corner of 47th Street and Ninth Avenue to escape the frigid air. It was warm inside, the heat blasting. In the store window, a now Kelly green “Dean for President” sticker. The hunter was gone. In the store freezer, a full shipment of Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Caramel Fudge.

“Three ninety-five each,” the clerk said.

I would’ve paid anything.