In Which the Reviewer Freaks Out: Culture 

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Culture
331 Fifth Ave, Park Slope
Rating: 5 out of 5 L's

This froyo joint is haunting my dreams. Ever since I sampled Culture's soft serve, which is rich and creamy with just enough real-yogurt tang, I've been fiending for another fix. Last night, I dreamt I was back at this Park Slope yogurteria for the first time, once again making the joyful discovery that my sundae toppings—refreshingly tart, house-made key lime custard and the fairy-dust of finely ground graham cracker crumbs—had been thoughtfully spooned into the bottom of my yogurt cup before the yogurt was dispensed. Toppings on the top and the bottom, people. I'm in love. And by "in love" I mean "lying awake at 3:30am thinking about calling the yogurt place to see what time they open." This frozen yogurt is as nourishing as it gets—made of low-fat milk from upstate New York that's hormone- and antibiotic-free—but I've already become unhealthily addicted to it.

Slideshow
Culture Yogurt
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Culture Yogurt

By Ashley Minette

Click to View 9 slides

Truth: I've been a yogurt junkie since half my junior-varsity soccer team was working at TCBY in high school (and to this day, I will never turn down a white chocolate mousse with chocolate chip cookie dough—I'm no froyo snob), but before my Culture visit, I've always been satisfied with the dairy stash in my home freezer and fridge. I started yesterday morning with a pink grapefruit-flecked Swiss yogurt, snacked on a little Greek yogurt with honey and granola in the afternoon, and ate a fancy pomegranate-swirl yogurt pop before bedtime last night. Still, I went to sleep thinking about the utter contentment on the face of my one-year-old buddy, Owen, as his mama spoon-fed him Culture's full-fat strained (i.e. Greek-style, not frozen) yogurt with pureed strawberry on top. I wondered about the upcoming flavor-of-the-day, reminiscing about the strawberry-kiwi I sampled in a cute little spoon. I debated whether I could stand to bypass the key lime combo in favor of trying something new—like the parfait, layered with raw honey, granola and fresh berries, or the Vermont Maple sundae, 
with syrupy pecans and bananas.

So, what does the shop look like? That's a good question. Apparently, love is blind because I don't really remember. The menu was written on a chalkboard behind the yogurt. There were brick-exposed walls, and the handful of tables left enough room to park a couple of strollers. Our friendly cashier had tattoos encircling her wrist and she gave me a loyalty card—buy ten yogurts, get one free. So if my addiction continues to escalate, I'll be seeing a freebie every other week. Magical yogurt, please release me!



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