Children love ice cream like cats love string, and like mold loves bread. And I was no exception growing up in sunny southern California. My sisters and I would ceaselessly nag, beg, and pester my father into hauling us to the closest Baskin Robbins ice cream parlor for occasional treats. Back in the 70s, the pickings were fairly basic, with stuff like vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and sometimes there were a few flamboyant choices like Jamoca Almond Fudge and Bubblegum ice cream. But really, it was simple, lactose-loving, sugar-laden ice cream.

I bring all of this up, largely because of the excitement and ensuing debate caused by my recent HFCS (high fructose corn syrup) post. Readers, while not always in agreement with my position, all seemed to be inspired by the attack on common sense unleashed by the Corn Refiners Association. All of your comments got me thinking about the links between sugar, high-fructose corn syrup, serving size issues and obesity. Even the high-fructose corn syrup lobby urges the masses to consume HFCS in moderation, which is a near impossibility considering it is increasingly present in processed food. So, I began thinking about the concept of moderation, and the notion that maybe a taste of high-fructose corn syrup, on occasion, might not summon the four horsemen of the apocalypse. I thought of the relative innocence of ice cream, and the indelible pleasures it afforded me with infrequent trips, as a child, to Baskin Robbins. Maybe I should consider a brief dance with the devil holding a HFCS ice cream treat firmly in hand?

So, I decided to drop in on my old friend Baskin Robbins, and see how the venerable BR has grown older, and wiser, as I certainly have.

What I stumbled upon was what could only be called a weapon of mass metabolic destruction in the form of the Heath® Shake (not to be confused with a health shake, by any stretch of the imagination).

Beside the fact that this junk food abomination is so filled with corn syrup that it should (holding true to the rules of ethanol propulsion) be able to power a small vehicle, it is also loaded with 266g of sugar (more than a cup of sugar) in a single 32 oz. serving. On the positive end of the spectrum, it contains a whopping 35g of protein, but this comes at a cost of 1560mg of sodium, 64g of saturated fat, and 295mg of artery-barricading cholesterol, with a total caloric intake of 2,310 calories per shake (roughly the entire recommended daily caloric intake for an adult, all in one serving).

Am I being unfair to the revered Baskin Robbins? Not intentionally, but I am publicly crucifying this 32 oz. mutation to illustrate a point, not specifically about HFCS, or sugar, or ice cream, or calorie counts, or even serving size, but about how even the innocent pleasures of ice cream have been hijacked by all of the above. How the mere concept of moderation is a relative impossibility, and how we have all been driven away from a culture of minor indulgence into a state of high alert food phobia and unyielding vigilance, by cheap sweeteners, powerful lobbyists, low expectations, and a general polluting of our food supply.

Is the answer outrage and activism, or short-term avoidance of all things superficial, unhealthy, and highly processed? I don’t rightly know, but I could tell you that I walked out of that Baskin Robbins with only a paper cup of water in my hand.

Eric Steinman is a freelance writer based in Rhinebeck, N.Y. He regularly writes about food, music, art, architecture and culture and is a regular contributor to Bon Appétit among other publications.

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