Potential laxative. Occasional platonic matchmaker. Guaranteed temporary serotonin release. Ice-cream. The lifeline of the student population, but only after a long hard day of pretending to study at Central. Located on the corner of George and Albany Street, Rob Roy is essentially an institution: a beacon of cheap, sugary salvation, rain or shine, breakdown or bender.
So, you’re stuck in Dunedin. It’s week two: you miss your mum, you haven’t made a single new meaningful connection, and you also don't know how to take a communal shit in the communal bathroom of your communal living situation (*bangs head repeatedly against communal wall in hopes of communal relief in this communal hell hole*). On top of that, your flat is fucking freezing. Again. Already. Another summer lost to the glory of minimum wage labour, and memories of the beach haunt you in your restless dreams. Some fucker with an excess amount of spare time has already tried to egg you, as if it’s not evident enough that you’re a suffering Dunedin veteran. Home sweet home.
No need to fret, no need to fray, Rob Roy is here to save the day! A versatile solution to each and every student problem.
The only question remains: what the fuck do you order when the menu’s larger than the dictionary and spread across multiple everchanging screens. There’s more flavours than dollars in your bank account, and a hostile line of underfed, overworked and worryingly sober students are breathing down your neck in matching pink dressing gowns and ratty ugg boots.
With all this in mind, Critic Te Ārohi presents the ultimate Rob Roy menu guide.
Tip Top Scoops: $3.50 – $6.50
Let’s be honest, it’s the basic bitch choice. But no stress – this is a safe space. Critic respects your vanilla tendencies.
With a wide price range of $3.50 to $6.50 and the opportunity to pick 1-4 flavours, the Tip Top scoop is likely your safest option. The texture is consistently smooth and creamy, and the close to infinite range of flavours means you can either play it safe with Cookies and Cream, or go rogue with Gold Rush.
For the average lover of sugar with minimal cash management skills, Critic recommends a single serve with 2 flavours for $4.50 as the sweet spot. You simply can’t go wrong. It's economical, efficient at curbing sugar cravings and melts at a totally manageable pace to keep you free of sticky fingers.
The four-flavour double scoop, however, is a huge structural and emotional commitment. Respect to those who attempt it. Critic’s tongue isn't strong enough to finish without a cramp. There’s some kind of dirty joke to be made there but we can’t be bothered.
Affordability: 10/10
Satisfaction Scale: 7/10
Likelihood of post Rob Roy throw-up due to sugar overdose: 0% (unless you got four flavours in which case the contents of your stomach will 100% be joining the victims of George Street).
Critic’s Top Trump rating: 8/10
Real Fruit Ice Cream: $6.50
While Rob Roy may lack the whimsy of your average roadside fruit stall in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, it’s real fruit ice cream can certainly come close to transporting you out of the depths of North Dunedin and onto the beach in January.
With many-a-berry to choose from, the real fruit never disappoints – that’s if your student loan can stretch to accommodate a $6.50 mixture of frozen berries and ice cream the size of your face. It can. Don’t question it. Texturewise, RFIs are thick, smooth and creamy. The tartness of the fruit cuts through the sweetness of the ice cream.
When else are you getting 5+ a day disguised as a treat?
Affordability: 4/10
Satisfaction Scale: 9/10
Likelihood of post Rob Roy throw-up due to sugar overdose: 0% (It’s fruit. Be for real).
Critic’s Top Trump Rating: 7/10
Bikkie Batter Ice Cream: $6.50
An underrated dark horse. Sickening at first, highly addictive when consumed repeatedly in excess and should probably come with some sort of health warning.
This treat is the perfect middle ground between the simple luxury of soft serve and the kind of unbaked heaven a good spoon of raw dough can always instill (before the nausea kicks in three bites deep). Try it, if you dare (when the machine isn’t broken, that is). Sitting at the same price point as the real fruit ($6.50), this deathly combination of raw cookie dough (original, chocolate or caramel) and vanilla ice cream is either loved or despised. No in-between. Either way, your life will never be the same again – and neither will your stomach lining.
Critic is void of any and all liability.
Affordability: 4/10
Satisfaction Scale: Scale = broken.
Likelihood of post Rob Roy throw-up due to sugar overdose: 100%
Critic’s Top Trump Rating: 9/10
Raw Cookie Dough: $5.30
The OG Rob Roy item (recommended for experts only). It's essentially a gateway drug to nightly wanders for a sweet treat.
Served in a cup with no ice cream buffer, the raw cookie dough is dense, rich and sweet as fuck. The texture is smooth but alarmingly heavy on your stomach. Without the dilution of dairy, the flavour is very concentrated. Just pure sugar, butter and whatever variation you choose.
Halfway through consumption, the richness begins to take its toll, and what started as bliss becomes a test of endurance and grit. That being said, when tactically consumed across multiple sweet treat breaks, it can stretch into something almost sustainable.
This is the item for someone who knows exactly what they like and does not require balance, or digestive comfort.
Affordability: 4/10
Satisfaction Scale: 6-7/10
Likelihood of post Rob Roy throw-up due to sugar overdose: Moderate to high, depending on self-control.
Critic’s Top Trump Rating: 8/10
Hot Brownie Sundae: $8
It’s the holy grail. The mother of all sweet treats. The solution to all of your problems including those you chose to ignore and repress while buying ice cream. Hot brownie (caramel, white chocolate or double chocolate). Ice cream (tip top, soft serve or frozen yoghurt). Sauces, toppings, everything you need in life. Orgasmic in the sort of way your Hinge hookup could only dream of. The best $8 you’ll ever spend. Get out those course related costs if necessary. While Critic doesn’t encourage stealing, if they did this would be a valid cause. You won’t regret it and it’s cheaper than an appointment with student health. Just get the sundae.
Affordability: Money is a social construct.
Satisfaction Scale: You’ll never be sad again.
Likelihood of post Rob Roy throw-up due to sugar overdose: Doesn’t matter.
Critic’s Top Trump Rating: 10/10. Get the fucking sundae.
Deluxe Cup: $6.80
The Deluxe Cup lies comfortably between modest restraint and financial recklessness. Sitting at an accessible $6.80 she’s ideal for someone who is not prepared to commit to the $8 sundae but knows that a single scoop will not satiate their cravings.
With a solid range of flavours, from Sherbet Fizz for those who like it sour and a little funky, or the Chocolate Overload for you basic bitches, it offers more depth than the standard scoop without causing the stomach aches that other items might cause in a few hours.
The deluxe cup is what Critic would call a sensible, but still indulgent, order.
Affordability: 8/10
Satisfaction Scale: Satisfied
Likelihood of post Rob Roy throw-up due to sugar overdose: Pretty low.
Critic’s Top Trump Rating: 5/10
