The ice itself comes in a myriad of flavors (like mango, strawberry, blueberry and chocolate), and customers can choose toppings to go with it (fruits or, more traditionally,  beans). The experience of eating it changes as the Snow Ice melts. First, as Tasting Table describes it, it tastes "dense and chewy," but as it warms, it turns into something closer to sherbet. The Asian culinary site Makansutra describes the texture as "unbelievably smooth, light and very airy," and writes that it "has a mild sense of richness which sorbets and low-fat ice creams cannot deliver." Furthermore, the treat is surprisingly healthy -- containing somewhere between 100 and 200 calories.

Where did it come from?

Supposedly Snow Ice was invented in Taiwan -- where it's most famously sold near Taipei's  Shilin Night Market -- but Singapore has its own take on the item, which is allegedly slightly sweeter than the Taiwanese version. According to Makansutra, Durian (the notoriously smelly Asian fruit) is apparently an especially popular flavor in Singapore's Snow Ice shops. It's mostly stayed under the radar in the last few years, popping up occasionally on travel and Asian food blogs, but now it's becoming available at businesses on this side of the Pacific -- in some parts of California, Hawaii, Texas and, now, Illinois -- so that's likely not going to be true for much longer. 

Time Out, among other publications, recently wrote up Chicago's first Snow Ice establishment, Cloud 9, which opened this spring. The store offers a variety of flavors for $4 per cup (extra toppings cost 69 cents) and Tasting Table has raved about its sundaes made of "vanilla-flavored ice, chocolate syrup, crushed peanuts and crumbled Heath bars."

Who's eating it?

Aside from Taiwanese and Singaporean communities, it's online foodies and, apparently, students at DePaul University.

Longevity rating: 7 (out of 10)

With the right amount of exposure, Snow Ice could be poised to become the next big Pinkberry-style urban dessert trend: It's extremely healthy and low in calories, mildly exotic (like bubble tea), reasonably affordable, and it's easy to take away, so you can eat it on the go. Its relative unknown status also makes it highly appealing to food snobs who can use it to point out how much worldlier they are than their lame ice-cream eating friends.

Most soft, chewy pretzels are made from wheat flour, water and yeast, dipped in lye and sprinkled in salt. But recipes can vary immensely, depending on how elaborate you'd like to go -- Jeffrey Hamelman's book, "Bread: A Baker's Book of Techniques and Recipes," calls for fermentation, pate fermente (in which finished dough is mixed in with unfinished dough) and a bath of water and lye (requiring goggles). But newer pretzel offerings are increasingly straying from the straighforward formula, with flavors like Gruyère paprika and jalapeño cheddar (both of which are available at New York's Sigmund pretzel shop).

Where did it come from?

The pretzel has been around in some form for more than a thousand years, but the lye pretzel (which is now most common) has been around since the 19th century, when, supposedly, a German baker accidentally dropped some baked goods in a vat of lye, and became entranced by their new flavor and color. Germans have long been using pretzel dough to make buns and breads  and baked goods in non-traditional shapes -- but in the U.S, when most of us think of pretzels, we generally imagine the soft and chewy New York street food variety, or the small crunchy kind that nearly killed a certain ex-president.

The pretzel resurgence likely began at the start of the decade, partly as a result of the upscale salt trend, but in the last few weeks the New York Times' T Magazine noted a new "explosion of artisanal twists and braids" made of pretzel dough in New York restaurants. This ranges from upscale chocolate-covered pretzel at Prime Meats, Gruyère and butter-filled pretzel bread at Almondine, and ham and brie pretzel knots at Café Pedlar. The Blimpie restaurant chain recently introduced pretzel bread for its sandwiches. Last month, the Culinary Institute of America's Tom Vaccaro told the Associated Press that the pretzel is "almost in that trend phase where you're seeing it almost everywhere," and some bakeries are even selling pretzel baguettes. Now the M&M's are getting into it: Its newest flavor? Pretzel!

Who's eating it?

The popularity of pretzel dough, like the recent popularity of macaroni and cheese and cupcakes, is likely tied to the food industry's penchant for taking comfort food items and giving them a slightly upscale makeover. Most of us associate pretzels with street food and a homey, middle- and working-class Americana -- best eaten in places like Coney Island, or the county fair, or while drunk at 2 a.m. in a New York City cab. During times of economic turmoil, these new takes on the pretzel offer consumers a familiar item in a slightly unfamiliar shape, a kind of nonthreatening exoticism.

Longevity rating: 4 (out of 10)

Alas, doughy things (even in unexpected shapes) don't quite have the exciting kick of something like cake balls or Sichuan buttons. Some might be entranced by knots and braids, but when it comes to sandwiches, most Americans care more about what's inside it than what it's made with.

What is it?

In the past few years -- and especially the past few months -- raw milk has become, despite the controversy that surrounds it, quite the trendy thing to drink. What is it? Unlike the stuff that most of us buy at the local grocery store, raw milk hasn't been pasteurized (meaning it hasn't been heated to bacteria-destroying 145 degrees). This means that, on the up side, it has a creamier consistency and exotic taste far removed from what you probably have in your fridge, and, on the down side, it has a higher likelihood of killing you.

The FDA has warned consumers that raw milk can contain bacteria, like Salmonella and E. coli, that cause "vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain," and, in some cases, death. But according to raw milk devotees, not only has the risk of drinking raw milk been greatly exaggerated, the supposed health benefits that come with it are enough to justify their daredevil ways. Although there's little scientific proof, raw milk proponents claim that the pasteurization process robs the milk of beneficial ingredients, like vitamins A, B12 and C, good bacteria like lactobacillus, and the arthritis-fighting compound Wulzen Facto. Many drink the milk because they believe it helps them fight specific conditions (like asthma, eczema or arthritis) or because of its healthful aura.

And then there's the texture: Raw milk is thick and creamy -- if you leave it sit, the cream will separate and float to the top -- and its color can vary depending on the time of year (from pale yellow to gold to greenish), along with its taste. 

Where did it come from?

Obviously people were drinking raw milk for centuries before Louis Pasteur and Claude Bernard invented the pasteurization process in the 19th century. But they were also doing a heck of a lot more throwing up. In 1938, milk was responsible for 25 percent of food and water-related illness in the United States, but after the FDA banned the interstate sale of unpasteurized milk in 1987 that number fell to 1 percent (by 1993). Today the sale of raw milk is only legal in 28 states, each with different rules and regulations. (In Virgina, for example, the only way to get raw milk is to own a share in a cow.) A Wisconsin bill legalizing the sale of raw milk currently awaits a signature from the governor.

The pro-raw milk movement has, in some form,  existed since the advent of pasteurization. But in recent years it's turned into something more organized -- or as some have suggested, a "tea party movement" of dairy. Spurred by the rising profile of various food trends in America, including locavorism, veganism, vegetarianism, raw food and slow food, websites, like realmilk.com, have popped up to help consumers find the drink in their immediate area. New York has seen an upswing in farms permitted to sell raw milk (29 in 2010 compared to 19 three years ago). There has been a nearly 300 percent increase in permitted farms in Connecticut, and raw milk's burgeoning popularity has caught the interest of the New York Times, New York magazine, the Wall Street Journal and Grist, among many others.

Who's drinking it?

According to the pro-raw milk Weston A. Price Foundation, 3 million Americans drink raw milk on a regular basis -- a good portion of whom are likely health-conscious folks who are suspicious of industrial farming and not the biggest fans of those buzzkills at the FDA. In New York, raw milk drinkers often participate in a "delivery club" in which a middleman brings in the milk from a farm (a process that is technically illegal), though the exact process for getting the milk, of course, varies from state to state. It's also worth noting that raw milk isn't exactly cheap -- New York Mag's Susan Burton paid $23 for two bottles -- so families who are scraping by probably won't be pouring raw milk over their Cheerios.

Longevity rating: 7 (out of 10)

Until there's firm scientific and popular consensus on both the advantages and dangers of raw milk, it's likely to remain a niche product enjoyed by a small number of politically minded, middle-class consumers -- who don't mind a little danger to go with their cookies.

They are, as you'd expect, spherical desserts made of cake and frosting, covered with a semi-hard sweet coating, and unlike macarons, they're actually easy to make at home. The basic (and shockingly unwholesome) recipe involves baking a whole cake, crumbling it into tiny pieces, mixing those with frosting and covering the entire sugary mess with some sort of confectionary coating. They come in all kinds of different flavors -- ranging from red velvet and chocolate to "spicy chocolate baked with ancho, mixed with ancho cream cheese frosting and topped with cayenne toasted walnuts" (on sale at Austin's Holy Cacao dessert trailer).

Where did they come from?

Although they are supposedly an old Southern confection, the current cake ball trend seems to have been kick-started in 2006 by a Dallas woman named Robin Ankeny, who used her mother's "one-of-a-kind" cake ball recipe to start a business called, rather straightforwardly, The Cake Ball Company. In the years since, the company has exploded -- her cake balls are now shipped to numerous bakeries, popular at weddings and even available in the Neiman Marcus catalogue (flavors include strawberry, chocolate toffee and "wedding cake").

Since then, unsurprisingly, a rash of imitators have popped up, spurring what some writers have called the 2009 Texas "cake ball craze." In early 2009, New Orleans Times Picayune food editor Judy Walker claimed that cake balls "are quite the rage in Louisiana." At one Christmas party, she wrote, "I noticed my husband loading several into a napkin to take home [and] urged him to load up another napkin for me." This winter, the Dallas Morning News featured the desserts as a special Valentine's Day treat. The Onion AV Club profiled the owners of the Hot Cacao trailer, calling their cake balls (which come impaled on a stick) a "delicious amalgam that falls somewhere between pastries, truffles and lollipops." They've been selected as Rachael Ray's snack of the day, and most recently, were featured in Tasting Table's newsletter of trendy foods.

Who's eating them?

Clearly, they're popular among Southerners -- like, of course, flying-ham victim Paula Deen -- and should be a hit with anybody who isn't afraid of eating what basically consists of a large ball of sugar. Cake balls are already widespread on YouTube, and given the Cake Ball Company's national distribution, it's likely that they'll soon be expanding their popularity beyond the South. Since cake balls are small, portable and reasonably inexpensive, they are, like their cupcake predecessors, perfectly suited for city-dwellers (especially trend-conscious New Yorkers) who might be looking for a quick treat on the go.

Longevity rating: 5 (out of 10)

Cake balls have a lot of things going for them -- their homey appeal, their variety, a giggle-inducing name -- and Americans are always looking for the next trendy dessert. But given the remarkable amount of sugar involved, it's unlikely that they'll ever reach the kind of widespread popularity of the cupcake (which enjoyed a considerably more responsible cake to frosting ratio). But who knows? If this summer's "Sex and the City" movie contains a scene of Liza Minelli eating a cake ball on a camel (and, at this point, why wouldn't it?) you'll probably be fighting them off with a tennis raquet by the end of the year.

Fernet Branca's intense effect on the palate is largely due to its extreme bitterness, though the drink also contains, among other exotic herbs, myrrh, gentian root, saffron, zedoary, chamomile, cardamom, aloe, and something called cinchona (the exact formula is kept strictly secret). San Francisco Weekly called it "black-licorice flavored Listerine," Robert Misch, the former head of the Wine and Food Society of New York called it the "liqueur of Hades" and wrote that drinking it is "like hitting yourself on the head with a hammer," and Betsy von Furstenberg was suspended from Actor's Equity in 1960 after secretly putting it into Tony Randall's onstage drink.

The drink is often consumed as a shot, or mixed with Coke. It often overtakes anything it is mixed with, but  the Wall Street Journal's Eric Felten suggests mixing it with Vermouth and Bourbon.

Where did it come from?

The formula for Fernet Branca was first developed in Italy, in 1845, by man named Bernardino Branca (the Fernet was added for marketing reasons). After subjecting family members to a tasting of his new concoction, he went about marketing it as medicine -- to ease menstrual pains, promote digestion and prevent aging -- and somehow managed to turn it into a hugely popular product. Naturally, when the great wave of Italian immigration hit the United States, it brought along love for the trenchant liqueur which, thanks to its supposed medicinal properties, even managed to stay on the market through Prohibition.

Despite this auspicious start, the liqueur never really made it huge mainstream U.S. market (which may have something to do with its tendency to make people cry). But in the last few years, its profile has once again been rising among connoisseurs and bartenders. According to Felten, Fernet's repellent taste is becoming something of a challenge for know-it-all foodies, and its appeal to the little-stimulated bitter-tasting part of the palate could be another reason for its sudden ressurgence.

Who's drinking it?

Bizarrely, a disproportionate number of San Franciscans. The City by the Bay is responsible for 35 percent of the country's Fernet Branca consumption (the reason remains a mystery, but it might have something to do withthe city's general affection for eccentricity). Also: Argentinians. Fernet Branca and Coke is so popular it's basically Argentina's national cocktail. (In case you're looking for a personal theme song for your Fernet and Coke consumption, check out Argentinian band Vilma Palma's "Fernet Con Cola.") Most trashily, a large number of Germans apparently enjoy drinking it with Red Bull.

Longevity rating: 6 (out of 10)

Clearly, Fernet Branca isn't a new phenomenon -- and the millions of Branca-loving Italians and Argentinians must be on to something -- but the extremity of the drink's taste is likely going to restrict it, for the foreseable future, to a small number of adventure-seeking drinkers (and those crazy, crazy San Franciscans).