It was already well into August, and I realized I had not yet patronized my favorite gelateria. Well yes, it is a chain outlet, but not an obnoxiously over-exposed brand. It features a changing selection of unusual flavors. Or, at least, they seem exotic to someone who grew up on Baskin Robbins’ Jamoca Almond Fudge and Cock Robbins’ Chocolate Chip.

Chocolate Carmel and Sea Salt. Panna Cotta. Pistachio that actually tastes like the nut only creamy. Say ahhhhh!

So I was at a Thursday night concert in Lincoln Square listening to an acoustic Beatles tribute band wrap up their set with Eight Days a Week, and I decided to pack up my lawn chair and walk into Paciugo’s.

Decorated in ultra modern white, the place practically glowed as I approached. There was a little bit of a line leaning over the glass case, but there were four twenty-somethings waiting on customers, so the line moved pretty briskly.

Outfitted in simple black jeans and logo-ized long-sleeved black cotton shirts, they were a great advertisement for forgetting the butterfat content of their product. It was hard not to look at the colorful freezer case and not say to myself, “I’ll have a scoop of everything…and I want to look like that.”

Instead of being impatient while I waited in line, I tried to use the time to observe what other people were choosing. Every flavor seemed to be a sort of extreme color, if there is such a term. The berry flavors vibrated in hues that could decorate a fairy kingdom. Chocolate themed tubs of gelato seemed to draw you in to their darkness.

Soon enough, a good-looking, slim young woman –- dare I call her a flavor consultant – stood in front of me. She held up a pink plastic spoon, barely 2 inches long, and said the magic words.

“Is there anything you’d like to try?”

I am not entirely sure why the ritual of the pink plastic spoon makes me so happy. I know I can try as many flavors as I like. That’s a perk. No one in line seems to judge me for vacillating before placing my order and moving to the register. Chances are, making up their minds is not easy for them either.

But I really like the safe way I can stretch my comfort zone. I might not like the idea of being a strictly vanilla or strawberry person, but I am not sure my taste buds are so adventurous that I want my cup or cone filled with maple bacon or olive oil and cracked pepper ice cream.

I like the way tasting similar flavors, one mini pink spoonful after another, can help me distinguish the subtle differences between options and, ultimately, help me understand my own tastes. What is the difference between chocolate with hazelnut, chocolate with hints of orange and saffron, or chocolate with toasted coconut? Which one do I like more?

Of course, it’s nice to be able to taste before you buy something so that you feel assured that you’ve made a good investment. Even though, if it turns out you don’t like a flavor you order, you’re only out four dollars, it still feels good to choose something you’ll like from first to last mouthful.

I love going on tastings, ultimately, because I like to be in situations where my preferences matter. Whether wine, beer, cheese, olive oil or some other consumable, I like the opportunity to learn what I want more of and what I’d just as well skip. I love to exercise my preferences.

Being able to try a small taste of something before you commit to full portion is no small thing.