Ice cream is one of life’s simplest and most enduring culinary pleasures. The first published recipe, which dates back to the 17th century, combined milk, water, sugar, and candied citron or pumpkin. By the early 20th century, companies were regularly adding stabilizers to their ice creams to prevent them from getting freezer burn and artificial dyes to give them appealing hues. But the core essence of ice cream—sweetened, frozen dairy—remained largely unchanged into the 21st century. Even Halo Top, the diet ice cream that surpassed Ben & Jerry’s as the nation’s best-selling in 2017, simply subbed in skim milk and artificial sweeteners to keep the calories down.
Then came David. The protein-bar company has turned its attention to “frozen dessert,” which is, of course, more commonly known as ice cream, though the company can’t legally call their product that. Instead of being made with cream and milk, it comprises a “protein system,” a “structure system,” a “fat system,” and a “flavor system,” each of which is composed of ultra-processed ingredients such as whey protein isolate and “modified plant fat.” The only whole natural ingredients on the vanilla flavor’s label are water, salt, and vanilla bean. And yet, the treat’s basic <a href="https://healthylife7.com/facet-seven-fitness-training-and-nutrition-for-longevity/” title=”Facet Seven Fitness: Training and Nutrition for Longevity”>nutritional stats are impressive: A pint has just 210 calories, less than 1 gram of sugar, and 30 grams of protein. Unlike diet ice creams of the past, it is rich and creamy. When the product launched on David’s website in June, it sold out in 28 minutes. (The company declined to tell me how many units it sold.)
David’s ice cream is perhaps the most outwardly refined of a whole category of frozen desserts that are being deliberately packed with protein. These protein-ice-cream companies and others processing their way to a palatable nutrition label are making a bet on what Americans truly want from food. We (and our government) might have grown more skeptical than ever of industrially produced foods, but we also expect quite a lot from every morsel we consume. When I recently spoke with Brendan Niemira, the chief science and technology officer of the Institute of Food Technologists, he spent nearly two minutes listing qualities that Americans now desire: that food be tasty and safe, sure, but also low-calorie, high-protein, probiotic, full of omega-3 fatty acids, and so on.
Last month, PepsiCo launched a powdered oatmeal drink, with 15 grams of protein, that dissolves in cold milk or water. It also makes a prebiotic version of Pepsi that contains 3 grams of fiber and does not taste like Metamucil. Kraft Heinz recently introduced a mac and cheese with 17 grams of protein and 6 grams of fiber, thanks largely to a “proprietary protein-and fiber-enriched pasta.” Nestlé offers a 45-calorie “pre-meal hunger support nutritional drink” that is composed almost entirely of industrially processed ingredients and that the company says helps people feel full sooner. At the Institute of Food Technologists’ annual conference earlier this summer, I feasted on “better-for-you BBQ pizza,” the crust of which was fortified with wheat-protein isolate, and watermelon-lime “satiety soda” that was spiked with corn fiber. I even ate frozen yogurt that starred a “network of cell-signaling peptides from the fava bean” and was supposed to help me recover from workouts.
On paper, Americans are generally wary of such products: In a June 2025 survey, more than 60 percent of respondents said they believe that ultra-processed foods are addictive. And some experts worry that the ingredients such products depend on—emulsifiers, preservatives, and sugar substitutes—are somehow messing with our metabolism, such that the impressive macros of these products don’t provide the full picture of their healthfulness. (The FDA approves the safety of such additives, but that review process historically has focused on toxicity and, say, cancer risk, not metabolic effects.) Many believe that the manipulation of ingredients causes our bodies to react in unforeseen ways to the food we eat—that a manufactured “protein system” might not be beneficial in the way that, say, lentils’ protein system is. Or they note the simple fact that many UPFs—even those that may be high-protein, probiotic, or high-omega-3—still contain a lot of fat, sugar, and salt, which are clearly bad for us.
Take PepsiCo’s SunChips Fiber, which launched in March. A 7-ounce bag of the chips—seven servings, according to the company, but honestly not that enormous of a snack—has 21 grams of fiber, most of what the FDA recommends an adult eat in a day. But it also has 910 calories. Even if these fiber-filled SunChips had fewer calories, UPF critics would point to the way they’re made—using an industrial process called extrusion, which essentially pulverizes grains into easily digestible morsels—as a potential danger. (Some researchers suspect that extruded grains spike insulin more than their unprocessed counterparts.)
The problem is that the science around which processing steps and industrial ingredients might actually be harmful is still in its infancy. And it will struggle to catch up with the food industry’s innovation. Major food companies are regularly creating new processes for spiking foods with nutrients without making them taste like health foods. Nestlé’s “hunger support” drink, for example, uses something the company calls “whey protein microgels,” which help prevent the drink from getting too thick in the manufacturing process. David’s frozen dessert is so low-calorie and yet so indulgent because of that “modified plant fat,” a chemical called esterified propoxylated glycerol that is not absorbed by the digestive tract and was cleared for use in food by the FDA in 2015. (An earlier nondigestible fat, olestra, infamously flopped after people began reporting that it was causing them “anal leakage” in the ’90s; safety studies of EPG indicate that such leakage could occur with very high doses.) Scientists might be convinced that extrusion can make an otherwise healthy product like whole grains metabolically harmful. But what about “supercritical fluid extrusion” that—according to Frito-Lay, which patented the technology—uses less heat and thus can “deliver high levels of fruits or vegetables” in a still-crispy snack?
Until experts can articulate precisely why ultra-processed health foods are a problem, we’ll all be stuck in limbo. Companies will continue offering ever more processed and refined health foods, made with shiny new ingredients and methods; meanwhile, some experts will continue warning Americans that we should not eat them, without being able to back those warnings up with data on the latest foods. Every time a new processed health food hits the shelves, anyone who visits a grocery store will have to guess whether thisone will be truly healthy. In the face of some uncertainty, at least some Americans are, so far, turning to products such as David’s: The company sold $131 million worth of its protein bars in their first year on the market.
Most Americans don’t actually need more protein in their diet, and certainly they could get it without spending about $9 on a pint of David. “This so-called ice cream looks to me a boondoggle for all concerned, save those selling it at, no doubt, extremely high profit margins,” David Katz, the founding director of the Yale-Griffin Prevention Research Center, told me via email. But David’s CEO, Peter Rahal, told me his detractors are luddites. He argued that people need more protein than the daily recommended amount to “thrive,” and that having the option of a new diet ice cream on the shelf shouldn’t be controversial. “You want the full-fat, full-cream, full-sugar thing that has this amazing heritage, go for it. But if you want something that’s really close to taste and texture, that’s more advanced and more sophisticated, it should be there for you,” he said. (David’s product is so expensive, Rahal said, because of the cost of whey protein.)
Clearly, some Americans see the world like Rahal does. When the craving for ice cream hits, a pint under 300 calories has its own appeal—even if it’s not ice cream at all
