I was out making my usual foray into the ice cream freezer at my local grocery store to pick up Dreyer’s Cookie Dough ice cream for the members of my family who are perfectly happy eating the exact same flavor day in and day out.

I just don’t understand people like that. The whole beauty of ice cream is its ability to be a blank slate, a palate for whatever strikes the flavor inventor’s fancy. That’s why I subscribe to the cult of Ben and Jerry’s, which long ago set the bar high in the gourmet ice cream world when it turned the vanilla-chocolate-strawberry universe upside down like a well-licked bowl in the sink.

Those crazy guys (OK, I know it’s not really Ben or Jerry anymore, but it’s more fun saying it that way) have done it again, but we’re not talking a wacky flavor named after anybody famous. We’re talking about the carton in which the ice cream is served.

Yes, tucked away on the bottom shelf of the freezer was a stash of itty-bitty-teeny-weeny one-serving containers of Ben and Jerry’s.

To an ice cream addict, this was not really happy news. Nope. This was an in-your-face confrontation of the fact that an entire pint of ice cream does not one serving make.

Yes, I confess. I and many people I know have been perfectly happy deluding ourselves that eating an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting (ideally while watching “The Sopranos”) is totally acceptable.

Now, I do have to say the arrival of detailed nutritional labels a few years ago made this habit a little harder to stomach (one pint = four servings), but I just adjusted by eating only half a pint in one sitting.

But seeing the harsh reality of how little ice cream counts as a serving was a little much to take.

Yet there they were, small enough to fit in Barbie’s hand, cute little tubs of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough (so much better than Dreyer’s) and Chocolate Brownie, so delicate and packaged with a handy plastic spoon for anyone needing to eat it immediately.

I bought one of each — a bargain at only 39 cents a piece — and glanced hesitantly at the label, even harder to read given the containers’ petite size. One serving = 240 calories, or so I think. Grams of fat? You seriously do not want to know.

Oh the humanity. How could something small be so bad and so good?

I sat down with my trashy celeb mag and my fistful of ice cream and tried to be all Zen. I could only take small bites because a regular spoon doesn’t even fit comfortably into the container. (Maybe a teaspoon would have worked better?) I tried to focus on the delicious full-fat flavor.

It’s quality not quantity, right?

I must say I was surprisingly satisfied after my Lilliputian snack. Maybe I can be reformed! I didn’t even chow down the second container until the next night.

Hmmm. Two single servings in two days equals half a pint. I think somehow I’m still missing the point.