screaming for cream
chermelle,marcy and myrtle
i made a trip to the ice cream shop, a new age ice cream shop that feels a lot like the old age ice cream shops. the age old ice creamshops like the Baskin Robbins our parents took us to when we made small but grand personal accomplishments; an A on a test, completing a public speaking talk or smashing the science competition.
going to the ice cream shop was a lot different than hauling down an ice cream truck or the local market that happened to also scoop cream alongside burgers and fries, patty melts and sundaes. going to the ice cream shop was an event, a place and a time that requested you to be of a certain manner of ‘doing’ ice cream.
my father always, without fail ordered a banana split. he would tell us ‘don’t let your eyes get bigger than your stomach’ when it came to food but never when it came to ice cream. my mom was simple and pure: usually a traditional flavor like vanilla or chocolate paired with one scoop of something rich in flavor like butter pecan.
as for me, I’d often try a lot of flavors; what can I say, I love exploring. but more ofthen than not I’d settle on one, the unassuming one that I discovered one summer when I went pass my idea of not wanting something with too much chocolate.
that flavor was gold medal ribbon. this flavor marked a lot of A’s on report cards, tears at coming in second place, overcoming nerves in front of large crowds and passing my driver test the second time, darn that wrong lane shift on the freeway the first time.
crazy how this coffee: notes of caramel sorbet, slivers of nougat, cacao nib shavings and a quarter of a ripened red gala Apple reminds of of the ice cream shop and a heaping scoop of gold medal ribbon.
the only difference now, is the red Gala Apple is the chaser, nothing was chasing me as a kid. and now, all can do when I drink coffee is chase memories.
101 North Tenth Street
Williamsburg, Brooklyn