The Original Annual Ice Cream Fandango
With assistance from a startled local, I managed to retrace the chance movements from one year ago that lead to the discovery by my earlier self of the Original Chinatown Ice Cream Factory (the location I can now confidently disclose as Bayard St, NY). Their ices are all home-made, I heard either then or now or sometime inbetween and damn yes they are a cut above the usual. This is, of course, helped by the fact that they are Cantonese so instead of chocolates and vanillas you have black sesames and lychees. Those were infact the flavours I plumped for last year and while the lychee was a tad lifeless, the black sesame alone was enough to bring me back this year. To sit alongside the sesame and replace the lychee (three scoops would be gluttony but one a wasted opportunity) I opted for green tea - still not as stand out as the sesame but distinctive none the less. The only clear mistake that was made was choosing for cone over tub...
Two scoops would never, will never fit in one of the dinky cones they proffered and perhaps knowing this my scooper made little effort to pack them inside. As a result, seconds after leaving the establishment, my left hand is swimming, drowning beneath a melting glacier of sweet goop. I am desperately slurping great gobfuls from obvious areas of hazard but events are moving too quickly for my chops to control. I have to hold the cone at arms length to save my shoes and jeans from severe splattering (the black sesame still manages to stain white!). But mess has been made to other areas - my face is already covered with sticky ice cream streaks. I can't see myself but I know it for fact from the smiles on people's faces as they pass by. All this works wonderfully for parting the encroaching crowds although I don't really know exactly where I'm hurtling to. As Luck would eventually have it, I stumble upon a park and manage to cram the remaining ice cream with no further collateral damage. Pity must also be playing her part as there's a water fountain in this said park and I'm able to rinse my sodden beard like the weird goth bum I effortlessly portray (NY being NY, the supporting cast is quite strong). Not a complete success as I have the smell of sour milk lodged in my nostrils for the rest of the day. Ho-hum.
And with more flavours than you can shake a sticky stick at, and me routinely over in NYC just the once per year, I could easily replay this game again and again until the day I die. They'll be sure to sell tickets in years to come. A festival even - I'm thinking a cross between Tomatina and The Running Of The Bulls with locals ramming ice creams in my face and then kicking me on to my final resting beneath the fountain.
http://ping.fm/zP4aV
Two scoops would never, will never fit in one of the dinky cones they proffered and perhaps knowing this my scooper made little effort to pack them inside. As a result, seconds after leaving the establishment, my left hand is swimming, drowning beneath a melting glacier of sweet goop. I am desperately slurping great gobfuls from obvious areas of hazard but events are moving too quickly for my chops to control. I have to hold the cone at arms length to save my shoes and jeans from severe splattering (the black sesame still manages to stain white!). But mess has been made to other areas - my face is already covered with sticky ice cream streaks. I can't see myself but I know it for fact from the smiles on people's faces as they pass by. All this works wonderfully for parting the encroaching crowds although I don't really know exactly where I'm hurtling to. As Luck would eventually have it, I stumble upon a park and manage to cram the remaining ice cream with no further collateral damage. Pity must also be playing her part as there's a water fountain in this said park and I'm able to rinse my sodden beard like the weird goth bum I effortlessly portray (NY being NY, the supporting cast is quite strong). Not a complete success as I have the smell of sour milk lodged in my nostrils for the rest of the day. Ho-hum.
And with more flavours than you can shake a sticky stick at, and me routinely over in NYC just the once per year, I could easily replay this game again and again until the day I die. They'll be sure to sell tickets in years to come. A festival even - I'm thinking a cross between Tomatina and The Running Of The Bulls with locals ramming ice creams in my face and then kicking me on to my final resting beneath the fountain.
http://ping.fm/zP4aV
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