Final Ice Cream Factory IV

Yeah, I fucking made it! With pitifully few hours to play with and a pair of leather bitch sandals eating up the heals of my feet, I still manage to half drag, half limp my way downtown through the hard, super heated concrete of Manhattan to Bayard St, Chinatown. Belly still full from heuvos/pancakes/meatballs this is a pure duty call. Liar. I'm not likely to be back in NY for quite some time so couldn't possibly break my oath now.

With random Chinese import plasters applied I deliver myself once more to the Original Chinatown Ice Cream Factory. It's a totally inhuman 36 degrees outside so I decide to ditch my one blob black sesame rule and opt for a more soothing combination of watermelon sorbet plus lychee sorbet. Not the most 'out there' combo granted but pandan and durian are both already done for the day. As per usual I slink off down the road to Columbus Park to consume my prize.

First dollop is watermelon. The actual fruit (WTF is it?) is the stuff of childhood holiday nightmares - sitting on an overly crowded sandy French beach spitting seeds out of every bleedin' mouthful, getting your hands sticky (and then sandy) and for very little return. And that's not even factoring in the French. Joke. No, this is an altogether different experience. The flavour is properly fragrant like a concentration of the real deal as opposed to the artificial taste of my other childhood melon horror - frozen melon balls. The lychee is even better with an amazing perfumed quality to it. And bits too. Lychee bits are a definite win and an utterly appropriate panacea to last night's lychee martini hangover.
Oh yes, I'd nearly forgotten that but not bloody quite. This sun is really not helping. To save the sweat and energy from any kind of movement and mastication I let the sorbets melt before giving brief slurps into my mouth, slush puppy style. This works not only mechanically but brings immense satisfaction. I can be an ever so simple creature. Part humming bird part stag beetle on this occasion I think. Ten minutes on my arse with fruit sugar nectar pouring down my throat I'm able to get back to my feet and then it's back into the concrete jungle.
Farewell Manhattan. Farewell sweet factory of ice dreams xo.