As the daughter of an ice cream maker
I thought I'd seen everything....
Boy was I wrong
http://www.travelandleisure.com/slidesh ... ce-cream/1
Everyone loves Ice Cream right?
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- Arwenth
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Everyone loves Ice Cream right?
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- Damanta
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Re: Everyone loves Ice Cream right?
lol wut?
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- luminier
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Re: Everyone loves Ice Cream right?
You mean you guys -don't- eat Viagra Ice Cream?
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- Naga
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Re: Everyone loves Ice Cream right?
An ice cream maker's daughter? There must be a good joke in there...
To me, small town, independent ice cream parlors speak to the core of the American spirit. Throngs of children, some having ridden there together on their bicycles with crumpled dollars saved from their allowance or generously conceded by parents after begging and whining, neighbors chancing upon each other and exchanging pleasantries, children's summer sports teams, and older folks just out enjoying the sunshine are all brought together at old wooden picnic tables to eat scoop after scoop of sweetness, inevitably getting their hands sticky as it melts and drips through the little hole at the bottom of the waffle cone. This makes the ants quite happy.
Didn't summers just last forever as a kid? Odd how a week or even a year feels like nothing now. At the ice cream stand, if for just a short time, you can recover the leisurely foreverness of a childhood summer, or at least a fragment of a slower, friendlier pace of life redolent of older, more decent times.
As far as ice cream goes, my heart is loyal to two old loves: the little parlor at the local dairy farm that made its own ice cream, where the sweet, heady smell of manure from the fields and milking barn mingled (and pleasantly!) with each lick of almost-udder-fresh ice cream; and the old frozen custard stand near my grandparents' house. Frozen custard---if you haven't tried it yet, you've neglected a key aspect of your development---is ice cream's sexier sister; thanks to the addition of egg yolks, frozen custard is silky-smooth and both denser and richer than ice cream.
To me, small town, independent ice cream parlors speak to the core of the American spirit. Throngs of children, some having ridden there together on their bicycles with crumpled dollars saved from their allowance or generously conceded by parents after begging and whining, neighbors chancing upon each other and exchanging pleasantries, children's summer sports teams, and older folks just out enjoying the sunshine are all brought together at old wooden picnic tables to eat scoop after scoop of sweetness, inevitably getting their hands sticky as it melts and drips through the little hole at the bottom of the waffle cone. This makes the ants quite happy.
Didn't summers just last forever as a kid? Odd how a week or even a year feels like nothing now. At the ice cream stand, if for just a short time, you can recover the leisurely foreverness of a childhood summer, or at least a fragment of a slower, friendlier pace of life redolent of older, more decent times.
As far as ice cream goes, my heart is loyal to two old loves: the little parlor at the local dairy farm that made its own ice cream, where the sweet, heady smell of manure from the fields and milking barn mingled (and pleasantly!) with each lick of almost-udder-fresh ice cream; and the old frozen custard stand near my grandparents' house. Frozen custard---if you haven't tried it yet, you've neglected a key aspect of your development---is ice cream's sexier sister; thanks to the addition of egg yolks, frozen custard is silky-smooth and both denser and richer than ice cream.
- Andreati
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Re: Everyone loves Ice Cream right?
I read Naga's post and I definitely saw "manure ice cream" in there...
So, the place with the Viagra ice cream also has a bunch of other weird flavours. I came across it while checking stuff to do in South America. It's in Venezuela,
http://www.venezuelareport.com/?p=180
It's called the Coromoto.
So, the place with the Viagra ice cream also has a bunch of other weird flavours. I came across it while checking stuff to do in South America. It's in Venezuela,
http://www.venezuelareport.com/?p=180
It's called the Coromoto.
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