Ice Cream Dream
Written by Jen Wednesday, 28 July 2010 03:04
Blog
We rarely have ice cream in the house.
Correction
We rarely have anything but vanilla ice cream. Ever.
Years ago, we learned that because of ice cream industry practices (order of flavor runs, "rework," etc.), those with nut allergies like my son are wise to stick with plain old vanilla. Second choice is strawberry. Hand-dipped ice cream is never ok. So we either make our own flavors the old-fashioned way (with a high-tech electric ice cream maker that makes something like two whole cups in 24 hours), or we go with a nut-less grocery store brand touting very few ingredients, one of them being vanilla bean.
I hate vanilla.
In my opinion, if it's not chocolate, it's not worth the calories.
So you can imagine my excitement when, after nearly two decades, I splurged on a ½ gallon of something other than vanilla. It really didn't matter that it sported an obscene $4 price tag and had that kid-friendly cookie dough stuff throughout (my daughter's request). It wasn't vanilla. And it had chocolate chips. OooLaaaLaaa.
We brought this dream dessert home yesterday, and I happily shared a reasonable portion with the two non nut-allergic, non-lactose intolerant people who live here. Then it went back into the freezer but stayed in the forefront of my mind all day today. After an evening walk, the time had finally come to enjoy this rare delicacy once more.
Finding the empty carton in the garbage can was not my finest mom moment.
One simple question--asked with appropriate shrillness--immediately scattered the kitchen's inhabitants: "Just tell me who ate all the ice cream!" I haven't seen the cowards since.
So as I seethe here at my computer, I know I can blame only myself for the Great Ice Cream Heist. I didn't hide this taste of heaven in the back of the freezer in an unlabeled brown paper bag; I allowed a witness (my daughter--definitely a suspect) to the purchase; and I waited too long to eat it. I won't make any of these mistakes again. I may just hop in the car and pick up a personal pint of Cincinnati's favorite Graeter's Ice Cream (double chocolate chip, please). And this time I'm not sharing.
I'm hoping my kids learned a lesson, too: Don't mess with Mom's ice cream. I hear revenge is sweet.
