Ice Cream Innocence
Pick your flavor.
I’d looked up from my book at the perfect time: an older* man walked by me, back slightly hunched from a life of presumably great purpose, tube socks pulled up nearly to his knees, bright pink ice cream cone meeting his mouth as his eyes remained on the path forward. I smiled. What great purity comes from the humble ice cream cone.
It was late afternoon and I’d taken a pause from my day to sit on my second favorite bench in Washington Square Park and read my book and eat cantaloupe with the sounds of the jazz band in the background as two rats puttered beneath my bench. Perfect Day Alert. In between chapters, I’d glanced up from the pages to take in my surroundings (and wipe the sweat off my brow), and I took notice of how many people held ice cream cones in their hands. Several. All different ages. It was around 6 pm on a Tuesday—most likely no one had eaten dinner yet—but the time didn’t matter. There’s never a bad time for an ice cream cone.
I continued to read but eventually became distracted by my thoughts about ice cream and had to put my book down. There was something so innocent and wholesome about the man who’d just walked by me—he didn’t have an iPhone in his hand or any sort of bag. Just an ice cream cone. The purist accessory in American fashion. An emblem of innocence. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
To me, ice cream signals not only joy and delight, but also safety and commonality. There’s something disarmingly pure and communal about it. Unlike alcohol, cigarettes, or even coffee, ice cream doesn’t have an age requirement—it belongs to everyone. (I like to believe, however, that it belongs to Good People. You never see evil people eating ice cream.) Ice cream is often dismissed as a simple dessert, but it’s a unique food that provides joy, nostalgia, and connection without being too serious—and it has a TIME LIMIT!!!!! It melts!!!!! My younger brother was planning a first date recently and was having trouble deciding between ice cream or omakase. (What a sentence.) He’s not much of a drinks person, and his rationale behind the two aforementioned suggestions was that they were fun experiences that have a time limit in terms of their enjoyment. An ice cream date would be fun and low-stakes, albeit short; and a Japanese tasting menu would be fun and adventurous, albeit expensive. Both options were equally brilliant.
He ended up going with the omakase date because well, why not. They’re going on a 3rd date soon.
*I very rarely call anyone old, for ‘old’ is too subjective. We’re all getting older, but there’s no such thing as old.
Growing up, ice cream was a big part of our lives. The night my newborn baby brother was set to come home from the hospital, my grandmother, who was babysitting me, told 3-year-old me that my parents had a surprise for me, and I famously asked, “Is it Dairy Queen?” Although ice cream was a special treat for us as kids (often brought home by my dad in the form of a Dairy Queen Chocolate Blizzard) its importance only grew as the years went on. In middle school, we’d play Capture the Flag with all the neighborhood kids, and my mom would make milkshakes for everyone at the end of the night. We’d sit on the back deck with chocolate on our faces and grass stains on our clothes while recounting the theatrics of the night as fireflies blinked in the Pennsylvania air around us. During college, when I’d come home from California, my brother and I would go for a drive “to the farm,” where we’d do most of our catching up over ice cream cones, sharing stories and talking about the things we couldn’t say in front of our parents. Getting ice cream was our safe haven, and the ice cream cone itself provided an invitation and an openness to conversation, even during the most awkward stages of our lives.
Now, as I live in the city, I don’t often make it To The Farm, but that doesn’t stop me from getting ice cream quite often. (Sometimes multiple nights a week, which is the only thing my doctor has ever told me to improve on. I’m trying. No I’m not.) A couple years ago, CNN came out with this article on how America fell out of love with ice cream, to which I remember quote-tweeting with something like “america doesn’t know how much money i spend at morgensterns each month.” If America is falling out of love with ice cream, then I’m not American.
Getting ice cream is Important. Some of my most meaningful conversations have happened over melting scoops of mint chocolate chip or pistachio or butter pecan—whatever I’m feeling that day. I once had a summer in middle school in which I went through the alphabetical list of flavors that my ice cream shop offered and tried a new one each night. I think you can tell so much about a person by their ice cream order. It’s a subtle invitation into how their brain works and what their taste is and how they feel about the world. My brother, for example, only ever orders chocolate ice cream in a cone. Plain chocolate. Every time. He enjoys the richness of life but is a simple guy who isn’t a big fan of change. Plain chocolate. Every time.
I’m adventurous. I try to order a new flavor each time. I have a list in my Notes app called “MORGENSTERN’S FLAVORS: RANKED” and I’m constantly making updates. My favorite flavors are usually ones with nutty undertones. I enjoy chocolate, but I’m not much of a chocolate-base person. I enjoy toppings. Rainbow sprinkles. Honeycomb (the best is from Van Leeuwen’s). Condensed milk. Shredded coconut. I’ll try literally anything. On my most recent trip To The Farm, I was with my boyfriend, my brother, and our cousin Ava (who’s more like the little sister we never had but always wanted). My boyfriend and I ordered first: pistachio for him, and maple walnut for me. After we told our flavors to the girl behind the counter, Ava looked at us and laughed. “You guys and your NUTS! Angelina LOOOVES putting nuts in her baked goods. I hate it. You two are PERFECT for each other!” She wasn’t wrong.
If you’re ever unsure about something, I believe it can be solved over an ice cream cone. Small, sweet, and fleeting, it’s something that goes beyond enjoyment—it’s the thread of summer. It’s fun. It’s safe. It’s happy. It’s the main event. It’s love!!!!!
We all scream for ice cream.
MY FAVORITE ICE CREAM PLACES, NOT IN ANY PARTICULAR ORDER BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE UNFAIR
Manning Farm Dairy (Pennsylvania)
Salt & Straw (nationwide)
Van Leeuwen’s (nationwide, I think)
Morgenstern’s, but their staff is so mean you have to be patient and in a good mood for that experience (NYC)
Sundaes & Cones (NYC)
Juice Bar (Nantucket, MA)
Margate Dairy Bar (Margate, NJ)
Rivareno Gelato (Milan and NYC)
Moo’s Gourmet Ice Cream (Jackson, WY)
Caffè Panna (NYC)
Chinatown Ice Cream Factory (NYC)
Thank you for reading! I hope you are having the most delicious summer. I’ve had ice cream 3 times this week.
reading this while i’m eating an ice cream 🍦
NO ONE EVIL EATS ICE CREAM! absolute fact :) love love loved this piece!