Too Good to be True

There are some things in life you just don't expect.  Like finding the best pizza you ever did eat at a little hole-in-the-wall, unsuspecting pizzeria called Vinnie's or Luigi's smooshed between and dwarfed by two bookending buildings (the aura is even better if you have to walk down 4 1/2 steps to the front entrance creating a slightly cavernous I'm below ground, but really I'm not; this could be claustrophobic but it's actually kinda cozy type feel to the place).  Or like when you finally stop at a seedy-looking, gaudily aluminum-paneled diner decorated with, among many things, a faux 70s-era jukebox.  Even though you've driven by a million times, you stop this time because it's the only place open at 1am and you finally discover they serve the biggest, fluffiest buttermilk pancakes you've ever set eyes on.

Then there are some things that are just too good to be true.  Like those online pop-up ads telling you that you're the site's 10,000th visitor and as such they'd like to give you $10,000 (if you would just give them your social security and credit card numbers); or that you've been chosen to fill out a quick survey for a free iPad (and then you end up having to sign away your life by filling out a minimum of 5 offers from advertisers that will hunt you down and relentlessly torture you if you ever decide to cancel your subscriptions); or Prince Khemczaerasikkii's illustrious aunt died and left him boodles of money that he doesn't know what to do with and wants your help getting it into the US and all he needs is your bank account number to transfer it and viola you are rewarded with 50% of his inheritance.

I had a similar experience.  Sort of.  But not as illegal.  It was more like finding Luigi's (i've never actually found Luigi's, but I've always thought it would be nice if I did).

Take a look.  Careful like.

I was down apartment shopping in Charlottesville for med school.  Found a nice place but had some time to kill before the person showing the place turned up.  So what better to do than scout out the communal laundry room.  Sounds like fun, right?  No, I guess not.  But I was bored. 

And right there, smack in the grungy, old corner looking seedy, dilapidated and right out of the 70s sat this old Pepsi vending machine. 

I'm not much a fan of soda, but I love playing this game called If I were going to get something, what would I get? (it's very similar to the highway game played on road trips known by the equally descriptive name of If I were going to stop at this rest stop, where would I go at the food court? it's super fun.  try changing up tradition and slip it in between the 155th and 156th time you play the alphabet game).  And naturally, when playing If I were going to get something, what would I get?, you want to keep it as realistic as possible so you have to look at how much it'll cost you (hint hint look at the picture again).

And that's when I got the Prince Khemczaerasikkii email-shudder down my spine. $0.50 for a soda??! Really?  Was I actually going to be taken in by Prince Khemczaerasikkii's broken English email suspiciously addressed to "Dear United States Residing Recipient"? I half expected this to happen.  But, it was one of those things where even if you don't want the soda, you have to try it just to see if it actually works.  And it did. Made my day in fact.  I talked about it for the next 8 hours.  Prince-man had actually transferred the money to my account.  Booyah!

Let's go on a brief tangent shall we?  What does "Dr. Pepper is made with 23 flavors" mean?  I certainly can't taste 23 different flavors all at once?  In fact, I just get one, general taste (albeit with multiple layers) in my mouth that I call Dr. Pepper.  And what does "flavor" even mean?  Are there 23 different flavor-producing compounds that each individually activate a taste receptor on my tongue?  In that case, I ask, "Why only 23? That's pitiful."  Don't most foods have multiple flavor elements?  Or, does this make it better than another product that just has 15 so-called "flavors"?

Come on Dr. Pepper guy.  And, am I really supposed to trust a guy who named it after the father of the girl he wanted to marry?  This qualifies the man as a super smooth, fast-talking salesman - a professional at marketing as well.  He's basically dancing on your brainwaves with that 23 flavor tagline.  Oh well, it may not be Luigi's or buttermilk pancakes, but I can't argue with 50 cents.

An Ice Cream Dream

So I've been Henry David Thoreau-ing out in the pastures of dinners, the wilderness of desserts (see what I did there? Desserts is almost like deserts and a desert is a wilderness...eh, eh?), and in the vast expanse of various edibles.  I needed some one-on-one time with my food.  A time to reconnect and explore.  To search my feelings and uncover my deep desires.  To become curious.  To sweep away the dust and grim of commercially produced, eternally preserved, inside-spackling slime of modern fast food-ist philosophy.  And I can think of no more liberating nor uplifting food to celebrate my success than the high queen of all dairy products, ice cream. 

Eating ice cream like nobody's business runs in the family - through my mom's side actually.  It is most certainly an inherited trait (it's passed from parent to offspring via the Cream Gene).  In fact, sometimes I think my brothers and I are so good at it that it's kinda like a superpower.  Like the Incredibiles, except they eat ice cream.  Almost as if Mr. and Mrs. Ice Cream got together and had little ice cream-eating monsters, known as the Dairy Demons - but good...demons.
 
I know many superheros say their great power is also their greatest curse, but I'm really not seeing any downsides right now.  So if you're ever attacked by an ice cream goblin from the arctic, you go ahead and take a rusty, old spotlight from some slick-dealing, used-car parking lot and shine a great big ice cream come right up there into the night sky.  I'll be there.

Photo Courtesy of Alison Dunn

But, ice cream is also serious business.  Logan right there is totally engaged with his ice cream cone.  Fully focused and completely concentrated.

He and I I like to think of ourselves as ice cream critics. Not snobs.  You can't be a snob about ice cream.  It's too legit to be a snob about.  But critics, yes.  It actually doesn't take much to make us happy either.  We're lax critics - but thoughtful ones.  We've got only two rules.  1) Give us good ice cream - a fairly broad rule and the details vary by flavor.  A more in depth, flavor-specific discussion requires its own post (plus think of how many flavor specific posts that frees me up to do!).  2) Give us lots of ice cream.

See? Easy-peasy.

Photo Courtesy of Alison Dunn

Even if we get both of those two things, turning down the offer to finish off another person's ice cream violates Dairy Demon Code, rule #24.

Photo Courtesy of Alison Dunn

We've even got a method.  Simple but critical.  The head-tilt.  Turn your head rather than the ice cream because turning the ice cream risks it falling right off the cone.  It may not be useful crying over spilled milk, but dropped ice cream is a whole different ballgame.

Secondly, the head-tilt makes you lick around the cone.  Licking upwards chances that you might push the ice cream right off the cone while if you lick downwards (I honestly don't know how that would be achieved without turning the cone upside down - in which case there's no hope for you - or without maintaining an extremely uncomfortable position) the ice cream that gathers at the tip of your tongue - like snow before a plow - will succumb this crazy thing called gravity which you must never have heard about if you're actually using this method.

Eric, Logan, Me, Meryl.
Photo Courtesy of Alison Dunn

Now that the basics are out of the way...

On the way out to Clarion, PA  to hang at Casey's house after graduation, Alison informed us about The Creamery at Penn St.  After her description, we didn't question, we just knew we were stopping there.  To psych ourselves up, we read their list of flavors from their website while in the car.  We couldn't handle it.

The Creamery is truly the gargantuan cone mecca for ice cream fanatics everywhere.  Though they only permit a single flavor per cone, their enormous size and miniature price are more than enough for me to overlook this smallest of offenses.  And no, you can't get a small cone.  They only offer one size.  Don't complain, just turn in into your lunch, or dinner, and smile.

It was so good we stopped there twice.  Yes, really.  Once on the outbound trip and once on the way back.

Can't take anymore ice cream talk?  Shame on you.  But, I'm almost done.  This is from my favorite ice cream shop in New Jersey.  Hoffman's Ice Cream has three locations on the Jersey Shore. So why did I get a cup while at Penn St. I got a cone?  Do I prefer one to the other?  Yes, but it's all about knowing your ice cream.  At The Creamery you get more ice cream getting a cone rather than a cup.  At Hoffman's you get more ice cream in an cup rather than a cone.  (there's street-smarts and then there's ice cream-smarts).

 So patriotic with the flag in the background.

Pairing ice cream flavors like pairing the proper wine with a meal.  It may not ruin the meal, but if you do it right, it can make all the difference.  My flavors: Chocolate Explosion (chocolate ice cream with brownie bits and fudge swirls) and Fudge Mint Cookie (the flavor that won best flavor in NJ one year and is basically Cookies 'n Cream but with mint ice cream and fudge swirls).  Both excellence flavors and an exceptional pairing.

As is my practice with any variation of Cookies 'n Cream, my last bite always contains a large cookie piece.  Examine, isolate, and attack.  I'm an ice cream super hero.