This morning someone was describing to me the existence of Burren ice cream. My friend was saying how she wasn't an ice cream fan normally, but the ice cream made from the Burren and being sold at the new resturaunt on Quay Street is extraordinary, maybe enough to change her mind. I'll have to try it, I thought. I am a big fan of ice cream.
When I was about 8 my father and a friend took my brothers and a few friends to the local ice cream parlour- Carvel- about 15 miles from our house. It was a hot summer evening in the 1970's. All the kids piled into the back of the pick up truck. My father, a Natural Light tucked in his lap and a Salem in his hand, elbow resting partly out the window, rode shotgun and his friend drove. For some reason, we were celebrating.
I was allowed for the first time in memory to get ANYTHING I wanted. Of course, I chose the biggest thing on the menu- a triple decker. I left beaming with three gigantic scoops of strawberry, taller than my head. We piled directly back into the back of the pickup, because by then, our fathers were out of beer, and started the 60 mph ride home... It was still the best triple decker I never had.
As we accelerated, the ice cream began streaming across my cheeks. We all thought this was hilarious. We slowed for a stop light and my hair wrapped around the scoops. I ate more considering the inevitable, not caring. Afterall victory was in hand, nothing else mattered.
The light turned green. I was partially through the top scoop and laughing at my brother who had ice cream all over his hands when I suddenly felt my cone get very light. It was gone- my first triple scoop, blown away to the roadside for some stray cat or groundhog to enjoy. It didn't matter though. It was still the best ice cream ever.
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