Posts Tagged ‘ice cream’

#Riotgram, Day 8: Books and ice cream.

June 8, 2017

I almost forgot to post today. I framed and snapped my photo a day or two ago, and it didn’t quite slip my mind, per se, it just wasn’t quite at the front.

Perhaps it was because what I wanted to do was snap a picture of my collection of poems by Wallace Stevens, the one I had left over from 19th Century English Literature class. There was a poem, “The Emperor of Ice Cream,” that would have been perfect for this assignment. I remember discussing the poem at great length in class, and then the professor refused to give us his take on it! But…that’s besides the point. Because instead, for “Books and Ice Cream”, I got you this:


A comfort book, paired with comfort ice cream. The book in questions just happens to be a better picture of the edition of Anne that I told you about earlier. Isn’t it gorgeous?! The cover is soft; I don’t quite know what it’s made of.

The ice cream it’s hanging out with is almost as good a friend as that Anne-girl. You can’t find black raspberry ice cream here in Tejas, but the Haagan Daz Raspberry Sorbet is pretty tasty. You just know Anne Shirley would swoon over the word “sorbet”!

It’s a silly #Riotgram prompt. It’s my least favorite so far. But I swung at the pitch when it was thrown at me. What about you all – are there food pairings you think of to go with your favorite books?


All hail the power of ice cream.

May 16, 2013

Before we get to today’s story, let me say first that yes, I’m fine. The house is fine. All of the scary, scary tornadoes from last night went out of their way (um, really – they all took bizarre twists and turns) to miss the section of town I’m in. Even the weirdo pop-up tornado that went from nothing to rain storm to HEY! TORNADO! in five minutes, even that one that mentioned our mile marker cycled down just as it was passing over. So! Yes! All okay! Turns out we ate all of that ice cream out of the freezer for nothing. Heh.

Now, the story. Turns out a fear of being icecream-less was a bit of a theme yesterday. After I got to work and settled in, I checked the news sites and Twitter and, you know, my usual morning routine of “Is everything alright in my world?” Except that I saw a headline my hometown newspaper had posted online about Gibson’s Dairy Farm having gone up in a three-alarm fire during the night. Oh no. They mean another Gibson’s Dairy Farm, right? An annex or second location or… not Gibby’s, right?

Gibby’s is one of our favorite ice cream stand’s near my mom’s house. It’s also a dairy farm, with honest-to-goodness old-fashioned milk deliveries – but more importantly, it opened the ice cream stand when I was…what?…in junior high? Early high school? The fact that it was within easy walking distance from my mom’s house made it a popular stop for my friends and family. I mean, Friendlys is great and all – no one can top their Orange Frappe – but Gibby’s was homemade. And they had soft-serve. For cheap. So. No contest.

The thought of all that deliciousness, that slice of home, being burnt to the ground was a trifle upsetting. My stomach kept flipping over as I pulled up the news story and saw a picture of a warehouse completely engulfed in flames. I read the article as quickly as I could. Yes, it was definitely the location near my mom’s. I sighed. But…hey! Wait! The fire “only” destroyed the distribution center! The warehouse behind the ice cream store! In fact, the owner commented that the ice cream stand would be closed for a day, but should re-open on Thursday! All the angelic cows were moo-ing, or, um, laaa-ing in harmonic, celebratory chords! GIBBY’S WAS SAVED!!

And I meant to tell my sisters. I really did. But work was kind of busy and I got distracted by, I don’t know, things, and before you know it, I see a link that Kim had emailed me. “Gibby’s is GONE!” she bemoaned. “Wait! Hey! No – NOT the ice cream!” I quickly explained. The out-buildings and the equipment, but no, not the ice cream. Or the cows. Yes, I was sure. Even the pet bunny that was once thought to have perished was later found hiding in an office. [Hey, I bet he was going to eat all the ice cream, too. For that is what one does in times of crisis. Apparently.] Kim and I rejoiced (Laaa!) and I forgot allll about warning Rhi. Until later that afternoon when I came back from lunch to see a chat message waiting. “Katie, I have to tell you something. Something bad happened in Worcester, but it’s okay. No one died.” or something to that effect. I sighed. I am a very bad stister some days. “The ice cream is fine,” I answered. “It was a few other buildings. The owner says if his grandparents could rebuild during the Depression, he can do it now.”

I had to chuckle, though. From 1600 miles away, I had scooped my sisters on the fate of alllll the ice cream. God bless technology. And the cows and the ice cream.


Tasty is as messy does.

August 17, 2012

Let’s try for something a little light for this beautiful Friday, mkay? I have something better than birthdays and stalkers. What’s better than birthdays, you ask?

Ice cream.

Even better than ice cream – make your own Marble Crab Sleamery, er, Marble Slab Creamery experience right in your own kitchen! I promise your children’s’ eyes will get THISBIG. In real life.

There wasn’t much to it: we had to run errands to pick up some prescriptions a few weeks ago, during our sweet little staycation, and so while we were at the pharmacy, I let the girls pick out pints of ice cream and a few toppings: Gummy Bears, Sour Worms, chocolate chips, marshmallows, M&Ms, whipped cream  in a can, and then I reminded them about the veritable rainbow of sprinkles I had in the pantry at home.

The girls laid out alllll of the toppings and the tubs of ice cream and made me stand behind the “counter.” Since this was their fun activity, not mine, I let them be as bossy as they wanted. And oh, they wanted. When they came through the line, I had to greet my customer and mix as many items as requested, no questioning or correcting allowed.

Then I had to mix up the ice cream and the toppings – an art form I might have seriously underappreciated. Either that, or Marble Slab keeps their ice cream a zillion times colder than we do, perhaps to get the mixings to actually mix!

I think even with the unlimited chocolate choices before her, Bee’s favorite part was still looking from the gigantic mess back to me and saying, with a wonderous hush, “You have to clean that up, Mommy.” And then she disappeared bunny-quick into the living room before her tastiest dream ever disappeared and she was forced to eat something “healfy.”

Ice cream and toppings – $10. Roll of paper towels: $2. Having your children be extra quiet and stay far, far away from you for at least an hour, lest they wake up the Pod-Mommy? Priceless.

More proof that God loves me.

February 8, 2009

Most people would never ever guess my favorite ice cream flavor. Black raspberry. Mmmm…I’m salivating just thinking about its heavenly creamy goodness.

Thing is, though, that it black raspberry seems to be a local flavor. A New Englandism. I got hooked during trips to Friendlies (a regional chain of ice cream shoppes). All the ice cream stands have it; in fact, at the Weagle Farm, black raspberry was the only flavor other than vanilla and chocolate to be offered as soft serve. You can pick up half-gallons of black raspberry ice cream at any of the grocery stores. But only in New England. It’s one of the many, many things that make me want to move back home.

However, occasionally, if you hop cross-eyed under a full moon and you’re really, really lucky, you might find some sort of black raspberry ice cream treat at one of the major grocery stores here. Not very often – I’m talking once or twice a year – but it doesn’t stop me from looking.

This morning I went to Walmart to pick up a few things, and as I always do when I force myself to shop there, I slowly perused the ice cream aisle, just in case. It’s one of the few places I’ve ever found it. No black raspberry ice cream, which was a real shame because the allergy monster has descended and I could really use a pick-me-up that would also soothe my throat.

I had no sooner let loose a rather dramatic sigh of despair when I saw them: Black Raspberry chocolate covered ice cream bar thingies. Made by some random diet company and made with Splenda so they only have ONE CARB EACH! I barely even registered the exhorbitant price. Didn’t matter. The rule goes that if you find ice cream-related product that is black-raspberry, you snatch it up. Heaven knows when you’ll find it again. The whole 1 carb each? That’s just proof of God’s existence.

Now, someone please stop me before I eat the entire box in one sitting.