32 Flavors of IceCream
“32 flavors and then some.” Song and slogan tells take of tastes fixed in forever. Perhaps Ben & Jerry’s have split. Still either/or and thousands more can access the pages of molecular exactitudes to make Crunchy Carmal Cone a heavenly thing.
After Jerry has hung a “for sale” placard on the lawn, and Ben has taken the pooch, I will be able to purchase a pint – if only on “for a limited time only” anniversary dates.
Those anniversaries never commemorate my longings for those lost, nor could they honor those recipes.
There is a piece of paper filed, or even an index card to indicate how many cloves my grandmother put in her pidgeon peas, and they were added at the point of or just before bursting?
At holiday times the only dessert was Ms. Lowe’s fruitcake. Not a dry, bland colorful rock. Rather, a deep brown, solidified pudding on fruits left steeping in wine and finished with whatever else goes into a cake, and palatable amounts of Rivers rhum. This was a meal closer, months in the making, with payment made not solely in cash, but with barters of spices and booze. No last minute rush to the market, but phone calls and scheduling of meet ups and pick ups of this tasty treat.
Even my mother, though no great cultivator of cuisine, and still with me in this world, no one can ever replicate those scrambled eggs.
With three simple ingredients – eggs, butter, salt – I come close.
I likely will be unwilling to use enough butter to let the eggs swim freely. Instead I will leave exact replications to the scientists while I dream of my loved ones while gorging on ice cream.