Monday, July 23, 2012
Passion fruit and vanilla soft serve for me. Marzipan and pistachio ice cream for him.
We forget about the ice cream at Jacques Torres in Dumbo. But then we remember again. About once a year, which is good.
In the middle of a long walking loop from home to assess the ripeness of the beach plums growing beside the East River, we broke for ice cream, one block back from the water.
We had been hoping for last year's strawberry-balsamic-basil confection. Disappointed at first not to find it, I cheered up at the prospect of passion fruit sorbet in soft serve form, coiled into real vanilla ice cream.
I licked without reservation. Things got a bit desperate as the sun shone and my licking failed to keep pace with the dripping but I managed to do some serious damage before the Frenchman was compelled to control the situation and wolf my cone in two bites.