So much of our world revolves around food. It isn’t just because if we don’t eat, we will surely die, but because it is what we gather around and bond over on a daily basis. Not every meal brings with it special memories or a good time, but when it comes down to ice cream, I can recall too many wonderful memories to count.
Ice cream by itself is a seriously delicious, addicting frozen treat that appeals to millions of people all over the world (especially during hot summer days). If you add to it a bit of time spent with someone else, however, it becomes something meaningful and not just another wad of calories added to your daily diet. The bond I hold with ice cream doesn’t just come from the flavors or sheer joy of eating it, but the occasions I’ve shared with loved ones while indulging in two scoops of Pralines ‘N Cream from Baskin Robbins. This frozen dessert over the years has become something so much more than just a sweet reward that gives one brain freeze if it is devoured too quickly. It has become an icon of happiness to me. It has become something friends and I gather over while we watch people at the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, Colorado or while we exchange stories of what has been going on in our lives as of late. Ice cream has become the “pick-me-up” on a bad day for a friend who is sad and can’t find a smile in them no matter how hard they try. All of that changes when you give them a waffle cone that has been dipped in chocolate, multi-colored sprinkles and now holds a scoop or two of Ben & Jerry’s “Cherry Garcia”, making their face light up with that once absent smile. No matter the place or time of the day, there is surely some amount of “happy” acquired in the time we spend together eating our chosen frozen flavor of the moment.
My love for ice cream began at a young age, when on special, random days, I would wake up to my father seriously stating in his thick, Austrian accent that we were, as a matter of fact, having ice cream for breakfast. These mornings, while amazing, were very secretive. It was a sneaky, devious thing I was enjoying with my father because it went completely against my mother’s rules. With every bite of the vanilla ice cream drowned in chocolate syrup and Rice Krispies he had given me, there was a giggle from me followed by a gentle hush from my father as he smiled, winked, and gently patted down my mess of hair that had yet to be brushed. I enjoyed our secret and the time we spent with it, even though looking back now, those times felt slightly rushed. There came a day, however, where it didn’t have to be a secret. My Girl Scout troop was going to be hand-making ice cream one Saturday morning.
When that Saturday finally arrived, my mom dropped me off at my elementary school where this amazing event was taking place. Meeting in a vacant classroom with my fellow scouts, our troop leader divided us into multiple groups of three, plus one parent to over-see the process. Although he arrived late, I had chosen my father to come help with this fantastic project, because he was the first person I could remember eating ice cream with (plus the project sounded too great not to share with him). In my excitement, I quickly forgave him for failing to arrive on time and set him right to work with giving us the instructions as to what to do to make our epic treat. It was my first time ever making ice cream and while I was positive machines normally did this, we set about our task with optimism and quietly growling, hungry tummies.
We put all the ingredients we needed into a small coffee can, placed that can into a larger coffee can filled with salt and ice, and then duct taped it shut. We then proceeded to roll the cans between the four of us, varying rolling patterns like a game for what seemed like ages, listening to the small can bang around inside of the larger one, like a shoe inside of a dryer. As we rolled our ice cream making contraption back and forth, I recall deciding this Coffee Can ice cream process was rather exhausting. It would have been so much easier if they had just bought us the ice cream. Who would honestly ever want to work this hard for something sweet? It was the finished product and all the laughing with my friends that made me change my mind. That was by far the sweetest, most delicious ice cream I had ever had as a kid. It was also by far my most cherished memory of ice cream from my childhood, aside from eating popsicles on the side of the local pool with my daycare one scorching summer afternoon.
Now days, while I don’t make the ice cream myself (although I am positive I will make Coffee Can ice cream with my own children in the future), I still cherish my time eating it. As I grew older it became a thing of tradition and celebration. It marked birthdays, good grades, graduations, and so on. Indulging in ice cream became something that could always bring my inner-child to life. Unfortunately with growing up, I notice more and more that there are some days where life feels extremely tasking and hurried. The time I spend with loved ones over ice cream now is extremely sacred and there isn't one minute of it that goes by that I don't try to catalog in my brain. There doesn't even have to be anything said now days. Now it could just be my sister-in-law, Heather, sitting quietly next to me on a park bench, watching the sunlight make different shadows through the trees while we devour our ice cream before it melts everywhere. To me, there is no greater "happy mood food" to share with someone. There are magnificent moments in life that we all try to take into account, but it just so happens that most of mine involve ice cream.
Ice cream by itself is a seriously delicious, addicting frozen treat that appeals to millions of people all over the world (especially during hot summer days). If you add to it a bit of time spent with someone else, however, it becomes something meaningful and not just another wad of calories added to your daily diet. The bond I hold with ice cream doesn’t just come from the flavors or sheer joy of eating it, but the occasions I’ve shared with loved ones while indulging in two scoops of Pralines ‘N Cream from Baskin Robbins. This frozen dessert over the years has become something so much more than just a sweet reward that gives one brain freeze if it is devoured too quickly. It has become an icon of happiness to me. It has become something friends and I gather over while we watch people at the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, Colorado or while we exchange stories of what has been going on in our lives as of late. Ice cream has become the “pick-me-up” on a bad day for a friend who is sad and can’t find a smile in them no matter how hard they try. All of that changes when you give them a waffle cone that has been dipped in chocolate, multi-colored sprinkles and now holds a scoop or two of Ben & Jerry’s “Cherry Garcia”, making their face light up with that once absent smile. No matter the place or time of the day, there is surely some amount of “happy” acquired in the time we spend together eating our chosen frozen flavor of the moment.
My love for ice cream began at a young age, when on special, random days, I would wake up to my father seriously stating in his thick, Austrian accent that we were, as a matter of fact, having ice cream for breakfast. These mornings, while amazing, were very secretive. It was a sneaky, devious thing I was enjoying with my father because it went completely against my mother’s rules. With every bite of the vanilla ice cream drowned in chocolate syrup and Rice Krispies he had given me, there was a giggle from me followed by a gentle hush from my father as he smiled, winked, and gently patted down my mess of hair that had yet to be brushed. I enjoyed our secret and the time we spent with it, even though looking back now, those times felt slightly rushed. There came a day, however, where it didn’t have to be a secret. My Girl Scout troop was going to be hand-making ice cream one Saturday morning.
When that Saturday finally arrived, my mom dropped me off at my elementary school where this amazing event was taking place. Meeting in a vacant classroom with my fellow scouts, our troop leader divided us into multiple groups of three, plus one parent to over-see the process. Although he arrived late, I had chosen my father to come help with this fantastic project, because he was the first person I could remember eating ice cream with (plus the project sounded too great not to share with him). In my excitement, I quickly forgave him for failing to arrive on time and set him right to work with giving us the instructions as to what to do to make our epic treat. It was my first time ever making ice cream and while I was positive machines normally did this, we set about our task with optimism and quietly growling, hungry tummies.
We put all the ingredients we needed into a small coffee can, placed that can into a larger coffee can filled with salt and ice, and then duct taped it shut. We then proceeded to roll the cans between the four of us, varying rolling patterns like a game for what seemed like ages, listening to the small can bang around inside of the larger one, like a shoe inside of a dryer. As we rolled our ice cream making contraption back and forth, I recall deciding this Coffee Can ice cream process was rather exhausting. It would have been so much easier if they had just bought us the ice cream. Who would honestly ever want to work this hard for something sweet? It was the finished product and all the laughing with my friends that made me change my mind. That was by far the sweetest, most delicious ice cream I had ever had as a kid. It was also by far my most cherished memory of ice cream from my childhood, aside from eating popsicles on the side of the local pool with my daycare one scorching summer afternoon.
Now days, while I don’t make the ice cream myself (although I am positive I will make Coffee Can ice cream with my own children in the future), I still cherish my time eating it. As I grew older it became a thing of tradition and celebration. It marked birthdays, good grades, graduations, and so on. Indulging in ice cream became something that could always bring my inner-child to life. Unfortunately with growing up, I notice more and more that there are some days where life feels extremely tasking and hurried. The time I spend with loved ones over ice cream now is extremely sacred and there isn't one minute of it that goes by that I don't try to catalog in my brain. There doesn't even have to be anything said now days. Now it could just be my sister-in-law, Heather, sitting quietly next to me on a park bench, watching the sunlight make different shadows through the trees while we devour our ice cream before it melts everywhere. To me, there is no greater "happy mood food" to share with someone. There are magnificent moments in life that we all try to take into account, but it just so happens that most of mine involve ice cream.
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