Is it Summer yet...?

A cone to remember

[Søren Harbel: Blackpool]

Let’s be honest. The weather has not exactly been great. Here in Europe, we had that week of really hot weather, and then it got cold and rainy again. Where I am, it is downright freezing when I walk Rufus at night.

However, as we are in June, and are approaching the Summer solstice, it is time. It is the time of year, which can be summarised in a cone. Nothing says summer more than ice cream.

[Søren Harbel: Bath]

As weather patterns change and global warming is digging in its claws, temperatures are rising. It is getting progressively warmer, more humid, more uncomfortable. Can anything positive possibly come from this? If against my better judgement, I were forced to look for a silver lining, I would not have to look far: It would be the extension of ice cream season!

[Søren Harbel: Mr. Whippy]

[Søren Harbel: San Sebastian]

I was in a small town in Sicily, where back in the 9th century, the Moors brought down ice from Mount Etna, crushed it and mixed it with fruit juice to help keep themselves and the local population cool during the 40 degree C/100+ degrees F summer days. The local granita was made from these big cubes of ice, which were carried by donkey and ox cart to town from the mountain. It is a long and winding story to the present day, but the mountain still stands and the shops, which converted blocks of ice to sorbet, gelato and ultimately ice cream, are still there.

[Søren Harbel: Its a sign!]

So begins a complex and hard fought battle for ice cream supremacy. Ice cream has caused popular uprisings and demonstrations. When the snowcap on Etna was thin and ice was more difficult to come by, the people became restless, and would take to the streets. In time, it turned into more of a debate. Sometimes loud arguments. Which flavour is the best, and which is better than another? Which ice cream shop is better than the next?

[Søren Harbel: Gros]

[Søren Harbel: He wants one]

[Søren Harbel: Noto]

I swear by a gelateria in Noto, in Sicily. Can’t go wrong. However, I would crawl over broken glass to a small ice cream shop in Bologna. I shall not mention its name for fear the lines will grow even longer. However, the best ice cream on the planet, is from this little shop, and is of course Pistacchio di Bronte, the pure taste of top quality pistachios and sweet cream. I dare you….

If you really want to know, send me a DM, and I will give you the address.

[Søren Harbel: Sarlat]

Despite the loud arguments over flavours and the long line-ups to have the best ice cream, it remains a rite of passage. It starts when we are just big enough to hang on to a cone with both hands. We fling ice cream everywhere, occasionally getting some in our mouth. Growing up it is something we do with grandma and grandpa. Later it is with our friends, and lately, it has become something we enjoy as a means of internal climate control. But there is still anticipation, and something of a small celebration surrounding each cone of ice cream. We enjoy ice cream at the end of a long week. On a trip to town. During a vacation. On a first date.

[Søren Harbel: A Liverpool date]

I grew up with a particular kind of ice cream. It was about a 5 minute drive, or 10 minute bicycle ride, from the family cottage. The ice cream was in a waffle cone. A freshly made, slightly warm, home-made waffle cone. The cone alone tickled the salivary glands, as you could smell the waffle maker’s craft all the way from the parking lot!

There were two flavours; vanilla and strawberry. You would get two, or three scoops of ice cream, topped with hand made whipping cream, and a dollop of strawberry jam on top. There was no cherry on top, where I come from.

[Søren Harbel: Waffle cone making]

It was a race to eat the ice cream, before it melted and ran down the inside of the cone, through the little hole at the bottom, and down your arm, before finally dripped off your elbow. The ice cream stand was located in the old port, along side a row of baby blue painted fishing boats. I am sure when I was little, my parents would have gladly tossed me in the harbour to wash my sticky face, fingers and arms. I hold no animosity. It would have been the right thing to do!

After I finished my ice cream, and could eat no more, we would hop back in the car for the short drive home. I would be complaining the entire way, lamenting how full I was, but with a big grin on my face. This was a good Saturday evening, when it was daylight until late and the entire village would congregate at the port for ice cream, while waiting for the sun to set. Funny, it never rains when I recall these memories?

[Søren Harbel: Tivoli Gardens]

Ice cream is nostalgia, it is a love affair with one of life’s simple pleasures. It brings back memories long filed away, but readily recalled with the smell of a fresh made waffle cone. We should all thank the Moors in Sicily, who sent the men with their donkeys up the slopes of Mount Etna.

[Søren Harbel: Matera]

Until next time… What are you waiting for? Go on then. Go have an ice cream 😉