Ice Scream Fury

You know that you’ve reached a particular low point in your life when you start to feel angry at ice cream. Once you’ve found yourself venting your spleen at sweetened dairy products where do you go from there? Pissed off at pizza, whining at wine or cheesed off at...well... cheese? 

I’m not normally an angry person, I’m really not, but last Saturday I unexpectedly found my hackles raised. By something as innocuous and pleasant as ice cream. How did I get into this state? 

It had been a pleasant and dry night, a rare occasion in what’s been a particularly wet spring in Auckland, and after a couple of drinks we settled into a cosy Mexican restaurant. It was unusually lively and after some excellent fried chicken we decided to skip desert and grab an ice cream on the way home. Not only was there an award winning ice cream parlour not far off our route home, but we would also be able to eat al fresco and away from the hustle and bustle of the lively restaurant. 

For those that don’t know the Auckland ice cream scene, there isn’t one. A good ice cream in Auckland is as rare as a reasonably priced house, or to put it another way rocking horse shit. In fact, to be blunt, two or three decent placed to buy ice cream does not a scene make. And no, I’m not counting Movenpick in that calculation. They don’t count and have no business being in the Southern Hemisphere.

Giapo is another proposition all together. If I was being particularly pretentious then I would say that they were artisan ice cream makers, but I’m not going there. Instead I’ll just say this. If you want a nice simple, but tasty, semi-frozen desert then this is not the place for you. Walk on. Find a dairy. Get a Tip-top.

In all fairness, my spider-sense should’ve started tingling as soon as we entered the premises. The was not a single sign of ice cream in view, other than those that had already been purchase by a group of Japanese’s tourists. Where was the dairy deliciousness? Just as we were starting to wonder if we’d accidentally wandered into an estate agents.....

“Hello, my name is Amy and I’ll be your guide tonight.”

Well that was an unusually turn of phrase. What on earth was she going to guide us to. We only wanted an ice cream. Then, just before we could ask for clarification

“Please, come this way”, she said, pointing towards one of four pedestals with a iPad perched on top. Still no sign of any ice cream.

Intrigued, and a little discombobulated, we made our way to the pedestal and were presented with a menu. 

“May I introduce you to our flavours?”

Before I could get the words “Just a vanilla please” out of my mouth she disappeared only to return moments later with a wooden spatula containing a blob of ice cream on the end. 

“This is our most popular flavour, caramel infused with vanilla and slated caramel”

“Nice”, we said and dutifully slurped the ice cream from the end of the spatula. 

I looked up and was about to ask if they had anything, well, less fancy but was too late. She’d disappeared again to return as before brandishing a wooden stick with another sample of ice cream.

“This is quite special. Double chocolate with crushed hazelnuts and real gold sprinkles, accompanied by fresh cream from Swiss cows whilst a string quartet plays Handel’s Messiah. It’s quite an experience.”

Or at least that’s what I think she said. I’d lost interest around the ‘quite special’ stage. All I wanted was an bleedin’ ice cream. Not fussy and the flavour. Vanillla, chocolate, boysenberry. This was all getting too much.

“What else can I get for you? Maybe you would like to take a seat whilst you chose? Or maybe I can book you in for a tasting tomorrow when it’s more convenient and we can go through your options in a little more detail?”

Frustrated, I replied “err, nah. I’ll have that one please”, and hastily pointed to a random spot on the page. 

“Excellent choice. Would that be in one of our hand folded sugar encrusted cones or in a c..”

“Cup!”.

If I was a little brusque it went unnoticed. I was done with options.

“Very good. Now for the side options. Which of these toppings would you like. I’ll just pop and get some samples for you to try to help you decide....”

“No toppings please just give me the bloody ice cream!”......is what I should’ve said but instead just nodded my head whilst she disappeared and we repeated the whole charade once more.

Eventually, we got to the end of the whole process and our order was repeated back to us. We agreed that sounded like the deal we had come to and the details were entered into the iPad perched on the pedestal.

“That’ll be $23and 50cents”

I was speechless and expecting for that price the ice cream would have to be delivered by a truck. Possibly two.

“Please take a seat. There might be a bit of a wait because the chefs are busy with a few orders already.”

We stood at the back of the reception area, for want of a better word, and stared amazed as sweet sculptures were delivered to their destinations. These things were fantastic and in all shapes and sizes from the petite to gargantuan. Some frosted and others glazed, shimmering in the early evening light. There was one that looked like a sea creature had just been dipped in chocolate and stuck in a cone. 

Squid ice?

Eventually the door to the kitchen swung open and two ice cream marvels in a cup were presented to us. They were like nothing we had seen before. Not so much an ice cream but an edible piece of art. In fact, the only way we knew they were ice cream and not something to display in a trophy cabinet or on the mantle piece was because the were cold. It’s ice cream Jim but not as we know it. This was going to be amazing.

It was then as I took my first bit, eager to find out if all of the hoopla was worth it, I came across a fundamental problem.... I couldn’t actually eat the ice cream. The toffee encrusted glaze that had been so lovingly applied to the ice cream had been gas flamed into something approaching sugary concrete. The flimsy spatula that had been handed out wouldn’t even make a dent and was dangerously close to snapping.

“For f*ck’s sake”, I grumbled under my breath, “this is rock hard!”

I struggled on for a few hundred metres, desperately looking for something that would help break down the ice cream’s seemingly impenetrable coating. A jack-hammer maybe? 

I was getting nowhere fast and had only managed to prize a few small spatula sized pieces of ice cream into my mouth. It was a struggle with very little to show for it so as I passed a bin I tossed the $12 ice cream unceremoniously into the trash. 

I have to say that what little I was able to eat was perfectly pleasant but definitely not worth the pomp and palaver that came with it. At least not to me. I'm sure many would have persevered and been rewarded with a delicious ice cream treat. Maybe I should've been more patient, savouring the moment rather than rushing in an nearly breaking a tooth? But I'd gone past the point were patience was available. Perhaps gourmet ice cream just isn't for me? I’m all for a bit of adventure but not in ice cream. Call me simple but I’ve been just as happy with a nice vanilla choc top thank you very much. Am I sure? Oh, okay. Let’s push the boat out and go for a double choc top!