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Remember when you were a kid and it was summer and you were happy? Because you didn’t realize that your overactive sweat glands made you look like some kind of forgotten wax figure scraped from the sidewalk? Yeah, that pre-perspiration-awakening feeling is still achievable. You just have to walk to an ice cream truck and order a soft serve. I’m a plain vanilla guy, but there’s no wrong answer when staring into the cold blue eyes of my president, Mister Softee.
Jun 29, 2021
Related Recs
The kind wrapped in paper you buy from a truck or cart. A true masterclass of frozen treats and an exercise in simplicity, this is all you need. They go absolutely silly hard on a hot day and/or by a body of water or pool. Plus when you’re done you get to scrape off all the chocolate on your fingers with your teeth. Round 2 baby!
Jun 17, 2024
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My grandparents owned an ice cream shop for 35 years. In the early days they sold sandwiches too, before moving to just ice cream. At one point when my dad was an adolescent, they actually lived above their shop. My grandma would dream up flavors and my grandpa would make them — he's lactose intolerant, he never really even reaped the one benefit of owning an ice cream shop. My grandparents, dad, aunt, great aunts and uncles, second cousins, and even my mom all worked fairs and festivals scooping ice cream. It was a family business, my grandma and grandpa were the core. They had to change locations twice. They "retired" at least once before actually retiring. This ice cream shop was an institution.
For me though it was the place where we would have Thanksgiving. Closed for the season, the shop was the only space big enough for all of us. I had birthday parties there as a baby. It was our first stop after a five hour drive across state lines to see family. That's the place where, at my grandpa's insistence, I wrote my initials into the wet cement he had laid down for a bike rack. They are still there.
When I was 16, I worked at the shop over the summer. You don't realize how tough it is. Decades of dipping had made my grandpa particular. I didn't have the wrist strength or the speed necessary when there were customers out the door, all of them hungry and agitated by the stifling heat. I was terrified of giving someone back the wrong amount of change. Becoming almost paralyzed by the responsibility of being behind the cash register — it was their livelihood after all. That was my grandma's responsibility. I was in charge of the milkshakes and malts. I decorated sundaes with hot fudge, wet walnuts, sprinkles, and cherries. I packed the shaved ice into paper cones and doused the evenly shaped mounds with syrup. I doled out the frozen lemonade into styrofoam cups. My hands became raw from all the cleaning. I'm now particular about hygiene in the kitchen and always tip.
My grandparents still own the building, renting it out to a dentist and coincidentally, an ice cream shop. It's so strange now to go there. Everything is entirely different while being exactly the same. They painted the chairs a different color, but they are still those heart-shaped wrought iron, poorly cushioned chairs I know from childhood. Some of the flavors have remained. But it's not the same. Maybe they're buying their heavy cream from a different supplier. Or the high schoolers who work behind the counter aren't as precise with the measurements. I can try, skipping the artisanal flavors for the ones I grew up eating, but it will never be the same as it was.
And that's alright. They're softer now, my grandparents; the anxieties and stress of those decades having melted away. These days, ice cream is just ice cream.
Dec 30, 2024
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not me having the same ice cream order since i was 7. there's something special about the last bite of a soggy styrofoam cake cone.
Jul 16, 2024
Top Recs from @alex-delany
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There are crackers that cool, young, brand-savvy, culinary enthusiasts eat. And then there are crackers that old Southern Italian Grandpas eat. I’m fine with the former, but I prefer the latter. Taralli, If you’re not familiar, are the latter. They’re a style of cracker that is essentially a bread stick (made with a slightly denser dough) curled in on itself to form a circle, usually with a shiny, smooth exterior. A lot of taralli have things like fennel seeds, pepper flakes, or dried herbs folded into the dough, but these rosemary and sea salt ones from Bello Rustico are the best I’ve found stateside. The exterior is more textural, and the cracker itself is buttery and extremely flaky, right at home with some roasted red peppers, a hunk of piave, or a slice of mortadella.
Jun 29, 2021
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Actual Source is a publisher, bookseller, merch maker, and all-around design-nerd’s dream based in Utah. As someone who went to school for graphic design and never became a graphic designer, it helps me feel like I’m still in the club. Front to back, the shop is absolute heat, even if you don’t drop terms like kerning, logotype, or visual identity system in conversation regularly. The merch is just as rad as the book curation. The collabs are genre-breaking. And their book series called Shoplifters is probably the best place to physically experience the work of today’s raddest illustrators and type designers.
Jun 29, 2021
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My Nona always had a Hall ball pitcher in the kitchen. So does my mom. So do I. The Hall China Company started making these ceramic pitchers in the ‘30s and they became pretty ubiquitous in the 40s, 50s, and 60s in American kitchens. The bulbous shape is super classic, and the portfolio of glaze colors is amazing. I prefer the styles that have the white interior showing on the lip of the pitcher for some added contrast. Fill it up with ice and some water. Or lemonade. Or mint tea. Or pre-batched negronis. They’re affordable and all over eBay, Etsy, and the like.
Jun 29, 2021