Last night, we celebrated our anniversary by going out for ice cream. We went to a place called Bruster’s, an ice cream chain with shops located primarily east of the Mississippi. The particular location we visited is just a drive-thru/walk up shop with no indoor seating. Not that it mattered, plenty of outdoor tables and benches are installed at the front of the property and it was a surprisingly mild June evening. The three of us (of course Sloan came along) ate our frozen treats on a red bench right to the side of the ordering window.
Because she is under 40 inches tall, Sloan enjoyed a free cake cone with vanilla ice cream topped with sprinkles. Sidney and I each ordered waffle cones – she had chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and I had birthday cake ice cream. Although I really enjoyed my ice cream, I think Sloan enjoyed hers even more. Sidney and I couldn’t help but laugh as she pretty much ate her whole dessert up until the point when she had just a small, soggy scrap of cone left. With her face and hands covered in melted ice cream, she offered both of us her “leftovers.” We politely declined.
There was a time when I wouldn’t eat an ice cream cone. Whenever we had ice cream at home or when we visited a parlor, I always requested that it be put in a dish. I point to a few reasons for why I was so anti-cone. First, I couldn’t get past the texture and taste. My initial experiences were mostly with mass-produced cheap cake cones, leaving a lot to be desired. The way I saw it, the crumbly and faint-tasting cones didn’t seem to pair well with the ice cream. Why ruin a good thing, right?
I was also under the impression that you got less ice cream with a cone than you did with a dish. Even though a scoop should be a scoop, when I observed ice cream parlor employees, it always seemed like a smaller scoop went into a cone while a larger scoop went into a dish. Sacrificing ice cream for something I didn’t like in the first place didn’t seem like a good proposition to me.
Last but not least, I hated the mess. It seemed to never fail––whenever I would venture out and get a cone, I would have melting ice cream running down the sides and dripping out the bottom. Too many times to count I remember the napkin that was wrapped around my cone being permanently plastered around it by the melted mess.
But like with broccoli, I developed an acquired taste for cones later in life. The combination that once seemed like soup and popsicles seemed more like peanut butter and jelly. A switch was flipped and I started to crave ice cream in a cone. Probably the biggest factor in my conversion was simply eating good cones. There is a big difference between a cake cone from a box and a fresh waffle cone made right in front of you. Several years ago I started to willingly order cones, something that I still do to this day.
Although I still order ice cream in a dish from time to time, I now have an appreciation for why people enjoy cones. I am glad I have finally seen the light because an ice cream lover like myself needs to be versatile enough to eat it in different forms. Hey, cones aren’t so bad! Don’t Blink.