Before I was tall enough to see over and into the ice cream case at the drug store my very favorite flavor was strawberry ice cream.
I remember the ritual very well because going out for ice cream was so rare and such a treasure my eyes widen now just thinking about it.
A scooper girl, teen-aged and likely grumpy, would wrap a small piece of tissue paper around a flat-bottomed, kinda cardboard-y cone. She’d bend forward into the case with an ice cream scoop and emerge with a gorgeously haphazard ball of pale pink, strawberry studded, frozen cream that she’d precariously shape onto the cone. The treasure would be passed first to my mother, who your take a giant bite out of the cone before handing it down to me. Let’s not even talk about how frustrating it is to watch your precious ice cream being BITTEN INTO… that’s just childhood, you don’t make the rules but you do occasionally get ice cream. I’d hold onto the cone carefully but mostly desperately, willing myself not to lick the ice cream off its perch.
These fluffy strawberry and cream cakes remind me of the days when I was much younger, shorter, and didn’t have to buy my own ice cream. Those are precious days, indeed.
Oh. Quick note… once I got taller and could see inside the ice cream case for myself… my favorite flavor was that neon blue bubble gum ice cream. BUBBLE GUM in ice cream. Two treats in one! Such a loophole. Also disgusting.