Okay, how could you not get excited about an ice cream shop called:
Not only is it exotic, not only is it gourmet, but it's a palace! I couldn't think of a more exciting name if I tried!
So of course, we had to pull in and have some ice cream.
And I am here to tell you that is some goooooood ice cream! Hand-dipped ice cream is always better than store-bought ice cream because it's dipped by someone else's hands, not mine.
The guy who served us our ice cream never changed expression the entire time we were in there. We ordered five ice cream cones and never once did he smile, frown, grin, or scowl. He may have blinked a couple of times.
Katie and I each had a cone of "Chocolate Sin". I figured we'd better really enjoy it because apparently we were going to hell afterward.
It turns out it is really excellent ice cream and we did not go to hell for eating it. I think the "sin" part refers to this:
This is what Chocolate Sin looks like when your eight year old daughter breaks her cone in half in the car.
(When they make a movie of my life, someone should cue the scary music to start playing as we are heading to the car with ice cream in our hands.)
I ran back into the ice cream shop with the ball of ice cream dripping in one hand and the broken cone in the other. I didn't even have to ask for a bowl. Mr. Expressionless handed me one without a flicker of emotion.
(In retrospect, it may have been obvious what I was going to ask for.)
When I got back to the car with the bowl of broken ice cream I jokingly told Katie, "Get out. I'll come back in a week and if you're still here you can come back home."
She giggled. Boy does my daughter know me. I would have kissed her but I had enough chocolate to clean up already.
Not only is it exotic, not only is it gourmet, but it's a palace! I couldn't think of a more exciting name if I tried! So of course, we had to pull in and have some ice cream.
And I am here to tell you that is some goooooood ice cream! Hand-dipped ice cream is always better than store-bought ice cream because it's dipped by someone else's hands, not mine.
The guy who served us our ice cream never changed expression the entire time we were in there. We ordered five ice cream cones and never once did he smile, frown, grin, or scowl. He may have blinked a couple of times.
Katie and I each had a cone of "Chocolate Sin". I figured we'd better really enjoy it because apparently we were going to hell afterward.
It turns out it is really excellent ice cream and we did not go to hell for eating it. I think the "sin" part refers to this:
This is what Chocolate Sin looks like when your eight year old daughter breaks her cone in half in the car. (When they make a movie of my life, someone should cue the scary music to start playing as we are heading to the car with ice cream in our hands.)
I ran back into the ice cream shop with the ball of ice cream dripping in one hand and the broken cone in the other. I didn't even have to ask for a bowl. Mr. Expressionless handed me one without a flicker of emotion.
(In retrospect, it may have been obvious what I was going to ask for.)
When I got back to the car with the bowl of broken ice cream I jokingly told Katie, "Get out. I'll come back in a week and if you're still here you can come back home."She giggled. Boy does my daughter know me. I would have kissed her but I had enough chocolate to clean up already.
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