My sister and I have this tradition, one that was broken this weekend. Every time she comes to visit, we go to Graeter's. A local ice cream shoppe that puts chunks of chocolate in their ice cream. Not only that, but they serve the greatest flavor of all-time: Black Raspberry. Many ice cream shoppes don't offer this flavor. While it's not chocolate or strawberry or even Bubble Gum, why it's not on every menu befuddles me. Black Raspberry is that oft-forgotten, yet truly loved, flavor. You remind someone of it and they're inevitably like, "Yeah. Black Raspberry. That IS a good flavor." They are like this, unless, of course, they have no soul.
Black Raspberry is that one-hit wonder. That movie that constantly replays on TV. It's the Shawshank and "(I'm The One) To Be With You" of ice cream. You don't change the channel. You don't change the station. You think, "That IS good." And you have to get it.
But Sarah and I could not get our Black Raspberry. Could not indulge in the sensory delight that is Graeter's Ice Cream. The one shoppe around here was closed. For re-modeling. In the middle of the summer. Seems if I'm going to remodel my ice cream parlor, I'm not doing it at the time when I typically make the most money. That's just asinine. But if she comes for Christmas, we should be good.
No worries though. We had ColdStone. Also quite good. Only they make up for the lack of quality of their ice cream by the fandango way the make it. And there's no Shawshank. No Mr. Big. Just 'Hey Mickey'.
But you know what, that WAS fine.
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Because, quite often, little of what I say is of any lasting value. Though in rare occasion, may I invoke your illative sense. Ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem.
1 comment:
Yeah, that is some BR cone with those chips but closed in the summer is like McDonalds being closed during Mad Cow disease....wait...they weren't!
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