Power and Politics - I am Not the Yellow Peril

The life and times of an Asian American activist who tells all the truth (and dishes news and analysis) but with a leftwards slant.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Ice cream resentment

You know how when you're really looking forward to eating something that's been very well hyped, and the sense of craving overtakes you and you get there, and well, it doesn't quite perform the way you expected? Today this happened to me.

I recently ate some nationally acclaimed ice cream, which is supposed to be made of the highest quality ingredients. Real ice cream is supposed to be like walking on clouds, better than sex. it's supposed to hit the taste buds and run all over your tongue, tickling and enticing your nerve endings.

This ice cream is supposed to be the standard bearer of gourmet sorbets and gelatos. I ate it like a pityfuck. I had two scoops, one of vanilla, and one of spicy chocolate. I dug into it seeking validation but there was no rhapsody, no symphony of flavors, no joy. I ate the vanilla seeking redemption, a floral bouquet but its simple flavoring left me mechanically bobbing my head up and down, chewing.

I wanted to inhale the chocolate, wanting richness and heat, spices and complexity. Instead it was just cold and unfeeling, a sad and unfinished performance if ever I saw one. for something that was supposed to have chilies in it, spices were remarkably absent, as though a fling had found some discarded cinnamon and half-heartedly tossed it on. Not even surface heat like the slickness of two bodies pressed against each other.

Frustrated that it didn't taste better and that I had paid so much for it, I gripped the cone tightly, wishing it would yield more flavor or something to make the rote experience more enjoyable. Mechanically I bit into it, watching it diminish before my eyes. Begrudgingly I grasped the cone harder, twisting it into my mouth, aching for some kind of payoff, when it collapsed. It was empty inside, none of the vanilla having sunk into its tip.

So many calories consumed, and no delight. It wasn't scandalous, not even luscious. Throwing away the sticky remains, I left with a semi-sour taste on the tongue, a grudge and a lesson learned.

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