Ice cream is Proustian. One bite can send you time-traveling decades back, to a hot summer day, when you walked barefoot on shell-dappled Gulf sands, vanilla ice cream dripping over the sides of a cone and onto your fingers. Maybe it was a reward for the first time you lost a tooth, a sweet, cold dish of mint chocolate chip as balm for the pain. A bite of blackberry gelato might conjure up a stroll down a sunny Roman street with a long-lost love._Mimi Swartz
Then, I felt “natsukashii”, at the sight of the image of a glass of ice-cream before my eyes, I entered and ordered one, a bite, suddenly, euphorically nostalgic, triggered by experiencing something Tout-Aussi, common, and simply be delighted by such encounter with a rare trove at vitrine of a parlor Ice Cream, passing Whashington Square, a twist made in to the usual home-to-work itinerary, an escape on the account of everyday’s banalities. How soothing a scoop of ice cream, can be, first.
First, a word we say it to make a point, adieu! a kiss-and-go, departing, an unleashed hand and a step to a bus.Then after that or before that, there was the first cry, the first word we pronounced, the first step we walked, the first tooth, and so on; those small things of life we don’t totally or vaguely remember, that are part of souvenirs, of a parent, a freind, or something dear to use. Because we are the first child, and because our memory can’t keep; we were too small. Then, some decades later, the first thing that came to mind, the Bar-Mitzvah, or the circumcision, tonsils, a wounded knee, a cut in the palm, a first shave with bleeding cuts to the face, the fist date and a long-lost love. Things we treasure. Both nostalgic souvenirs, longtime forgotten, but the last, one of lasting memories, that still pursuits its wake with such sweet sorrow that you can’ but once grieve.
Rocky-road ice cream? God bless the broken roads. A cracked pecan better ice cream in my mouth and longway awaiting from home.