Ice Cream

June 15, 2012

One of life’s greatest joys has always been the luscious, velvety smoothness of ice cream on the tongue. I can’t imagine a single person, save lactose intolerants that can’t enjoy it and vegans who refuse to, who would turn down a frosty cone of the delicious frozen treat.

I’ve always been a fan of the gooey greatness of ice cream. While I am much more of a fan of the hand-dipped variety than the thinner, less appealing soft serve ordeal, I’ll eat it all.

Well, except mint chocolate chip.

I don’t think I need to go into my feelings about the pairing of mint and chocolate. Suffice to say, the phrase “Satan’s demon sperm” would come up quite a bit in that 500 words.

But here’s the dirty little secret: even though I’m a die hard, through-and-through fan of hand-dipped, I must admit that I have tasted the greatest ice cream in the world, and…

It was soft serve.

I know, I know. It surprised me, too.

This is the thing: there is a little place in the middle of nowhere called Hundred, WV. Now, there is pretty much no reason to breeze through the town unless that’s where you are from. And if that’s the case, the world owes you an apology.

Either way, Lisa and I took a trip that way recently to visit her granny after a surgery.

She’s doing well. Thanks for asking.

We went a little off the beaten path to a place called Dairy Dream, a small little hole-in-the-wall joint that Lisa raves about every once in a while.

She talked me into getting a bit of food, so I grabbed a pepperoni roll and looked over the milkshake list.

Turns out they like to mix their own custom flavors by hand, joining vanilla soft serve and delicious fruit flavors into a heavenly concoction. Then, they like to make milkshakes out of them…

Milkshakes that could conquer galaxies.

I tried the orange.

When I received it, I looked disappointingly at the nuclear orange hue that would better suite the day-glo dance-floor vomit of a freshman that’s been swilling Skittles vodka all night.

Then, I took a sip.

It was like deep-throating one of those orange Push-Ups with the Flintstones on the wrapper.

In a good way, mind you.

It was simply the greatest thing I have ever tasted. I’ve had authentic Mexican tequila, real vodka in Russia.

I’ve eaten the greatest onion rings in the world, courtesy of Marky Mark himself.

I’ve been raised on a long tradition of home-cooked bad-ass-ness, and I had never tasted anything like that milkshake.

Even now, sitting in Carver, MA, I long not for my own bed or for my own shower, but for an orange milkshake from Dairy Dream in Hundred.

But, if I could drink one of those milkshakes in my own bed, that WOULD be a bit better.

ghjr

—————————————————————

This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for allowing me to bestow the sacred knowledge of Dairy Dream upon the world.

Maybe it’ll inspire someone to visit Hundred, but if not, well…

I don’t blame you.

Truly ghjr

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