I have been an ice cream fanatic for as long as I can remember. Just ask anyone who ever lived with me—my parents, college friends, roommates, and Peter, of course. And we’re talking pure ice cream here. I am not a big fan of hot fudge sauce or whipped cream, although the dulce de leche topping we had in Argentina was something to write home about.
On my first trip to Europe in 1958 (back when we actually took pictures on film), my favorite photo was of a sign that said “ice cream” in five languages.
I’ve now survived more than a dozen years without gluten, but I’m not sure I would survive a week without ice cream.
Although I love all flavors of ice cream, I am partial to coffee. In fact, I order it 99% of the time. But of late, it has had a particular effect on me. It seems that when I finish my coffee ice cream, I cannot resist accosting Peter with my (clothed) form of lap dance. He doesn’t seem to mind.
What is it about coffee ice cream?