Last Saturday, you may remember, was a rainy day of epic proportions. The driving rain and gusting winds, combined with my worsening head cold, meant that AV and I had hunkered down at his place, ordered a takeout dinner, and were prepared for an evening of watching one Lost episode after another. But once our takeout Thai was gone, we realized we were missing one thing-- one KEY thing: dessert.
Given that it was about 40 degrees out, of course we needed ice cream. AV, being the superb caretaker that he is, volunteered to run to the corner bodega to pick us up some treats. An inkling formed in my head, and so I requested one of those strawberry sundaes in a cup, you know, the kind with the vanilla ice cream and the ring of icy strawberry goo on top ringed with tufts of spiky cream? You know, the kind I used to eat in my middle school cafeteria? Miraculously, AV knew exactly what I was talking about. "There's absolutely no chance the store will have that," he predicted. I scoffed. He scoffed at my scoffing. And then he promised to call me from the store to list my options.
Well, on this particular occasion, AV was both right and wrong. It's true, they didn't have the strawberry sundae I was looking for. But they DID have the chocolate version of the very sundae I had in mind, which I considered a personal victory. It looked a little something like this:
And it was exactly how you think it would be: freezer burned to the point of visible crystallization and redolent of cheap chocolate, fake vanilla, and chemical Cool Whip. And absolutely delicious. You know how sometimes things are gross but they just hit the spot? I think pretty much the entire fast food industry is based on that premise, and this downscale delight was no exception. Mmmm-hmmmmm.