Cream Of The Hop

I’ve never been an ice cream guy. By that I mean that ice cream is nowhere near the top of my list of favorite indulgences. I don’t mean that I’m not a guy who drives around serving ice cream (even though I’m not). That would be an ice cream man. Part of why I know this stuff, besides it being common knowledge, is that my dad put himself through college working as an ice cream man. To this day, he has difficulty passing an ice cream truck without stopping for a nostalgia-tinged cone, both because the taste takes him back to a simpler time, and because he likes to stand around and bullshit with the ice cream men -- to cultivate a feeling of solidarity with his fellow dairy-peddlers. An ice cream man is a guy who sells ice cream. An ice cream guy is someone who enjoys eating it. My dad is both.

For me, ice cream is pretty easy to resist. I’d much rather have a good cup of coffee or beer that doesn’t blow, hence this blog. But last week during an afternoon stroll, I came across something rare: an ice cream I couldn’t refuse. It was called “Beer Chip.” It was being served at an outdoor ice cream stand that sets up camp during the summer outside of The General Greene, a nice restaurant in Fort Greene, Brooklyn.

Like my father, I suddenly found the thought of experiencing a creamy treat impossible to pass by. I didn’t stand around talking to the ice cream server though. In fact, I might have walked away while he was still talking to me. I was busy*.

It was beer flavored ice cream with chocolate chips in it. I can’t say I’ve ever seen that at a 31 Flavors before. I also can’t say I’ve ever called Baskin-Robbins “31 Flavors.” Also, what a shit hole that place is!

If I’m being honest, this shit was just all right. The idea of it sounded better than it tasted. You could definitely taste the beer in the cream, but something stopped me from loving it for some reason. It lacked a flavor that was interesting enough to make me say, “It’s the middle of the day, I’m eating pure shit, and I don’t regret it!” In other words, it wasn't beef jerkey.

Maybe I was a little underwhelmed because the beer used to flavor the cream was Kelso. Not to be dick hole, but I have yet to try a Kelso that I’ve been wowed by. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t Kels-blow. It’s just Kel-so-so. It doesn’t make me say, “Kels-Oh-No!”, but I wouldn’t Kels-go out of my way for it – especially if I was feeling Kels-low. Again, it wasn’t that bad. Sorry to bore you with my tale of Kels-whoa.

Or, maybe it was because I'm not an ice cream guy, ice cream man, ice cream boy, or ice cream girl -- or a babe who's on her period.

Anyway, next time I’ll just get a beer.

*No I wasn’t.