After lunch on Saturday, Crayton and I went on a stroll through Plaza Rio de Janeiro in the Roma neighborhood. An ice cream vendor there caught my eye: she sat under a little tarp, with her metal ice cream cylinders wedged inside ice-packed buckets. Her flavors had been written in a whimsical font. One was fig with mezcal.
“Oooh, fig with mezcal!” I told Crayton.
“Do you want one?”
At this point we’d already walked by the place. “Well… no,” I said. “I shouldn’t.”
We’d just eat lunch. Which had included bacon.
“Are you sure?”
It’s truly astonishing how many times Crayton knows me better than I know me. I did want one, so we went back and I tasted the fig, which ended up being too sweet. But she also had mamey, a popular flavor in Mexico. Unbelievably, despite my mamey obsession, I hadn’t tried mamey ice cream yet. So I got one scoop.
I can’t even describe to you how good it was. It was kind of pumpkiny, and melon-y, and I think I detected some cinnamon. This morning I woke up thinking about it. And then I thought: I need to have an ice cream tasting party. I will gather all my ice-cream loving friends, make an ice-cream themed music mix, and then churn up three Mexican-inspired ice creams that I’ve been dreaming of lately: mamey, crema and piloncillo. We will have mamey splits, like a banana split, but better. We’ll cover our scoops with pumpkin seeds instead of walnuts. We’ll drink Kahlua-spiked coffee. (Which isn’t ice cream-ish, but fun nonetheless.)
This is going to happen. Stay tuned.