Cold In Cold

Yesterday I mentioned a pole competition that I attended recently. Thought it was, as I said, in a bad neighborhood, the area was not without options for food. There was one anyway, if temporarily. One of LA's ubiquitous food tracks was on hand outside, selling ice cream. One might question the choice of ice cream on what was a brisk night, but it was by then too late, and it is certainly too late to quibble now.

The specialty of the truck was ice cream sandwiches. It was awfully high quality (and rather exotic) flavors of ice cream in between equally high quality and exotic cookies. As I had decided to wear a suit and tie to the thing, I reasoned that an ice cream sandwich was a real gamble, and somehow it seemed like a bad thing to get a cookie on the side. It meant paying more and seemingly getting just one cookie and not two.

I ultimately decided on a scoop of "brown butter and candied bacon" ice cream, which sounded good to me and was one of the flavors that seemed least likely to be available by more conventional means. A scoop from that truck is akin to a sample from someplace else, but I found my dearly-bought ice cream to be awfully good. It reminded me a bit of the first time I'd had sweet cream, and there were chunks of real bacon in there.

It was pretty tasty, and I didn't get one bit on my suit. Whether I got any on my moustache is more difficult to say, but I did manage to get to the restroom shortly thereafter, so any time spent looking ridiculous was minimized. Anyway, I'm inclined to guess that an ice cream moustache on top of a real one just might be endearing. Even if that's not so, the ice cream was tasty enough that I'll take the hit to my dignity.