Mint Ice Cream Quotes

Number of empty Ben & Jerry's containers: 3 -- two mint chocolate cookie, one plain vanilla. (Who buys plain vanilla ice cream from Ben & Jerry's, anyway? Is there a greater waste?)

Revenge is sweet, but ice cream is sweeter.” She goes to the freezer and removes a tub of mint chocolate chip. She brings that and two spoons back to the sofa. “For now, accept this delight, unworthy though it is for the Queen of Faerie in exile.

My personality made me easy to get along with – unless you were looking at my guy like he was a big, juicy slab of prime rib with a side of mint chocolate chiop ice cream.

I could have told him there was no sense in rushing toward being dead. It would find you soon enough, and before it did there were pleasures to make your heart hurt less. If I lay very still in bed at night, I remembered how Grandma’s house smelled. The taste of mint ice cream on Kellen’s tongue. Donal jumping on the bed to wake me up.

She put a spoonful of mint chocolate chip in her mouth. [...] "Let me try it." She held her bowl toward him, but he didn't put his spoon in it. He trailed his fingers over her jaw as he tipped her head back and sealed his lips over hers. His tongue speared into her mouth, and the salt of him mixed with the flavor of the ice cream. She didn't know if she was mortified, shocked, aroused or all three.

it has been one of the greatest and most difficult years of my life. i learned everything is temporary. moments. feelings. people. flowers. i learned love is about giving. everything. and letting it hurt. i learned vulnerability is always the right choice because it is easy to be cold in a world that makes it so very difficult to remain soft. i learned all things come in twos. life and death. pain and joy. salt and sugar. me and you. it is the balance of the universe. it has been the year of hurting so bad but living so good. making friends out of strangers. making strangers out of friends. learning mint chocolate chip ice cream will fix just about everything. and for the pains it can’t there will always be my mother’s arms. we must learn to focus on warm energy. always. soak our limbs in it and become better lovers to the world. for if we can’t learn to be kind to each other how will we ever learn to be kind to the most desperate parts of ourselves.

Personally, I like to mix and match--I prefer to get a couple of milk shakes, a banana split ... a sundae or two. Then I top it off with a mocha chip in a cone. I don't know why. I guess that's like the dinner mint at the end of a meal to me. Know what I mean?" Mary had to turn around again. Bitty was looking forward, her brows super-high, her little face the picture of surprise. "He's not kidding," Mary murmured. "Even if you're not into the ice cream, watching him eat all that is something to see.

Why do you only have mint ice cream?" I yelled from the kitchen as I held the freezer door open. "Why do you hate things that are delicious?

to do list (after the breakup) 1. take refuge in your bed 2. cry. till the tears stop (this will take a few days). 3. don’t listen to slow songs. 4. delete their number from your phone even though it is memorized on your fingertips. 5. don’t look at old photos. 6. find the closest ice cream shop and treat yourself to two scoops of mint chocolate chip. the mint will calm your heart. you deserve the chocolate. 7. buy new bed sheets. 8. collect all the gifts, t-shirts, and everything with their smell on it and drop it off at a donation center. 9. plan a trip. 10. perfect the art of smiling and nodding when someone brings their name up in conversation. 11. start a new project. 12. whatever you do. do not call. 13. do not beg for what does not want to stay. 14. stop crying at some point. 15. allow yourself to feel foolish for believing you could’ve built the rest of your life in someone else’s stomach. 16. breathe.

Why was it always me? What about me made me so damn unlovable? So gullible? My favorite color. Yellow. My favorite ice cream flavor. Mint chocolate chip. You are the light to my dark, Sunshine. Without you, I’m lost. Lies. All of it. Every kiss, every word, every second that I had treasured…tainted.

Green food is good for you’ ‘Can’t I have mint choc-chip ice-cream instead?

What?" Her breathing stuttered at the thought of tasting the sweet cream off his skin. "Nothing." "No, tell me." He stepped closer. She shook her head. "Why mint and peach?" He quirked a crooked smile. "Mint for fresh breath, peach because it's breakfast. You know, fruit." "I don't think peach ice cream counts as fruit." "What's that right there?" He pointed to the hunks of frozen orange buried in the mounds of ice cream overflowing his bowl. "Peach, but--" "Nuh uh. No but. It's peach. Case closed." He lifted the bowl and took a big bite.

Some people - and I am one of them - hate happy ends. We feel cheated. Harm is the norm. Doom should not jam. The avalanche stopping in its tracks a few feet above the cowering village behaves not only unnaturally but unethically. Had I been reading about this mild old man, instead of writing about him, I would have preferred him to discover, upon his arrival to Cremona, that his lecture was not this Friday but the next. Actually, however, he not only arrived safely but was in time for dinner - a fruit cocktail, to begin with, mint jelly with the anonymous meat course, chocolate syrup with the vanilla ice cream.

She never wanted an extravagant life-- only one filled with simple joys like children, family, friendship, good books, funny jokes, and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

So next time you have mint chocolate chip ice cream, you can thank Persephone, though it can be a little hard to eat the stuff when you realize it's made from smashed river nymph.

Why was it always me? What about me made me so damn unlovable? So gullible? My favorite color. Yellow. My favorite ice cream flavor. Mint chocolate chip. You are the light to my dark, Sunshine. Without you, I’m lost. Lies. All of it. Every kiss, every word, every second that I had treasured…tainted. My eyes burned with liquid fire. I couldn’t breathe. Everything hurt, from the outside to the inside, as I sobbed terrible, wretched, soul-racking tears.

Usually when I have a bad day like this, I put on my jams, get in bed with some mint chocolate chip ice cream, and watch funny movies until I feel better.

I should start a dessert Instagram. I could call it Mint to Be, like a play on words with my podcast.” “Or you could call it Lick Me Till Ice Cream.

Girls used breakup songs and ice cream. He had heavy metal and a sea of flaming-hot Cheetos. The end was the same though.

Some of the cottages have tiny courtyards surrounded by high stone walls. These walls are bright with flowers: valerian, feverfew, mallows, lace cap hydrangeas spring from the crevices in these stones and flourish in the salty air. If she looks across the river Evie can see Kingswear with its tier upon tier of houses stacked on the hill above the marina: narrow terraced houses the color of ice cream: mint, vanilla, bubblegum, coffee.

If you want me to be flirty, then bring wine. If you want me to take off my top and dance on the table, then bring tequila. And if you want me to be happy, then bring mint chocolate chip ice cream—the green kind with big chocolate chunks in it.

I paused, causing her to stumble into my chest. My thumb and forefinger grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “Try me.” Ava blinked, her breaths coming out in short, shallow puffs. “My favorite color.” “Yellow.” “My favorite ice cream flavor.” “Mint chocolate chip.” Her chest rose and fell harder. “My favorite season.” “Summer, because of the warmth and sunshine and greenery. But secretly, winter fascinates you.” I lowered my head until my own breath skated over her skin and her scent crawled into my nostrils, drugging me, turning my voice into a hoarse, sinful version of itself. “It speaks to the darkest parts of your soul. The manifestations of your nightmares. It’s everything you fear, and for that, you love it. Because the fear makes you feel alive.

I looked back and forth from my glass to hers. “Why does your tea look different?” “Because my tea is whiskey.” She grinned proudly. “Whiskey?” I stared at it incredulously before checking the time on my phone. “It’s ten thirty in the morning.” “Lawrence, when you’re my age, you learn to do things when you want to do them, not when it’s socially acceptable. Hell, who knows if I’ll still be around at dinner time? While we’re on the subject, I had half a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream for dinner last night. Cheers!” She raised her glass again and winked at me.

The most obvious difference between Japanese and American ice cream bars is that if the Japanese bar promises something crispy, it will damn well be crispy. The Haagen-Dazs Crispy Sandwich, for example, is a slim bar of ice cream between two delicate wafers. How do they keep the wafers from getting soggy? Is it a layer of shellac? Maybe it's best not to ask. Crepes, soft but not mushy, are also a frequent player in ice cream bars. Near the end of the month I discovered my single favorite ice cream treat, the Black Thunder bar, a chocolate ice cream bar on a stick filled with crunchy chocolate cookie chunks. I also tried its sister product, the vanilla White Thunder, but in the immortal words of Wesley Snipes:always bet on Black Thunder. Iris and I also became mildly obsessed with Zachrich, a triangular Choco Taco-like bar that looked like a run-over sugar cone, coated with chocolate on the inside and filled with mint ice cream. And Iris often selected Coolish, a foil canteen of soft-serve that you warm with your hands until it's just melted enough to suck out through the spout. (All of these names, incidentally, are in English; I'm not translating them).

It starts, and we’re quiet for a while. Engrossed. Julie and I first watched this movie our freshman year, drunk after a bad party at a frat house. We huddled on the couch in our common room under layers of blankets. We shared a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. We stayed up until five a.m., talking about what a good movie it was and whether or not we’d ever date a widower. We theorized about the true weight of baggage in relationships we weren’t mature enough to have or experienced enough to understand. As I watch the movie again with her now, there’s a phantom taste of mint in my mouth.

Growing up it had been her entire world, an oasis where on hot summer afternoons they drank iced mint sherbets under a canopy of trees, and when the sun went down they ate juicy kebabs on three-feet-long skewers. As the evening wore on, they lit lanterns and the yard acquired depth like a stage. The waiters wheeled out a three-tiered chariot of fruit compotes, rum babas, crème caramel, and charlotte russe, with bottles of liqueurs and digestifs glowing on the lower shelf. Soon after, the music would start. Noor sat on her grandmother's lap, spooning pistachio ice cream into her mouth with vanilla wafers, while Pari serenaded them.

The last meal aboard the Titanic was remarkable. It was a celebration of cuisine that would have impressed the most jaded palate. There were ten courses in all, beginning with oysters and a choice of Consommé Olga, a beef and port wine broth served with glazed vegetables and julienned gherkins, or Cream of Barley Soup. Then there were plate after plate of main courses- Poached Salmon and Cucumbers with Mousseline Sauce, a hollandaise enriched with whipped cream; Filet Mignon Lili, steaks fried in butter, hen topped with an artichoke bottom, foie gras and truffle and served with a Périgueux sauce, a sauté of Chicken Lyonnaise; Lamb with Mint Sauce; Roast Duckling with Apple Sauce; Roast Squash with Cress and Sirloin Beef. There were also a garden's worth of vegetables, prepared both hot and cold. And several potatoes- Château Potatoes, cut to the shape of olives and cooked gently in clarified butter until golden and Parmentier Potatoes, a pureed potato mash garnished with crouton and chervil. And, of course, pâté de foie gras. To cleanse the palate, there was a sixth course of Punch à la Romaine, dry champagne, simple sugar syrup, the juice of two oranges and two lemons, and a bit of their zest. The mixture was steeped, strained, fortified with rum, frozen, topped with a sweet meringue and served like a sorbet. For dessert there was a choice of Waldorf Pudding, Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly, Chocolate and Vanilla Èclairs and French ice cream.

As the philosopher and Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius said, “The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts.” As true today as in Roman times. The state of your mind, body, and spirit is the direct result of all the decisions you’ve made in your life up until this moment. Physical health, cognitive performance, happiness, and well-being—these are driven almost entirely by our beliefs and behaviors. Day after day, choosing to exercise or watch Netflix, pull an all-nighter or get some sleep, eat clean or binge on mint chocolate-chip ice cream—all these decisions create our days, and our days create our lives as a whole. Each of us faces unique physical and mental challenges, but no matter what hand you’ve been dealt, your mindset makes a massive difference.

People are not sophisticated. They see dark, they think “bad,” “shady,” “untrustworthy.” They see light, they think “clean,” “pure,” “fresh.” Jason tells me this is racist. So sue me: I’m just saying what I’ve observed. In the ice cream industry, you always want your chocolate-based flavors to appear creamy, not earthy or bitter. Our Devil’s Food Cake, our Molten Fudge, our Cocoa-Loco. Marvelous flavors, all of them, but most of them sat in the cases for weeks, slowly crystallizing. Vanilla, meanwhile, is the number-one-selling flavor in America. You can’t tell me this is simply because of the taste. Not when you have rum raisin available. Or mint chip. Yet Aryanism still carries the day, darlings, even in the ice cream freezer. I don’t like this any more than you do. But there it is.

And yeah, put out as I can be with Mama 'bout a lotta things, I gotta admit she gets all the credit for getting me interested in cooking when I was just knee-high to a grasshopper. Gladys never seemed to give a damn about it when we were kids, which I guess is why she and that family of hers nourish themselves today mainly on KFC and Whoppers and junk like that. But me, I couldn't keep my eyes off Mama when she'd fix a mess of short ribs, or cut out perfect rounds of buttermilk biscuit dough with a juice glass, or spread a thick, real shiny caramel icing over her 1-2-3-4 cakes. And I can remember like it was yesterday (must have been about 4 years old at the time) when she first let me help her bake cookies, especially the same jelly treats I still make today and could eat by the dozen if I didn't now have better control. "Honey, start opening those jars on the counter," she said while she creamed butter and sugar with her Sunbeam electric hand mixer in the same wide, chipped bowl she used to make for biscuit dough. Strawberry, peach, and mint- the flavors never varied for Mama's jelly treats, and just the idea of making these cookies with anything but jelly and jam she'd put up herself the year before would have been inconceivable to Mama.

My mint chocolate is delicious----and not at all leafy. Benny has made a mixed-berries-and-cream concoction that is, I hate to admit upon tasting it, next level. Nia, Seb, and Lily are brought in as the blind taste testers, and while they stress that both ice creams were excellent, two out of three prefer Benny's. He takes an obnoxious bow as the whole group---including me, grudgingly---gives him a round of applause. I try not to let my annoyance show until filming wraps up and most people disperse from the kitchen, at which point I take it out on a sticky spot on the counter where some batter spilled. "I think you got it all." Benny's voice is so close behind me that I nearly jump out of my shoes. "Keep scrubbing that hard and you'll wear a hole through the counter." "Keep minding your own business if you don't want me to wear a hole through your head, mister." He laughs as he leans against the counter beside me, one muscular forearm making its way into my line of sight. "I'm not even sure what that means, but you're cute when you're grumpy. Relax, Reese's Pieces. It's still early in the season and we're only oh-and-one. Not that anyone's keeping score." I grit my teeth but say no more, and soon enough he gets the picture and makes himself scarce. He's joking around, but I'm already all too aware of the score, picturing it in bold letters and neon lights: Benny---1, Reese---0.

Herman and I have been doing a lot of talking about the cake the past couple of days, and we think we have a good plan for the three tiers. The bottom tier will be the chocolate tier and incorporate the dacquoise component, since that will all provide a good strong structural base. We are doing an homage to the Frango mint, that classic Chicago chocolate that was originally produced at the Marshall Field's department store downtown. We're going to make a deep rich chocolate cake, which will be soaked in fresh-mint simple syrup. The dacquoise will be cocoa based with ground almonds for structure, and will be sandwiched between two layers of a bittersweet chocolate mint ganache, and the whole tier will be enrobed in a mint buttercream. The second tier is an homage to Margie's Candies, an iconic local ice cream parlor famous for its massive sundaes, especially their banana splits. It will be one layer of vanilla cake and one of banana cake, smeared with a thin layer of caramelized pineapple jam and filled with fresh strawberry mousse. We'll cover it in chocolate ganache and then in sweet cream buttercream that will have chopped Luxardo cherries in it for the maraschino-cherry-on-top element. The final layer will be a nod to our own neighborhood, pulling from the traditional flavors that make up classical Jewish baking. The cake will be a walnut cake with hints of cinnamon, and we will do a soaking syrup infused with a little bit of sweet sherry. A thin layer of the thick poppy seed filling we use in our rugelach and hamantaschen, and then a layer of honey-roasted whole apricots and vanilla pastry cream. This will get covered in vanilla buttercream.

I was scared, of course. But I was also scared to go into the military, and I did it. I was scared to go to Saudi Arabia, but I did it. I was scared to get out of the military, but I did it. I stuffed my fear where I always do, deep in the bowels of my belly beneath the mountains of mint chocolate chip ice cream I’d consumed, and carried on. Maybe I was being a stupid little dreamer, but I knew I had to be that girl who tried. I was more scared of dying without trying to give my dreams a shot, than being that person who lived until her one-hundredth birthday without

If there was a more delicious flavor of ice cream than mint choc chip she’d eat her hat.

PEPPERMINT CREAM COCKTAIL 3/4 oz (20ml) crème de menthe 3/4 oz (20ml) white crème de cacao 3/4 oz (20ml) hazelnut liqueur 3/4 oz (20ml) Baileys Irish Cream 3/4 oz (20ml) cream 3/4 oz (20ml) milk Good quality cocoa powder Half-fill a cocktail shaker with ice cubes. Pour in all the ingredients and shake vigorously. Strain into a cocktail glass and top with milk to taste. Sift a light dusting of cocoa powder on the top and serve. Maggie’s tip: If you’d prefer a more subtle hint of mint, use half the recommended amount of crème de menthe and a little more Baileys.

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished. There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunia’s pudding. At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over (‘Just our nephew – very disturbed – meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs …’) He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Masons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice-cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean. Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal – if it hadn’t been for the owl. Aunt Petunia was just handing round a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs Mason’s head and swooped out again. Mrs Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house, shouting about lunatics. Mr Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.

HEART OF ICE FROZEN HOT CHOCOLATE While Katniss and Peeta normally enjoy hot chocolate, this frozen version is a worthy substitute for hot cocoa on a warm, sunny day. (The Hunger Games, Chapter 4) Yields 1 serving 6 ounces high-quality semisweet chocolate 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 3 teaspoons high-quality hot chocolate mix 2 tablespoons sugar 11⁄2 cups half and half 2 cups ice Whipped cream (for garnish) Chocolate shavings (for garnish) Tips from Your Sponsor For a mint-chocolate taste, try adding 1⁄2 teaspoon of mint extract. Or, for a sweeter taste, mix together 3 ounces white chocolate and 3 ounces semisweet chocolate in place of the 6 ounces semisweet. Chop the chocolate into small pieces and gently melt in a heavy saucepan, stirring constantly until

Fuck,” said Bernie. “Fuckwinky eyeballhead.” “No, Bernie. We don’t use those words.” “Which words?” “You know which words.” “You used them, Daddy.” “I made a mistake. I am sorry I said that word. It isn’t helping with our problem.” “What’s our problem?” “There may be no school today.” “That’s okay,” said Bernie. “It’ll be okay.” We weren’t sure where he had picked up that becalming phrase, probably from us, as we tried to talk ourselves out of the awful lucidity certain days afforded. The whole mirthless dwindle of things would suddenly pull into focus, the crabbed, moneyless exhaustion that stood in for our lives, and Maura and I would both start the chatter, the cheap pep: It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, we’ll get through this. When Bernie repeated these bromides, he sounded seventy years old. It broke your heart, as did about forty-three percent of the things Bernie said and did. About twenty-seven percent of the things he said and did made you want to scream and banish him to his childproofed room, or do much more heinous and ingenious things, just so he’d get the point, whatever the point could be with an almost-four-year-old, but still, to bury him alive and then save him at the last minute, or tell him that the state had passed a law against ice cream and he would go to prison if he even thought about it, because they now had the technology to detect illegal mint-chocolate-chip cogitation, had, in fact, the chips for it, seemed, if not conducive to his development, at least on some level deserved. Thirty percent of what Bernie said and did was either on the bubble or else utterly inscrutable, just the jolts and stutters of a factory-fresh brain working out the kinks.

Sweet Tooth   Chocolate tresses cascade down your back, Thick honey and cinnamon reside in your eyes, Strawberry ice cream flavors your lips, And you speak with mint bubblegum replies, You give every piece of your apple pie heart, And heal with your macaroon touch, A caramel kindness fills your soul, And you wonder why I crave you so much. – L.H. @lhoferpoetry

I promise it'll only hurt half as much as I wish it would." The words came out as smooth and sweet as if she'd just told him that mint chocolate chip was the best flavor ice cream ever.

Then there is the curse of the prophet. You know, the one that says any two people that put Christ first can make a relationship work? That is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it is a simple truth. A curse because people still have that nasty free agency thing, and then, most people don’t read the fine print. Yeah, it is true, but I have to be interested in the person before I can really be certain I want to put Christ first with them. Like ice cream, I have my flavor profile. I like chocolate. I love chocolate with raspberries and brownie bites. I am not a fan of chocolate covered chicken hearts. I am very certain that a chocolate covered poo is still a poo and no amount of chocolate is going to make me interested. So, I have to find my flavor profile first. Of course, there are the aesthetics of chocolate: I like my chocolate brown, especially dark. I don’t understand red velvet (I didn’t even know it was a chocolate until recently…), and white chocolate is just some weird animal parading around in a chocolate suit. I want chocolate with raspberries and brownie bites, but I am also happy with mint chocolate, or mint with chocolate chips. I also like Rocky Road; the list goes on. But I am not a fan of strawberry, unless it is covered in chocolate. That’s just how I roll. If I find someone that I think is my flavor profile, I get excited, but I also get fearful “Dang it, I am going to have to call the NSA to figure this out. Again.

As she piped rosettes, docked a sheet of dough, or doused a tart with sanding sugar, another world occurred on the doorstep. Now Avis answers the door herself and leads surprised delivery people into the front entrance, across the living room, and through the heavy swinging door to her kitchen. She almost enjoys the contact with the outside world. On Monday, there is a Colombian man who delivers free-range eggs and unpasteurized milk that glows like satin. Tuesdays, a woman from Lima bring special concoctions of candied lilacs and fruit peels and 'gelees,' and later a young boy comes with a box filled with dried starfruit and bananas and fresh tea, mint and sage from his father's botanical garden in the Redlands. She asks and forgets everyone's names, but next week, she thinks, she'll ask again. Some deliveries- like those from her son's market- come every week, others- like the fig balsamic vinegar- were special-ordered to accompany a single chocolate strawberry ice cream cake.

As I reach the front door, Daniela shouts, “Return bearing ice cream!” “Mint chocolate chip!” Charlie says. I lift my arm, raise my thumb. I don’t look back. I don’t say goodbye. And this moment slips past unnoticed. The end of everything I know, everything I love.

SWEET POTATO BISQUE WITH CRABMEAT GRAPEFRUIT ICE IN A SWEET TORTILLA CRISP LAMB SEARED IN ANCHO CHILI PASTE ON POLENTA TWO CHUTNEYS: PEAR & MINT ASPARAGUS FLAN AMERICAN GOAT CHEESE, EAST & WEST, WITH RED-WINE BISCUITS AVOCADO KEY LIME PIE PINON TORTA DE CIELO & CHOCOLATE MOCHA SHERBET She'd invented the cake just for tonight; the sherbet came from Julia Child, a remarkably simple confection made with sour cream. Torta de cielo was a traditional wedding cake from the Yucatan, slim and sublime, light but chewy, where pulverized almonds stood in for flour. This time, instead of almonds, Greenie used the fat, velvety pignoli she ordered from an importer on Grand Street, mincing them by hand to keep them from turning to paste. She did not know whether you could tell the best Italian pine nuts from those grown in New Mexico, but, she caught herself thinking, and not without a touch of spite, she might soon find out.

My favorite color. Yellow. My favorite ice cream flavor. Mint chocolate chip. You are the light to my dark, Sunshine. Without you, I’m lost. Lies. All of it. Every kiss, every word, every second that I had treasured… tainted.

My favorite color.” “Yellow.” “My favorite ice cream flavor.” “Mint chocolate chip.” “My favorite season.” “Summer, because of the warmth and sunshine and greenery. But secretly, winter fascinates you. It speaks to the darkest parts of your soul. The manifestations of your nightmares. It’s everything you fear, and for that, you love it. Because the fear makes you feel alive.

Why me?” I asked softly, peering at him from the corner of my eye. His gaze swept my way with amusement. “Why not you?” “Because we hardly know each other. How could you have been so convinced you wanted me in such a short amount of time?” “I don’t have to eat two tubs of mint chip ice cream to know it’s my favorite.” “Yeah, but people aren’t ice cream,” I chided playfully.

We have access to whatever we want from the FoF fridges and pastries for flavoring or toppings, so I go with a fancy Swiss chocolate for the base with plans to infuse it with pureed mint. It's a glorified mint chocolate chip, but it feels like I'm taking a huge risk. Benny gets quite the kick out of teasing me about putting leaves in my ice cream, even though I show him repeatedly that the mint is not in leaf form by the time I'm mixing it with the chocolate.

I pluck out a pint of Mint Chip for Caleb from the bottom row. If the special edition Peppermint Bark was available now, I’d be reaching for that instead. But you can always count on that weirdo to want mint in his coffee and his ice cream.

Mint Julep Ice Cream Use this to clear out the past and start over by painting all past painful memories in a happier light. Don’t eat too much, or you’ll be forgetting other things too, until you’re a doddery old fool like me, who can’t remember what day of the week it is. Getting old really is a son of a bitch. Ingredients 1 c. sugar ½ c. water ½ c. bourbon 1 tsp. vanilla 2 c. milk 2 c. heavy cream 6 large egg yolks 8–10 large sprigs fresh mint (plus extra for garnish) Directions 1. Bruise the leaves of the mint leaves to release oils and flavors. Combine the sugar, water, and the 8 mint sprigs in a small saucepan over medium heat, and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Cook for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat, and let cool completely. Strain through a fine-mesh strainer, then add the bourbon. 2. Combine the milk and cream in a large nonreactive saucepan, and bring to a gentle boil. In a small mixing bowl, whisk the egg yolks together. Whisk 1 cup of the hot cream mixture into the egg mixture. In a slow, steady stream, add the egg mixture to the hot cream mixture. Continue to cook for 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon. Remove from heat and let cool completely. 3. Whisk the bourbon mixture into the cream mixture. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing the wrap down against the surface of the mixture to keep a skin from forming, and chill in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours. 4. Remove from the refrigerator, and pour the mixture into an ice-cream machine. Churn according to the manufacturer’s directions. For an extra kick, add a spoonful of bourbon over ice cream before serving.

Berthillon's ice cream is dense and creamy--- served, in keeping with French rules of moderation, in golf-ball-size scoops. You have to be a real purist to order a simple (pronounced samp-le"). I usually ordered a double (doob-le"). Menthe (fresh mint), Créole (rum raisin), and nougat-miel (honey-nougat) are at the top of my list. But as good as the ice cream is, it's the sorbets that are Berthillon's real standouts. I almost always order cacao amer, a bitter chocolate sorbet so dark it's closing in on black. My second scoop depends on the season: pear, melon, rhubarb, or framboise à la rose (raspberry with a hint of rose). But habit often sets in and I go back to my old favorite: fraise des bois (wild strawberry). These tiny gem-like fruits are the equivalent of strawberry grenades, releasing a tart, concentrated flavor that downgrades every other strawberry I've tasted to the level of Bubblicious.

Ava blinked, her breaths coming out in short, shallow puffs. “My favorite color.” “Yellow.” “My favorite ice cream flavor.” “Mint chocolate chip.” Her chest rose and fell harder. “My favorite season.” “Summer, because of the warmth and sunshine and greenery. But secretly, winter fascinates you.

I’d eventually given up and climbed into bed with Sex and the City and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Missed the days when my biggest problems were learning long division and choosing whether I wanted mint chocolate chip or cookie dough for my ice cream cone. Before the podcast, before my parents’ divorce, before I’d learned to worry about the future, and the uncertainty of it all.

The cucumber-mint sorbet came out next, more an intermezzo than a full course. Then dessert: Melody's elegant pistachio financiers. Rachel had topped the tiny French almond cakes with homemade orange blossom ice cream and garnished it with candied citrus peel and chopped pistachios.

was coming out of the store, a bag containing two pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream slung over one wrist, when he stopped to light a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and checked his watch; he could have two cigarettes and still be home in time for dinner. His wife didn’t like it when he smoked. In his periphery, he saw a woman heading over to her minivan. The flash of her silver hair in the sun as she stumbled through the parking lot caught his eye. He watched her walk in a full circle before fumbling with

The ice-cream van came, but by the time I’d dug myself out of the sand it had sold out of chocolate. And strawberry. And vanilla. And butterscotch. And cookies and cream. And crazy mint surprise. And rainbow delight. And rainbow disappointment. They’d run out of everything except bananas. I don’t mean banana ice-cream, I mean actual bananas. They were in a bowl on the ledge of the window where the driver stands.

I told you,” he said in the darkness behind my lids. “So stubborn, all the time.” “No. Sometimes I’m asleep. And anyway, you don’t know my life.” He laughed. “Yeah, actually, I do. I know all about you.” I scoffed. “Mm-hmm.” “What? I do. I know you can eat a whole sleeve of Thin Mints by yourself.” I snorted. “Who can’t?” He went on. “I know your favorite thing is having your back scratched after you take off your bra. You’re in a better mood when you go to bed at eleven thirty and wake up at seven than when you go to bed at twelve thirty and wake up at eight. You like purple. You love the smell of carnations but hate it when guys buy you flowers because you think it’s a waste of money…” I opened an eye and looked at him. He was talking to the window, watching the road. “You like to argue when you think you might be wrong. When you know you’re right, you don’t bother. You hate sharing your food, but you pick at my plate every time. That’s why I always order extra fries.” He looked over at me and smiled. “And you’d rather give me shit for my driving than admit you get carsick when you’re on your phone. See?” He arched an eyebrow. “I know you.” My heart felt like it might crack in half. He did know me. He’d been paying attention to me. And I knew him too. I knew him inside and out. I could tell what work had been like by the set of his shoulders when he came over, and I knew it helped him to de-stress to talk to me about a bad call. I always listened, even though sometimes they were hard to hear. When he got quiet, it meant he was tired. He’d choose pistachio ice cream at Baskin-Robbins every time, but at Cold Stone he got sweet cream instead. I knew he liked Stuntman, though he’d never admit it. And he secretly liked it when I gave him shit. I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes. And I also knew he hoped he had more sons than daughters. That he liked the name Oliver for his first boy and Eva for his first girl. He planned on teaching all his kids to hunt and had a collection of camo baby clothes. He wanted to build the cribs himself from wood in the forest around his grandparent’s house in South Dakota. He wanted no fewer than five children, and he planned for nine. And he hoped all his kids got the signature Copeland dimples and cowlick. I hoped for that too. I wanted him to get all the things he dreamed about. Yes. I knew him. I knew him well.

coconut milk 2-3 avocados 2 eggs ¼ honeydew melon ½ lemon Bunch mint 2 tablespoons honey

What’s your favorite ice cream flavor? Mint choc chip.

Oh, you smell delicious! What've you been baking today?" "Roasted strawberries and rhubarb for a mascarpone ice cream. Lemon tart pastry, mint meringues, sun-dried tomato rolls, honey cake.

2-3 limes 530ml water 80ml corn syrup 80ml rum 50g sugar Bunch fresh mint 2 tablespoons Triple Sec 2 teaspoons gelatin

currant 200ml water 200g sugar 2 lemons 20g fresh mint 3-4 tablespoons liquid honey

water 200g sugar 2 oranges 1 lemon 2 teaspoons agar-agar Pinch mint Pinch cardamom

whipping cream 190ml yogurt 250ml water 250g strawberries 60g sugar 1 lemon 10-15 fresh strawberries 2 tablespoons sugar powder 2 teaspoons agar-agar Pinch vanilla sugar Pinch mint Pinch mango powder

One of Betty’s friends turned and tossed a shot of cayenne and lemon juice in the face of a bookstore supporter, who cried, “My eyes,” and staggered backward. Another ball of ice cream arced overhead and nailed one of the cops, who didn’t take it very well. Nina turned to see who was throwing the frosty artillery just as another scoop glanced off her head and hit Betty, this time in the face. Betty stomped her foot. “I. Am. Lactose. Intolerant!” she cried. “No, you’re just completely intolerable,” replied the Reader, and pushed her. Nina reached up and felt her head, which was sticky. She heard giggling. Lydia was amused. “You’ve got a little . . . something something . . .” Lydia wiped a little drip from Nina’s forehead and tasted it. “Huh,” she said. “Mint chip. Surprising.” She opened her mouth to continue and took a gluten-free cupcake right in the cake hole, which was also surprising. She sputtered. Nina grinned. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Lydia.” A mini cupcake—or it might have been a brownie; it was moving too fast to tell—whizzed by and knocked off the Reader’s glasses. The cops, who had been well trained (though, admittedly, not for a food fight), started pushing through the crowd, looking for the troublemakers. This made the people on the outside of the crowd, who couldn’t see very well, assume something more serious was going on. They started to run or, at least, move swiftly away. This was Larchmont, after all; no need for unseemly panic. The ice cream bandit sent a last volley over the heads of the thinning crowd, and both Nina and Lydia were in the line of fire. Professional hit, double scoop. Lydia, who had decided to see the funny side of it, clutched her arm, which was covered in sprinkles. “I’m hit,” she cried, and staggered backward. “Cold . . . so cold . . .” said Nina, channeling the heroic death of so many matinee idols. She made it to the bookstore front door and did a creditable death slide down it. Then she remembered why she was there.

Basil and Mint Sorbet I tasted this unlikely but tantalizing sorbet at the ancient fattoria-turned-restaurant Locanda dell’Amorosa in nearby Sinalunga. The next day I tried to duplicate it at home. At the restaurant, it was served after the pasta and fish courses and before the main course. More informally, it starts out a dinner on a warm summer night. Make a sugar syrup by boiling together 1 cup of water and 1 cup of sugar, then simmering it for about 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Cool in the fridge. Purée ½ cup of mint leaves and ½ cup of basil leaves in 1 cup of water. Add another cup of water, 1 tablespoon of lemon juice, and chill. Mix the sugar syrup and the herbal water well and process in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. Scoop into martini glasses or any clear glass dishes and garnish with mint leaves. Serves 8.