Scoop Of Ice Cream Quotes

She had two lips like strawberries, and the seeds gave her kisses texture. I preferred kissing her over two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

Microwavable ice cream is the future. Don’t wait for love to melt all over your crotch. Scoop some Ice Cream Soup today.

Hope turned sly. “What if the slice of apple pie is served a la mode?” Smiling, Peggy Sue regarded her tall, brunette, and blue-eyed friend. “Is the slice of apple pie served a la mode with three scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream piled on top of it?

E, kung lahat kami, special... Sino pa ang hindi special? Kaya nga special , hindi pangkaraniwan. Kakaiba. Kung pareparehas kaming special, sino pa ang special? Para maging special, dapat may egg, may dalawang scoop ng ice cream, may ube't leche plan.

When I'm not longer rapping, I want to open up an ice cream parlor and call myself Scoop Dogg. Snoop Dogg.

The festivities were broken up by Pandora, who lobbed a scoop of ice cream at Lex that landed on the table with a sticky sploosh. “Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!” she screeched, jigging back into the kitchen.

Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone.

What about James?” “James? James, the guy I work with? James who takes ice cream scooping more seriously than anyone should? James who almost had a nervous breakdown when the chocolate and rainbow sprinkles accidentally got mixed together? That James?” “He has a good work ethic. And he’s cute.” “Hello, I’m not thirty. I don’t want a good work ethic yet. I just want someone who can form complete sentences.

But Ma says everyone deserves forgiveness. That's why if Ma was a color, she'd be pink with her sweetness. A tender flower, a bubbly pop of chewing gum, two scoops of strawberry ice cream. Silly in her girly ways, her color deepens with love, until she glows fuchsia - bright and bold, unstoppable. But when she is not fed the riches that life promises, Ma pales, reaming but a tint above white, a color aching in want." -Claudia

Put a scoop of ice cream on it?” she asked. “And coffee. Everyone want coffee?” She looked inquiringly at us, smiling in a way that made me decidedly nervous, especially after that “I can get us a body” remark, and I nodded.Coffee? Why not?

. . . ITALIAN GELATO. TAKE THE deliciousness of a regular ice-cream cone, times it by a million, then sprinkle it with crushed-up unicorn horns. Ren stopped me after my fourth scoop. I probably would have kept going forever

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.

Everybody loves duck-soup-flavored ice cream. 10,000 hours of swimming go into each scoop!

To sum it up, Fate was like the Universe’s experiment in extra credit. If the rest of us were a scoop of vanilla ice cream, he was a sundae, with extra fudge and a cherry.

Rosemary died when I was six, and when my parents told me, I cried. I wasn’t sure if I had a right to, but I think now of something the British chef Nigel Slater once wrote, that it is “impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you.” I think the same can be said of the person who scoops your ice cream into a dish and stands, smiling, as you eat.

Ben & Jerry’s avoided temptation for years. If they didn’t have a super-cool flavor or a great promotional idea, they did nothing. Yes to free ice cream once a year at every scoop shop, but no to 5 percent off any pint this week at your local store.

Each boat-shaped dish held scoops of vanilla and chocolate ice cream beneath thick blankets of chocolate syrup and creamy marshmallow sauce. Mounds of whipped cream rose on top, with a juicy red maraschino cherry at the very peak. Crunchy cookies poked like wings from each side.

How strange the popsicle, the vanilla night, the night of close-packed ice cream, of mosquito-lotioned wrists, the night of running children suddenly veered from their games and put away behind glass, behind wood, the popsicles in melting puddles of lime and strawberry where they fell when the children were scooped indoors.

man with the ice-cream-scoop hat holding a knife to the neck of a bull.

BARACK OBAMA’s first job was scooping ice cream at Baskin Robbins. He has hated ice cream ever since.

We’re not on television,” I said. “There’s no guarantee that we’d come back for next week’s show.

Right at the intersection of Mass Ave and JFK Street, it hit me. I stopped short, stunned by the realization of what had just happened: I can do this as a job. I can do this every day that it’s warm and not rainy. If I just made thirty-eight dollars in an hour, I can work three hours and make about a hundred dollars in a day. I don’t have to scoop ice cream anymore. I can make my own schedule. I don’t have to have a boss. Nobody can ever fire me. I WILL NEVER HAVE TO HAVE A REAL JOB AGAIN. And technically? I never really did.

Liam thinks cremation should be the name of a new ice cream parlor. All afternoon he won't shut up about banana splits with extra hot fudge, triple-scoop waffle-cone supremes, brownie batter blasts. Until I explain to him that cremation actually means to burn a dead body.

I grabbed a cloud-shaped oven mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the apricot bars. The smell of warm fruit, sugar, and melted butter filled the kitchen, along with a blast of heat. A combination I never grew tired of, especially on a cold, gray night like this one. I grabbed another oven mitt, set it on the table, then put the pan on top of it. Finn’s fingers crept toward the edge of the container, but I smacked his hand away. “I’m not done with them yet,” I said. “Come on, Gin,” he whined. “I just want a taste.” “And you’re just going to have to wait, like the rest of us.” Jo-Jo chuckled, amused by our squabbling. I moved over to the cabinets and got out four bowls, some spoons, and a couple of knives. I also grabbed a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer. After the apricot bars had cooled enough so they wouldn’t immediately fall apart, I cut out big chunks of the bars, dumped them in the bowls, and topped them all with two scoops of the ice cream. My own version of a quick homemade cobbler. Jo-Jo swallowed a mouthful of the confection and sighed. “Heaven, pure, sweet heaven.

This guy's testimony is awesome. I hate my testimony. I wish I was addicted to heroin. But no. I had to grow up in a somewhat functional family situation. It's just not fair. Why can't I be a crack addict who robbed Fort Knox using nothing but a can of hairspray and a plastic ice cream scoop? Thanks a lot, God.

Mmm,” Bree licked the ice cream scoop and tossed it into the sink. “Let’s just say that for the sake of the baby, Alessandro and I have reached a sort of…an...agreement, I guess.” “Does that mean I can’t punch him anymore? ‘Cause that was fun.” “Yes. It does. Sorry.” “So are you two…” “No. Hell no. Not after him using Rebecca Malford as a scratching post,” Bree grumbled, her stomach clenching tight at that little reminder. “He’s what? Alessandro and that...viper?” “That’s right.” Bree clenched her teeth. “Rebecca and Alessandro? Oh my God. Mental bleach! I need mental bleach!” Meggie rubbed her temples. “Yeah, keep doing that for another week and you might be where I am right about now.” “Oh, he’s a smooth one, that’s for sure,” Meggie said with a sudden smile. “What’s with that look?” “You’re so jealous,” Bree snorted, turning away from her and taking a seat opposite of Will. “That’s ridiculous.” “And so true.

Food wasn’t there to satiate hunger, to fuel activity, or to enjoy. Instead, it became emotionally and morally laden. A slice of cheddar cheese became a referendum on my willpower, work ethic, character. A bite of ice cream was a moment of weakness. One scoop was cause for concern; two scoops called for an intervention.

There was still a line, but a bit of waiting was a good thing; you need time to choose between pink grapefruit and raspberry sorbet or cinnamon and honey nougat ice cream. They serve golf ball-sized scoops, so you have to be a real purist to walk away with just one boule. Courtney and I both got doubles- pear and cacao amer (bitter chocolate) for her, peach and rhubarb for me.

Q: What do you feed a 600 pound gorilla? A: Anything it wants!   Q: Why did the gorilla fail English? A: He had little ape-titude!   Q: Why are gorillas underpaid? A: They’re willing to work for peanuts!   Q: How come the giant ape climbed up the side of the skyscraper? A: The elevator was broken!   Q: How do you make a gorilla float? A: Two scoops of ice cream, some soda and a gorilla!

Sometimes when you had your head down in the [ice cream] vats, time stopped. The swirling white mist stalled in the air, hanging like ribbons. All sound dropped out, the whirring of the blender and the radio, and even the static-y buzz of your own thoughts. I don't know where I went during these spells. They only lasted a few moments yet they contained a little scoop of the infinite, a waffle-perfumed eternity.

In the weeks leading up to his arrival by train in Pittsburgh, Alexander Berkman had been obsessed with the escalating drama at Homestead. He was living with his partner and lover, the anarchist Emma Goldman, in the New England factory town of Worcester, Massachusetts. By day the couple earned a living serving sandwiches and scooping ice cream in a small diner. By night, they made love and dreamed of revolution.

Big ideas aren't necessarily the best ideas. Sure, many entrepreneurs have achieved great success with ideas related to rocket ships, skyscrapers, communication devices, and transforming whole industries – but others have achieved comparable success with ideas related to scoops of ice cream, construction, burgers and groceries. The extravagance of the idea isn't determinant of it's success. Plain ideas, delivered greatly, can be great too.

In the weeks leading up to his arrival by train in Pittsburgh, Alexander Berkman had been obsessed with the escalating drama at Homestead. He was living with his partner and lover, the anarchist Emma Goldman, in the New England factory town of Worcester, Massachusetts. By day the couple earned a living serving sandwiches and scooping ice cream in a small diner. By night, they made love and dreamed of revolution. By late spring, Homestead was looking like the harbinger they’d been waiting for. “To us,” Goldman said, “it sounded the awakening of the American worker, the long-awaited day of his resurrection.

His most famous paradox goes like this. I decide to walk to the ice cream store. Now certainly I can’t get to the ice cream store until I’ve gone halfway there. And once I’ve gone halfway, I can’t get to the store until I’ve gone half the distance that remains. Having done so, I still have to cover half the remaining distance. And so on, and so on. I may get closer and closer to the ice cream store—but no matter how many steps of this process I undergo, I never actually reach the ice cream store. I am always some tiny but nonzero distance away from my two scoops with jimmies. Thus, Zeno concludes, to walk to the ice cream store is impossible.

We have snacks, everybody!” “Where’d you get them from, Delaware?” Ben asked. He was glaring behind me, where Sage leaned casually against the wall. “Practically,” I said. “My fault-I was dying for Red Hots. Pretty much impossible to find. So what movie are we watching?” Back in the cave, Sage had told me I wasn’t much of an actress, and apparently he was right. I thought I put on a brilliant show, but Ben’s eyes were filled with suspicion, Rayna looked like she was ready to pounce, and Sage seemed to be working very hard to stifle his laughter. Rayna yawned. “Can’t do it. I’m so tired. I’m sorry, but I have to kick you guys out and get some sleep.” She wasn’t much better at acting than I was. I knew she wanted to talk, but the idea of being away from Sage killed me. “No worries,” I said. “I can bring he snacks to the guys’ room. We can watch there and let you sleep.” “Great!” Ben said. Rayna gaped, and in the space of ten seconds, she and I had a full conversation with only our eyes. Rayna: “What the hell?” Me: “I know! But I want to hang out with Sage.” Rayna: “Are you insane?! You’ll be with him for the rest of your life. I’m only with you until morning!” I couldn’t fight that one. She was right. “Actually, I’m pretty tired too,” I said. I even forced a yawn, though judging from Sage’s smirk, it wasn’t terribly convincing. “You sure?” Ben asked. He was staring at me in a way that made me feel X-rayed. “Positive. Take some snacks, though. I got dark chocolate M&Ms and Fritos.” “Sounds like a slumber party!” Rayna said. “Absolutely,” Sage deadpanned. “Look out, Ben-I do a mean French braid.” Ben paid no attention. He had moved closer and was looking at me suspiciously, like a dog whose owner comes from after playing with someone else’s pet. I almost thought he was going to smell me. “G’night,” he said. He had to brush past Sage to get to the door, but he didn’t say a word to him. Sage raised an amused eyebrow to me. “Good night, ladies,” he said, then turned and followed Ben out. It hurt to see him go, like someone had run an ice cream scoop through my core, but I knew that was melodramatic. I’d see him in the morning. We had our whole lives to be together. Tonight he could spend with Ben. I laughed out loud, imagining the two of them actually cheating, snacking, and French braiding each other’s hair as they sat cross-legged on the bed. Then a pillow smacked me in the side of the head. “’We can watch there and let you sleep’?” Rayna wailed. “Are you crazy?” “I know! I’m sorry. I took it back, though, right?” “You have two seconds to start talking, or I reload.” Before now, if anyone had told me that I could have a night like tonight and not want to tell Rayna everything, I’d have thought they were crazy. But being with Sage was different. It felt perfectly round and complete. If I said anything about it, I felt like I’d be giving away a giant scoop of it that I couldn’t ever get back. “It was really nice,” I said. “Thanks.” Rayna picked up another pillow, then let it drop. She wasn’t happy, but she understood. She also knew I wasn’t thanking her just for asking, but for everything. “Ready for bed?” she asked. “We have to eat the guys to breakfast so they don’t steal all the cinnamon rolls.” I loved her like crazy.

STUFFIN’ MUFFINS Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 4 ounces salted butter (1 stick, 8 Tablespoons, ¼ pound) ½ cup finely chopped onion (you can buy this chopped or chop it yourself) ½ cup finely chopped celery ½ cup chopped apple (core, but do not peel before chopping) 1 teaspoon powdered sage 1 teaspoon powdered thyme 1 teaspoon ground oregano 8 cups herb stuffing (the kind in cubes that you buy in the grocery store—you can also use plain bread cubes and add a quarter-teaspoon more of ground sage, thyme, and oregano) 3 eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork) 1 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon black pepper (freshly ground is best) 2 ounces (½ stick, 4 Tablespoons, pound) melted butter ¼ to ½ cup chicken broth (I used Swanson’s) Hannah’s 1st Note: I used a Fuji apple this time. I’ve also used Granny Smith apples, or Gala apples. Before you start, find a 12-cup muffin pan. Spray the inside of the cups with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray OR line them with cupcake papers. Get out a 10-inch or larger frying pan. Cut the stick of butter in 4 to 8 pieces and drop them inside. Put the pan over MEDIUM heat on the stovetop to melt the butter. Once the butter has melted, add the chopped onions. Give them a stir. Add the chopped celery. Stir it in. Add the chopped apple and stir that in. Sprinkle in the ground sage, thyme, and oregano. Sauté this mixture for 5 minutes. Then pull the frying pan off the heat and onto a cold burner. In a large mixing bowl, combine the 8 cups of herb stuffing. (If the boxed stuffing you bought has a separate herb packet, just sprinkle it over the top of the mixture in your frying pan. That way you’ll be sure to put it in!) Pour the beaten eggs over the top of the herb stuffing and mix them in. Sprinkle on the salt and the pepper. Mix them in. Pour the melted butter over the top and mix it in. Add the mixture from your frying pan on top of that. Stir it all up together. Measure out ¼ cup of chicken broth. Wash your hands. (Mixing the stuffing is going to be a lot easier if you use your impeccably clean hands to mix it.) Pour the ¼ cup of chicken broth over the top of your bowl. Mix everything with your hands. Feel the resulting mixture. It should be softened, but not wet. If you think it’s so dry that your muffins might fall apart after you bake them, mix in another ¼ cup of chicken broth. Once your Stuffin’ Muffin mixture is thoroughly combined, move the bowl close to the muffin pan you’ve prepared, and go wash your hands again. Use an ice cream scoop to fill your muffin cups. If you don’t have an ice cream scoop, use a large spoon. Mound the tops of the muffins by hand. (Your hands are still impeccably clean, aren’t they?) Bake the Stuffin’ Muffins at 350 degrees F. for 25 minutes. Yield: One dozen standard-sized muffins that can be served hot, warm, or at room temperature. Hannah’s 2nd Note: These muffins are a great accompaniment to pork, ham, chicken, turkey, duck, beef, or . . . well . . . practically anything! If there are any left over, you can reheat them in the microwave to serve the next day. Hannah’s 3rd Note: I’m beginning to think that Andrea can actually make Stuffin’ Muffins. It’s only April now, so she’s got seven months to practice.

As Mrs. Armiger drew near, the fountain clerk put my sundae in front of me. “Here you are,” he said. “I made this one especially for you, Andrew. Plenty of chocolate sauce and whipped cream--just the way you like it.” Glad Andrew and I had at least one thing in common, I scooped up a big spoonful of ice cream. My mouth was watering for chocolate, but before I had a chance to taste it, Mrs. Armiger pounced on me. “How wonderful to see you up and about, dear boy. I was just plain worried to death when I heard you’d come down with diphtheria.” Her perfume hung around me in a cloud so dense I could hardly breathe. “Yes, ma’am,” I stammered, trying hard not to cough. “Thank you, ma’am.” Laying a plump hand on my shoulder, Mrs. Armiger smiled. “Why, Andrew, I believe a touch of the dark angel’s wings has improved your manners.” Theo gave me one of the sharp little kicks he specialized in. Blowing through his straw, he made loud bubbling sounds in his drink. He expected me to do something outrageous too. They all did--the whole family was watching, waiting for me to mortify them. I could almost hear Mama holding her breath. I knew Andrew would never have sat as still as a stone, ears burning with embarrassment, but, unlike him, I couldn’t think what to do or say. “That’s a very rude noise, Theodore,” Mrs. Armiger said. Mama snatched Theo’s glass. “If you want to finish your phosphate, apologize to Mrs. Armiger.” Without looking at anyone, Theo mumbled, “I’m sorry.” Mama wasn’t satisfied. “Sorry for what, Theodore Aloysius?” Theo kept his head down. Trying not to giggle, he said, “I’m sorry for making a rude noise, Mrs. Armiger.” Mama gave him his phosphate. “That’s better.” Theo kicked me again, harder this time. From the way he was scowling, I guessed he was mad that he’d gotten into trouble and I hadn’t.

If your favorite politician got ran over by a bus, I’d express my condolences by telling you I know how you feel. Why just the other day I ran over a rat, and I felt so guilty about it that I bought a whole gallon of ice cream, rather than just the normal two scoops I usually get on the cone.

Ice cream is like the sun, except instead of it being hot it’s cold. Also it’s edible and tasty and won’t make you blind if you stare at it. But I’d rather have a double scoop of love for desert than suffer a sunburn.

Holy Jesus, this is absolutely sinful,” I exclaim as I enjoy the different layers of the chocolatey dessert. “I told you.” “Yes, you did. That said, I doubt anything you would’ve said could’ve prepared me for this. This is pure, unadulterated pleasure all wrapped into one perfect package.” I laugh before shoving more of my ice cream in my mouth. Hunter’s face is unreadable. He doesn’t respond to my lightness, instead he reaches out and scoops up some ice cream that drizzled down my chin. He brings his finger up between us like he wants to make sure I’m not missing a beat and he licks his finger. It’s impossible to miss how his eyes grow dark with need and his breathing is heavy. Jesus. It’s official, I’m turned on to no end.

Once the food is cool enough, I eat as though I'm starving. The potatoes' skins squeak when I bite into them; the risotto tastes of soft, pungent scapes; the freshly cut asparagus is so crisp and sweet you could almost mistake it for fruit. Merriem smiles at me. We are all holding our stomachs by the time Merriem clears the table and brings out dessert, a bright pink and sticky rhubarb tart dotted with edible flowers. She doles out big scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream with a silver spoon she affectionately refers to as "the shovel," then adds a chunk of honeycomb each of our bowls alongside wedges of the tart.

True to its name (gelato spelled backwards), Oletag is swimming against the tide of cost-cutting convenience that dominates Italy's ice cream industry. Sixty flavors at a given time, rotating daily- most rigorously tied to the season, many inspired by a pantry of savory ingredients: mustard, Gorgonzola with white chocolate and hazelnuts, pecorino with bitter orange. He seeks out local flavors, but never at the expense of a better product: pistachios from Turkey, hazelnuts from Piedmont, and (gasp!) French-born Valrhona chocolate. Extractions, infusions, experiments- whatever it takes to get more out of the handful of ingredients he puts into each creation. In the end, what matters is what ends up in the scoop, and the stuff at Oletag will make your toes curl- creams and chocolates so pure and intense they must be genetically manipulated, fruit-based creations so expressive of the season that they actually taste different from one day to the next. And a licorice gelato that will change you- if not for life, at least for a few weeks. Radicioni and Torcè are far from alone in their quest to lift the gelato genre. Fior di Luna has been doing it right- serious ingredients ethically sourced and minimally processed- since 1993. At Gelateria dei Gracchi, just across the Regina Margherita bridge, Alberto Monassei obsesses over every last detail, from the size of the whole hazelnuts in his decadent gianduia to the provenance of the pears that he combines with ribbons of caramel. And Maria Agnese Spagnuolo, one of Torcè's many disciples, continues to push the limits of gelato at her ever-expanding Fatamorgana empire, where a lineup of more than fifty choices- from basil-honey-walnut to dark chocolate-wasabi- attracts a steady crush of locals and savvy tourists.

When the girls left that afternoon, they left behind the aura of their unsolved problems and dilemmas. I felt exhausted, I chose the only way I knew to cope with problems. I went to the refrigerator, scooped up the coffee ice cream. Poured some cold coffee over it, looked for walnuts, discovered we had none left, went after almonds, crushed them with my teeth and sprinkled them over my concoction.

Grace rolled up her sleeves and joined the group in the kitchen, where Gladys, Pablo's wife, had worked all day directing many other women who kept food pouring out the front and side door, onto a long series of folding tables, all covered in checkered paper table cloths. While some of the women prepped and cooked, others did nothing but bring food out and set it on the table- Southern food with a Mexican twist, and rivers of it: fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, chicken mole, shrimp and grits, turnip greens, field peas, fried apples, fried calabaza, bread pudding, corn pudding, fried hush puppies, fried burritos, fried okra, buttermilk biscuits, black-eyed peas, butter bean succotash, pecan pie, corn bread, and, of course, apple pie, hot and fresh with sloppy big scoops of local hand-churned ice creams. As the dinner hours approached, Carter grabbed Grace out of the kitchen, and they both joined Sarah, Carter's friend, helping Sarah's father throw up a half-steel-kettle barbecue drum on the side of the house. Mesquite and pecan hardwoods were quickly set ablaze, and Dolly and the quilting ladies descended on the barbecue with a hurricane of food that went right on to the grill, whole chickens and fresh catfish and still-kicking mountain trout alongside locally-style grass-fed burgers all slathered with homemade spicy barbecue sauce. And the Lindseys, the elderly couple who owned the fields adjoining the orchard, pulled up in their pickup and started unloading ears of corn that had been recently cut. The corn was thrown on the kettle drum, too, and in minutes massive plumes of roasting savory-sweet smoke filled the air around the house. It wafted into the orchards, toward the workers who soon began pouring out of the house.

Mickey sighed in defeat. “Let me grab my purse and I’ll tell you all about it over a piece of cheesecake.” And a scoop of ice cream… Oh, heck! Just hand over the tub! Entering the Twilight Zone calls for an entire tub of ice cream.

You really should pull over and eat yours before it completely melts, Anders. It will only take a couple minutes.” “I don’t have a sundae,” Anders said grimly. “That’s Leigh’s. She said she wanted two, so she has two.” “And I told you I lied so you could have one because I knew you were too annoyed to order one for yourself,” Leigh said patiently. “Pull over and eat it, Anders. I promise you it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.” When he didn’t respond, Marguerite said, “Why don’t you feed him, Valerie. That way he doesn’t have to stop, but can still enjoy it.” Valerie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t think—” “Just pretend he’s a sick and cranky child you have to feed,” Marguerite said with amusement. Valerie’s eyes shot to Anders in time to catch him casting a dirty look into the rearview mirror, no doubt at Marguerite. Since the woman suddenly chuckled, she supposed Marguerite caught the look. Valerie glanced down at the melting sundae. It did seem a shame for it to go to waste. It was good ice cream. And it hadn’t been cheap. “Just give him a taste, Valerie, so he’ll stop and eat it,” Leigh suggested. Valerie hesitated, but they were pulling up to a red light and it wouldn’t interfere with his driving, so she scooped up a healthy selection of her own ice cream and topping and leaned over to offer her spoon to him. Anders eyed the offering, but didn’t at first open his mouth. She was just about to give up, sit back and eat it herself when he suddenly did. Valerie moved the spoon between his open lips, watching silently as he closed his mouth around the spoon and ice cream. She could have sworn the gold flecks in his eyes flashed bigger and brighter in the black irises and then he closed his eyes on a long moan that sounded almost sexual. Valerie stared wide-eyed as he savored the food, then withdrew the now clean spoon and sank back in her seat uncertainly. “Told you you’d like it,” Leigh said with amusement from the backseat. When Anders didn’t respond, but remained still, eyes closed, Bricker said, “Yo, A-man. The light’s changed.” Anders blinked his eyes open, saw that Bricker was telling the truth, and urged the car forward again. He only drove half a block though, before pulling into a mall parking lot to finish his sundae.

Tinkerbells Lemon cupcakes with raspberry buttercream frosting rolled in pink sugar. 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened 2 cups granulated sugar, divided 4 extra large eggs, at room temperature ⅓ cup grated lemon zest (6 to 8 large lemons) 3 cups flour ½ teaspoon baking powder ½ teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon salt ¼ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice ¾ cup buttermilk, at room temperature 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cream the butter and 2 cups granulated sugar until fluffy, about 5 minutes. With the mixer on medium speed, add the eggs, one at a time, and the lemon zest. Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. In another bowl, combine the lemon juice, buttermilk, and vanilla. Add the flour and buttermilk mixtures alternately to the batter, beginning and ending with the flour. Use an ice cream scoop to fill paper-lined cupcake pan. Bake 20 minutes. Makes 24. Raspberry Buttercream Use previous buttercream recipe, but instead of milk and vanilla, use a half cup of fresh raspberries. Be sure to wash and dry raspberries thoroughly before mixing them in. Roll the cupcakes in pink decorating sugar before the buttercream has set.

Thanks to greenhouse transplants, we spent the afternoon harvesting a basket of tender yellow squash and zucchini---the first of the season. Roasted with hand-pressed olive oil, the fresh produce serves as an early supper, dished with homegrown herbs and a piping-hot bowl of fettuccine. For dessert, Mother's peach pie, baked from preserves and balanced with a heaping scoop of vanilla ice cream, all drizzled with a warm, dark loop of honey tapped straight from my father's hives.

As a means of prying me away from her cozy kitchen hearth, where I could happily eat cassoulet and drink Armagnac all day by the fire, we decided to do something cultural and visit the local prune museum.

Y'all know that little gal Kelly Crawford that works down at Tuckers?" Tuckers Jiffy Lube was the only gas station and mechanical shop in town. Jena Lynn's face contorted in disapproval. "You referring to that scantily clad girl who runs the register?" I asked as Jena Lynn hopped up to retrieve the coffeepot. "That's the one." Betsy curled up her lip in disgust. "That girl is barely legal!" I was outraged. "I know! I'm going to tell her granny. She'll take a hickory switch to the girl when she finds out what she's been up to. She was all over Darnell." Betsy wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She was right about that. Her granny wasn't the type to spare the rod; she parented old-school style. Jena Lynn's tone rose as she stirred raw sugar into her coffee. "You caught them?" "Well, I called him after what happened with poor Mr. Ledbetter---" We shook our heads. "---told him I was going to be late 'cause I was taking that extra shift. Guess he thought late meant real late 'cause when I got home, they we're rootin' around on my couch, the one my meemaw gave me last spring when she had her house redecorated." We sat in stunned silence. "I threw his junk out last night. And when he still didn't budge from the TV"---she paused for effect---"I set it all on fire, right there in the front yard." She leaned back and crossed her arms over her expansive chest. "That's harsh." Sam stacked his empty plates. "Maybe it wasn't Darnell's fault." Jena Lynn and I gave him a disapproving glare. He appeared oblivious to his offense, and the moron had the audacity to reach into the container for a cream cheese Danish. "Sam, if you value that scrawny hand of yours, I'd pull it out real slow or you'll be drawing back a nub," Betsy warned. "Sheesh!" Sam jerked backward. It was obvious he didn't doubt her for a second. He marched toward the kitchen and dropped the plates in the bus tub with a loud thud. "He should know better. You don't touch a gal's comfort food in a time of crisis," I said, and my sister nodded in agreement. Jena Lynn patted Betsy on the arm. "Ignore him, Bets. He's a man." I stood. "And if I may be so bold as to speak for all the women of the world who have been unfortunate enough to be in your shoes, we applaud you." A satisfied smile spread across Betsy's lips. "Thank you." She took a little bow. "That's why my eyes look like they do. Smoke got to me." She leaned in closer. "I threw all his high school football trophies into the blaze while he was hollering at me. The whole neighborhood came out to watch." I chuckled. The thought of Darnell Fryer running around watching all his belongings go up in smoke was hilarious. I wished I'd been there. "Did anyone try to step in and help Darnell?" "Hell nah. He owes his buddies so much money from borrowing to pay his gambling debts, the ones that came out brought their camping chairs and watched the show while tossing back a few cold ones." She got up from the counter to scoop a glass full of ice and filled it with Diet Coke from the fountain. "Y'all, I gotta lose this weight now I'm back on the market." Betsy was one of a kind.

Miss Elizabeth has never been to Old School Custard. Shall we?" "What's the flavor?" "Has that ever stopped us?" Nick pulled out his phone and started tapping. "It's our lucky day, kiddo. Salted Caramel." He turned to me as we headed out the door. "It's a frozen custard shop that makes only one flavor a day, but they always have chocolate and vanilla for backup." "I've never had frozen custard." "You're in for a treat----tons more calories than ice cream, but much creamier. Complete yum." Old School Custard was a small shop with walls covered in pictures of all the local high schools. I found Garfield and imagined Tyler in that huge building, teaching his beloved math. I then noticed an amazing chalk calendar with the flavor for each day listed, with creative drawings, and I understood why it was addicting---who could resist flavors like Malted Milk Balls, Caramel Macchiato, Espresso, or Banana Nutella? I ordered the Turtle Sundae----two scoops of Salted Caramel custard, pecans, hot fudge, caramel sauce, and whipped cream. Nick ordered the Recess, pretty much the same thing, but with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups instead of pecans. And Matt's Playground came complete with crushed Oreos for "dirt" and gummy worms.

Funeral parlor, beauty parlor, a place where divine transformation occurs. The same could be said for ice cream parlors: For the divine transformation of your mood, try pleasuring your mouth hole with two sacred scoops. I scream, you scream, we all scream for the Good Lord’s cream. Tips appreciated. Thx 4 tipping. Feelin’ tipsy? Tipping is hot. Tip your funeral director (not your canoe!).

By the stars, I’m not going to be able to eat. I’m so nervous.” I scooped up a plate, piling a stack of pancakes onto it with a topping of blueberries, strawberries, chopped banana, chocolate sauce and a waffle. I left the French toast and the ice cream. I just had no appetite at all.

Séb and I explored the beautiful neighborhood of l'Île Saint-Louis, eating savory crêpes made of buckwheat and filled with creamy goat cheese, crunchy arugula, and juicy tomatoes at one of the cafés, me doing my best to savor the textures. Lunch was followed by the famed Berthillon sorbets and ice creams, the latter of which we ate on the banks of the Seine, Séb drooling over the richness of the flavors. Considering they had over seventy parfums, we'd both found it hard to settle on one. Séb, the adventurer, took café au whisky with another scoop of tiramisu. I'd ended up taking abricot and framboise, always loving how apricot mixed with raspberries, and wanting something cool on this scorcher of a day.

I call this the Black 'n' Blue," she explained. "It's a freshly made pie with blackberries and blueberries and a buttery double crust. I'd say one piece will do the trick, but if you find yourself in a creative lull, I'd add a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top." Anna picked up a dessert neatly wrapped in plastic and tied with a bow. "Laughter and delight are guaranteed with this Mexican chocolate cinnamon roll.

It was slow and lazy and sweet, like warm caramel sauce sliding down a scoop of ice cream.

Here you are!” Davin had grabbed it. Using his tongue as a scoop, he pulled out all the ice cream. His jaw opened to take it all in and he closed it around the ice cream. He closed his eyes in bliss but then he held his head, his eyes alternating between closed and open as he moved around on one foot to the other. “Urggh, my ’ead’s ’urtin’!” “Ah, I think that’s what is called a brain freeze.” “’AIN ’EEZE! MY B’AIN WI’ ’EEZE?” “Your brain will not freeze, just be cold.” Egbert let out a sigh, watching Davin alternate between loving the ice cream to undergoing a frozen hell that was affecting the interior of his skull. It took him some time before he stopped. “More?” Egbert studied the imp in front of him, blinking a few times. “You okay?” Davin asked after some time. “You just spent close to an hour with a frozen head and you want more?” “It tastes really good, though.” “I don’t get you flesh bags.

I don’t know how to swim,” I said as we walked onto the back deck where the pool awaited. “I’ll teach you,” Bailey said, smiling over her shoulder. “First, I need to clean out some of the gunk from the storm.” After scooping up dead leaves and bugs until the pool looked pristine, Bailey jumped into the pool. “There’s a secret to swimming,” she said, giving me a wink. Tossing off my shirt, I didn’t think about how much I hated to go shirtless outside of the cage. I just walked into the water and returned her bright smile. “What’s the secret?” “Friction.” Before I could ask, Bailey slid her wet body against mine. “Lots of friction,” she murmured, grinning wildly. The moment my hands went to her ass, her legs wrapped around my waist. “I feel like I might drown. More friction might be necessary.” When I nibbled at her shoulder, she went soft in my arms. Getting cocky, I tugged at the strap of her bikini with my teeth. “Shit,” she muttered and I knew we had company. Glancing back, I found Kirk watching us while Sawyer gnawed at an ice cream. “Screwing my daughter in the pool,” he said, exhaling cigarette smoke. “I like a man with balls.” Bailey frowned. “We’re not screwing.” To ensure the moment was truly awkward, Bailey slid her hands up and down my chest. Nothing made a guy piss his pants like having his nutty girlfriend feel him up in front of her scary dad. “We’re going out to Longhorn’s for dinner tomorrow night. Brass Balls can come with us.” “Thanks, Pop,” Bailey said, grinning like her hands weren’t on my ass. “We’re grilling and your brothers are here.” Sawyer grinned at me then Bailey. “A man should die with a full stomach.” Snorting at his kid’s comment, Kirk took her hand then walked away. Bailey watched them leave then looked at me. “I was going to fuck you in the pool,” she whispered. “You’re going to get me killed.

My stomach rebelled at the thought of more food, but a scoop wouldn't hurt. There was always room for ice cream.

They were like double scoops of the best ice cream you ever tasted.

The more you ask, the more you get, but it takes practice to get good at it. success is a numbers game. As the Buddhist sages observed, “Every arrow that hits the bull’s eye is the result of one hundred misses.” Flex your “asking muscles” by asking for a better table at your favorite restaurant, for a free second scoop at your local ice cream shop or for a complimentary upgrade on your next airline flight. you might be surprised at the abundance that will flow into your life when you just ask sincerely for the things you want.

So you eat more carbs. Chips, another slice of pizza, one more scoop of ice cream. This triggers another spike, followed by another crash. It’s a vicious cycle, not unlike a cigarette or heroin addiction. And each time this happens, you’re taking your body on an insulin roller coaster and storing more and more fat.

One scoop of ice cream can go a long way. Not to mending friendships, but it can get up to 40 yards in the air if you lob it just right.

JENNA SMILED WHEN Easy walked into the bedroom, carrying what appeared to be half the refrigerator on a bowing cookie sheet. How much more sweet could he be? He glanced between her and Sara like he was unsure what to do next. Jenna pulled the covers back so the surface would be flat and patted the bed next to her. “Put it anywhere.” Easy set the makeshift tray down and rubbed a hand over his head. “I tried to think of things that would be gentle on your stomach,” he said in a low voice. “But if you want something different—” “No, this looks perfect.” Her gaze settled on a tall glass of . . . She gasped. “You made me a milk shake?” At that, Sara patted her on the knee. “Okay, I’m gonna go. Let me know if you need anything?” “Oh, uh, Shane was making you all something to eat,” Easy said. Sara smiled. “Good timing. This is making me hungry,” she said, gesturing to the tray. Jenna grabbed up the milk shake and hugged the glass against her chest. “Get your own.” Holding up her hands in surrender, Sara smiled. “All yours. Besides, Nick and Jeremy have the world’s biggest sweet tooths. There’s an endless supply of ice cream downstairs. I’m not even joking. So there’s more where that came from.” She squeezed Easy’s arm. “You know where to find me if you need me,” she said. And then they were alone. Jenna was glad. Not because having Easy here warded off her panic and fear but because she just wanted to be with him. She fished a spoon out from between two plates and took a taste of her treat. Freaking heaven. “Oh, my God,” she said, scooping another big bite. “This is so good. I can’t believe you made me a milk shake.” Even when her father had been alive, no one was really taking care of Jenna. So maybe Easy’s thoughtfulness wouldn’t have been so earthshaking to someone else, but to her, it meant everything. She peered up at him, which made her realize he was still standing. Crisscrossing her legs, she pointed at the foot of the bed. “Come sit down. Some of this has to be for you, right?” “Yeah,” Easy said. “You sure this is okay?” “It’s great, really. I can’t even remember the last time I ate, so this is like filet mignon and Maine lobster rolled into one. Seriously.” She exchanged the milk shake for the bowl of soup, and the warm, salty broth tasted every bit as good. They ate in companionable silence for a while, then he asked, “So, what are you studying in school?” “International business,” Jenna said around a spoonful of soup. “I always wanted to travel.” And, to put it more plainly, she’d always wanted to get the hell out of here. “Sounds ambitious,” Easy said. “Did you have to learn languages?” Jenna nodded. “I minored in Spanish, and I’ve taken some French, too. What I’d really like to learn is Chinese since there are so many new markets opening up there. But I’ve heard it’s really hard. Do you speak any other languages?” Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Easy nodded. “Hablo español, árabe, y Dari.” Grinning, Jenna reached for her bagel. She’d thought him hard to resist just being his usual sexy, thoughtful, protective self. If he was going to throw speaking to her in a foreign language into the mix, she’d be a goner. “What is Dari?” “One of the main languages in Afghanistan,” he said. “Oh. Guess that makes sense. Are Arabic and Dari hard to learn?” “Yeah. Where I grew up in Philly, there were a lot of Hispanic kids, so Spanish was like a second language. But coming to languages as an adult about kicked my ass. Cultural training is a big part of Special Forces training, though. We’re not out there just trying to win battles, but hearts and minds, too. . .” He frowned. “Or, we were, anyway.

Opening the freezer, Easy smiled. God bless the Rixeys’ ice-cream addiction. There were so many containers, it seemed entirely plausible that they’d robbed an ice-cream delivery truck. He sorted through the tubs until he found a container of chocolate. Bingo. Next, he grabbed the milk from the fridge. And then he opened a bunch of cabinets until he found a blender at the back of one of them. The layer of dust on its surfaces told of how long it had gone unused. He rinsed and wiped it off, then brought the detachable pitcher to the other counter, where the ice cream lay waiting. Shane’s expression was two seconds away from amused. “Not a word, McCallan.” He held up his hands and shook his head, but he couldn’t hold back the smile. Fucker. Scoop, scoop, scoop, milk. Lid on, Easy placed the container on the blender and hit mix. Two minutes later, he had something approximating a very thick milk shake. He spooned it into a glass, then gathered the bagel and soup. Next he built his sandwich, sneaking pieces of beef and cheese as he worked. “Damn, that looks good,” Shane said, pushing off the stool and grabbing a plate for himself. “Think I’ll make some food for me and Sara, too.” Easy suddenly felt less self-conscious with Shane making food for his woman, too. Whoa. He froze with a piece of rye bread in his hand. Jenna was not his woman. But maybe she could be. Slapping the bread on top of the lettuce, Easy’s thoughts spun—he came up with lots of reasons why it probably wasn’t a good idea, but that didn’t make him want it any less. Mid-sandwich-making, Shane spoke in low, even tones. “We don’t have to do that thing where I tell you to handle Jenna with care if you’re thinking of starting something with her, do we?” For. Fuck. Sake. Not that Easy was particularly surprised by the question. Hadn’t he been half expecting it? And, his brain noted with interest, it wasn’t a warning off. “Nope.” “I didn’t think so,” Shane said in that same casual, even tone. “I see how protective you are of her, Easy, and I’m glad for that. I know you’ll treat her right, so I’m not saying a thing about it, except handle with care.” Nodding, Easy concentrated on making the floor stand still under his feet. “I like her, Shane,” he finally said, echoing the conversation he and Shane had had a few nights ago about Shane’s growing feelings for Sara. And, well, hi, how ya doin’, Mr. Hypocrite, Easy had told Shane he had to come clean with the team. Despite the fact that Easy hadn’t done so himself. Still. “Yeah,” Shane said, clapping him on the back of the neck and squeezing. “I know.” Wow. From the thin cabinet next to the oven Easy retrieved a baking sheet to use as a tray. Improvisation he could do. He loaded it down with everything he thought they’d need, lifted it into his arms and then he was all about getting back to Jenna.

The steam was thicker than expected and surprisingly easy to scoop up. Inside her mouth it swelled twice its original size and then burst into a series of delicate favors: savory cream sauce, then toasted cheese, and finally vanilla ice cream with a tinge of hazelnut.

Table of Contents 1. Meet the Heroes 2. How Hot Was It? 3. I Scream, You Scream 4. U.F.O. Sure-Burt 5. Out-of-This-World Flavors 6. Villainous Vegetables 7. Eat Your Ice Cream 8. The Deep Brain-Freeze 9. Zombies, Zombie Everywhere 10. Spreading the Freeze 11. Robo-Cone Robots 12. Lost in Space 13. No Earthlings Allowed 14. Scoop de Loop 15. Plan Zero Degrees 16. Snow Cone Cannons 17. Zoë’s Antidote 18. Heroes Again Heroes A2Z #2 Special Preview Bowling Over Halloween 1. Meet the Heroes (Again!) 2. Cider Mill Thrills 3.

Slowly, carefully, she threaded her arms around his neck and hugged him. Under her touch, his muscles were rigid, bunched, braced. But then it was like he melted, and his arms came around her in return. For a long moment, he held on tight, like she was his anchor. And then he pulled back enough to rest his forehead on her shoulder, the pain that had rolled off of him moments before replaced by a heavy weariness. She stroked the back of his head and neck, soft caresses meant to comfort. She loved holding this big man in her arms, loved knowing that maybe she wasn’t the only one in need of some comfort and protection and reassurance. “Know what’ll make you feel better?” she said after a little while. “You?” Her heart literally panged in her chest at the sweetness of that single word. She kissed the side of his head, his super short hair tickling her lips. “Besides me.” Reaching out with her hand, she grabbed the milk-shake glass and her spoon. Easy sat up, an eyebrow arched as he looked between her and the ice cream. She scooped some onto the spoon and held it out to him. “Trust me.” Skepticism plain on his face, he ate what she offered. Jenna couldn’t keep from grinning at his lack of reaction. “You clearly need more. Here.” He swallowed the second spoonful, too, but still wasn’t looking particularly better. “This is a very serious case,” she said playfully. “Better make it a double this time.” The spoon nearly overflowed. A smile played around the corners of Easy’s lips, and it filled her chest with a warm pressure. He ate it just before it dripped, humor creeping into his dark eyes. “See? It’s working. I knew it.” This time he stole the spoon right out of her fingers. “Problem is, you aren’t administering this medicine the proper way,” he said as he filled the spoon himself. Jenna grinned again, happy to see lightness returning to his expression. “I’m not?” “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “This is what will really help.” He held the spoon up to her lips. “How will me taking it—” “No questioning. Just obeying.” There was that cocked eyebrow again. “Oh, is that how it is?” she asked, smirking. When he just stared at her, she gave in and ate the ice cream. Next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. Avoiding the cut on her lip, Easy’s cool tongue slowly snaked over her lips and stroked at her tongue. He grasped the back of her head as he kissed and nibbled at her. The rich flavor of the chocolate combined with another taste that was all Easy and made her moan in appreciation. His grip tightened, his tongue stroked deeper, and a throaty groan spilled from his lips. One more soft press of his lips against hers, and he pulled away. Jenna was nearly panting, and very definitely wanting more. “You’re right,” she said, “that is much more effective.” He gave a rare, open smile, and it made her happy to see it after how sad he’d seemed a few minutes before. “Told ya,” he said with a wink. She nodded. “But, you know, that could’ve been a fluke. Just to be sure it really worked, maybe you should, um, give me another dose?” Easy looked at her a long moment, then leaned in and scooped another spoonful from her nearly empty glass. He held it out to her, making her heart flutter in anticipation. When she tilted her head toward the spoon, he yanked it away and ate the ice cream himself. “No fair,” Jenna sputtered, reaching for the spoon. “That is not what the doctor prescribed.” Holding the spoon above his head put it out of Jenna’s reach, even with them sitting on the bed. She pushed to her knees, grabbed hold of his shoulder, and lunged for it. Laughing, he banded an arm around her lower back and held her in place, easily avoiding her grabs. Jenna couldn’t stop laughing as they wrestled for the spoon. It was stupid and silly and childish . . . and exactly what she needed. And it seemed he did, too. It was perfect.

You are so pretty,” he said. “Is it working?” “Your breasts look like two big, beautiful scoops of ice cream in a bra.” Sara grinned. “Yeah. I think it’s working.” She

Tony Peay was like a cool scoop of vanilla ice cream on a hot Southern day.

Beaches & Cream Soda Shop (Disney’s Beach Club Resort) is home to the ultimate Walt Disney World ice cream treat. It’s called the Kitchen Sink and it serves four. The sundae contains eight scoops of ice cream. Other items in the creation include brownies, cookies, cake, banana, whipped cream, and, according to Disney, “every topping we have”. The colossal sundae is served in, you guessed it, a kitchen sink. Beaches & Cream also has other sundaes, and hand scooped ice cream by the cone or cup. Shakes, floats, and ice cream sodas are served as well.

Shaping the mounds of dough is easiest to do with a spring-loaded ice cream scoop, although you can use two spoons or a pastry bag with a large, plain tip. 1 cup (250 ml) water ½ teaspoon coarse salt 2 teaspoons sugar 6 tablespoons (90 g) unsalted butter, cut into small chunks 1 cup (135 g) flour 4 large eggs, at room temperature ½ cup (85 g) semisweet chocolate chips ½ cup (60 g) pearl sugar (see Note) Position a rack in the upper third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C) and line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone baking mat. Heat the water along with the salt, sugar, and butter in a medium saucepan, stirring, until the butter is melted. Remove from heat and dump in all the flour at once. Stir rapidly until the mixture is smooth and pulls away from the sides of the pan. Allow the dough to cool for 2 minutes, stirring occasionally to release the heat; then briskly beat in the eggs, one at a time, until the paste is smooth and shiny. Let cool completely to room temperature, then stir in the chocolate chips. If it’s even slightly warm, they’ll melt. Drop mounds of dough, about 2 tablespoons each, on the baking sheet, evenly spaced. Press pearl sugar crystals liberally over the top and sides of each mound. Use a lot and really press them in. Once the puffs expand, you’ll appreciate the extra effort (and sugar). Bake the chouquettes for 35 minutes, or until puffed and well browned. Serve warm or at room temperature. STORAGE: Choquettes are best eaten the same day they’re made. However, once cooled, they can be frozen in a zip-top freezer bag for up to one month. Defrost at room temperature, then warm briefly on a baking sheet in a moderate oven, until crisp.

BAKED HOT CHOCOLATE It’s crucial to use the best quality chocolate you can find. Don’t put anything in this dessert you wouldn’t eat directly. And don’t overbake. You want a delicate crust on top of a warm, silken interior. 9 ounces of dark semi-sweet chocolate, chopped 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into cubes 4 eggs 1/4 cup sugar whipped cream or vanilla ice cream to taste Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Arrange six small ovenproof mugs or custard cups in a baking pan. Melt the chocolate and butter together in a double boiler set over barely simmering water. Whisk until smooth and set aside. Whisk eggs and sugar together in a mixing bowl, then set the bowl over simmering water and stir constantly until warm to the touch. Remove from heat. Beat egg mixture with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Fold egg mixture into chocolate mixture. Spoon the batter into cups. Add enough hot water to baking pan to come halfway up sides of cups. Bake until the tops lose their glossy finish, about fifteen minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature with a scoop of ice cream or dollop of whipped cream that has been lightly sweetened and spiked with Cointreau. (Source: Adapted from a recipe by Heidi Friedlander, former pastry chef of the Cleveland bistro Moxie)

Penises, toe knuckles, bellybuttons, vaginas. Sam felt the expansiveness of his own desires as he sensed, stretching away on all sides of him, an endless forest of jutting elbows, erect penises, stiff nostril hairs, clitoral flaps, quivering eyelids, testicles round as ice cream scoops, and pert feisty nipples – a wonderful wilderness he could get lost in and explore for the rest of his life.

I scoop up a generous mouthful, thankful for something cool to take away the sudden heat flushing up me neck. I can’t believe I agreed to this…. My drawings aren’t good enough. Then the flavor of the ice cream bursts through my mouth. And it isn’t vanilla or chocolate or any ordinary flavor like that. Honeysuckle. Our favorite activity during third-grade recess was to hide behind the classroom, lying under the window so Ms. King wouldn’t see us and ask what we were doing. Jack and I would lie out among the clover and honeysuckle, holding hands and just staring up at the impossibly huge sky. Some days, I’d bring my sketch pad so we could draw the clouds, and we made those little pictures into stories. A cloud-bunny would go on adventures with the cloud-dragon, and they’d find gleaming treasures and hidden magical lands, always together. When we got bored, we’d suck on the stems of the honeysuckle for a drop of sweetness. Those honeysuckle days are some of the sweetest moments I ever had growing up.

The little store in Farson had the biggest scoops of delicious ice cream I have ever eaten. If you ever drive past Farson, Wyoming, you have to stop for the ice cream.

(1) Butterbeer and Ice Cream Floats Treat yourself with the ultimate mug of happiness. It has practically everything we all die for; cream, ice cream, and butterbeer. It serves as an excellent beverage for the table when there are special celebrations around. It's warming and soothing to the core. It does take a little extra time and is made with many ingredients, but it will be all worth it. Makes: 4 Cooking Time: 10 minutes Duration: 20 minutes Ingredient Checklist: For the Dark Butterscotch Caramel Sauce: 1 cup whole milk 1 3/4 cups dark brown sugar ¼ cup butter ½ cup heavy whipping cream 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1 teaspoon sea salt 2 tablespoons Scotch whiskey 2 tablespoons molasses For the No-Churn Caramel Coconut Ice Cream: 4 cups whole milk 1 ½ cups sugar 2 cups full-fat coconut milk ¼ cup cornstarch 8 egg yolks 4 tablespoons butter ½ teaspoons salt 2 teaspoons vanilla ¼ cup prepared caramel For the Butterbeer: 1 ½ cups carbonated water 1 teaspoon strong black coffee ¼ teaspoon vanilla extract 3 ½ tablespoons prepared caramel 1 tablespoon whipping cream ½ teaspoons cocoa powder 3 - 4 drops cider vinegar 1 dash salt 1 dash nutmeg 1 dash cinnamon 1 dash ginger HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH How to Cook: For the Caramel: Mix brown sugar with milk, butter, cream, salt and molasses in a saucepan on medium heat. Boil the mixture and stir cook for 10 minutes until it darkens. Stir in bourbon then reduce the heat. Cook for 5 minutes. Add vanilla and mix well. Allow it cool and store in a sealed container. For the No-Churn Coconut Caramel Ice Cream: Beat egg yolks with sugar in a large bowl. Stir in salt, cornstarch, and milk. Transfer the mixture to a cooking pan. Stir cook for 8 minutes on low heat then turns off the heat. Add vanilla, caramel, and butter and mix well. Strain the mixture through the mesh strainer into a container. Refrigerate for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, beat coconut milk until fluffy. Pour the cream into ice cream mixture and mix well. Freeze overnight. For the Butterbeer Floats: Mix all the ingredients for butterbeer except carbonated water at the bottom of a mug. Add a cup of carbonated water and place 2 scoops of coconut ice cream. Serve immediately.

Large fountain glasses arrived at our table, layered with sweet beans, caramelized saba bananas, jackfruit, palm fruit, nata de coco, and strips of macapuno topped with shaved ice, evaporated milk, a slice of leche flan, a healthy scoop of ube halaya, and a scattering of pinipig, the toasted glutinous rice adding a nice bit of crunch. This frosty rainbow confection raised my spirits every time I saw it, and both Sana and I pulled out our phones to take pictures of the dish. She laughed. "This is almost too pretty to eat, so I wanted to document its loveliness before digging in." "This is for the restaurant's social media pages. My grandmother only prepares this dish in the summer, so I need to remind our customers to come while it lasts." "How do we go about this?" Rob asked, looking at his rapidly melting treat in trepidation. "Up to you. You can mix everything together like the name says so that you get a bit of everything in each bite. Or you can tackle it layer by layer. I'm a mixing girl, but you better figure it out fast or you're going to be eating dessert soup." We all dug in, each snowy bite punishing my teeth making me shiver in delight. I loved the interplay of textures---the firmness of the beans versus the softness of the banana and jackfruit mingling with the chewiness of the palm fruit, nata de coco, and macapuno. The fluffy texture of the shaved ice soaked through with evaporated milk, with the silky smoothness of the leche flan matched against the creaminess of the ube halaya and crispiness of the pinipig. A texture eater's (and sweet tooth's) paradise. "This is so strange," Valerie said. "I never would've thought of putting all these things together, especially not in a dessert. But it works. I mean, I don't love the beans, but they're certainly interesting. And what are these yellow strips?" "Jackfruit. When ripe, they're yellow and very sweet and fragrant, so they make a nice addition to lots of Filipino desserts. They were also in the turon I brought to the meeting earlier. Unripe jackfruit is green and used in vegetarian recipes, usually.

Whipped or ice cream on your dumplings?" she asked them, once the crust browned and the filling bubbled. She sprinkled additional cinnamon sugar on top. Grace and Cade responded as one, "Ice cream." Cade leaned his elbows on the table, cut her a curious look. "I didn't think we had a thing in common." She gave him a repressive look. "Ice cream doesn't make us friends." Amelia scooped vanilla bean into the bowls with the dumplings. Her smile was small, secret, when she served their dessert, and she commented, "Friendships are born of likes and dislikes. Ice cream is binding." Not as far as Grace was concerned. Cade dug into his dessert. Amelia kept the conversation going. "I bet you're more alike than you realize." Why would that matter? Grace thought. She had no interest in this man. A simultaneous "doubtful" surprised them both. Amelia kept after them, Grace noted, pointing out, "You were both born, grew up, and never left Moonbright." "It's a great town," Cade said. "Family and friends are here." "You're here," Grace emphasized. Amelia patted her arm. "I'm very glad you've stayed. Cade, too. You're equally civic-minded." Grace blinked. We are? "The city council initiated Beautify Moonbright this spring, and you both volunteered." We did? Grace was surprised. Cade scratched his stubbled chin, said, "Mondays, I transport trees and mulch from Wholesale Gardens to grassy medians between roadways. Flower beds were planted along the nature trails to the public park." Grace hadn't realized he was part of the community effort. "I help with the planting. Most Wednesdays." Amelia was thoughtful. "You're both active at the senior center." Cade acknowledged, "I've thrown evening horseshoes against the Benson brothers. Lost. Turned around and beat them at cards." "I've never seen you there," Grace puzzled. "I stop by in the afternoons, drop off large-print library books and set up audio cassettes for those unable to read because of poor eyesight." "There's also Build a Future," Amelia went on to say. "Cade recently hauled scaffolding and worked on the roof at the latest home for single parents. Grace painted the bedrooms in record time." "The Sutter House," they said together. Once again. "Like minds," Amelia mused, as she sipped her sparkling water.

The Dark Cloud Is the jealous bastard who saw your achievements and got a heart attack Is the dangerous game someone plays when they think you won’t fight back Is the authoritative and vicious voice of a hate group Is the swift way in which a bully and loser flung their ice cream scoop

Vegetable oils constitute a whopping 11 percent of the calories Americans consume.[112] Putting two tablespoons of oil in your salad has the fat equivalent of two scoops of ice cream. From a weight loss perspective, eliminating vegetable oils is a very easy – and healthy – way to cut calories. (See Rave Diet Guidelines – Cooking Without Oil.)

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.

I had a dream where I was in a place that served steak and mashed potatoes and the soup! The pasta soup was heavenly even better than my mother’s homemade recipe. Every spoonful of the soup reminded me of the sun. The mashed potatoes were so smooth that they could slide down my gullet. The steak was medium-rare, my favorite, and every bite reminded me of the steak my mom made but it was one hundred and one times better.  And there was also iced tea and every sip of it felt refreshing like a cold, winter morning with the sun shining merrily and my mom and I throwing snowballs at each other. I  ate and drank until I could eat no more. I felt as if my stomach was about to combust. But then in came the tiramisu. It was better than anything I had ever tasted. The rich smell of coffee wafted up from it. It reminded me of the coffee shop my mom went to when I was little. Despite the fact that my stomach was about to explode I managed to fit in three more slices of tiramisu before I could eat no more. But then came the Ice cream. It was my favorite flavor, mango. The ice cream was silky and sweet. It was like I was on a sunny June morning, a ray of sunlight shining in my face. The sensation intensified as mango juice dribbled down my chin like sunlight itself. I managed six scoops before I was sure my belly would explode. Every moment of eating the ice cream was sunsational. Finally came the float. It was vanilla ice cream on top of some Fanta even though my mom insisted root beer was one hundred times better. It tasted amazing. It was like the early spring making our ice crack in the pond on which my mother and I go ice skating every winter. It was happy but also sad at the same time as if my old life called back for me.

Black Forest Cupcakes A rich chocolate cupcake with cherry filling and vanilla cream frosting. 1⅓ cups flour ¼ teaspoon baking soda 2 teaspoons baking powder ¾ cup unsweetened cocoa powder ¼ teaspoon salt 4 tablespoons butter, softened 1½ cups sugar 2 eggs 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 cup milk Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line cupcake pan with paper liners. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa powder, and salt and set aside. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar, adding eggs one at a time. Mix in the vanilla. Add in the flour mixture alternately with the milk until well blended. Fill paper liners until two-thirds full. Bake 18 to 22 minutes. Cool completely. Makes 12. Vanilla Buttercream Frosting ½ cup salted butter, softened ½ cup unsalted butter, softened 1 teaspoon clear vanilla extract 4 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar 2 tablespoons milk 1 can cherry pie filling Chocolate shavings 12 fresh cherries with stems In large bowl, cream butter and vanilla. Gradually add confectioners’ sugar, one cup at a time, beating well on medium speed and adding milk as needed. Scrape sides of bowl often. Beat at medium speed until light and fluffy. Makes 3 cups of icing. Using a melon baller, scoop out the center of the cooled cupcakes no more than halfway down. Spoon in the cherry pie filling. Using a pastry bag, pipe the vanilla cream over the tops of the cupcakes. Garnish each with chocolate shavings and a fresh cherry on top.

225 g butter, at room temperature [16 tablespoons (2 sticks)] 250 g granulated sugar [1¼ cups] 150 g light brown sugar [¼ cup tightly packed] 1 egg 2 g vanilla extract [½ teaspoon] 240 g flour [1½ cups] 2 g baking powder [½ teaspoon] 1.5 g baking soda [¼ teaspoon] 5 g kosher salt [1¼ teaspoons] ¾ recipe Cornflake Crunch [270 g (3 cups)] 125 g mini chocolate chips [¼ cup] 65 g mini marshmallows [1¼ cups] 1. Combine the butter and sugars in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and cream together on medium-high for 2 to 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, add the egg and vanilla, and beat for 7 to 8 minutes. (See notes on this process.) 2. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Mix just until the dough comes together, no longer than 1 minute. (Do not walk away from the machine during this step, or you will risk overmixing the dough.) Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula. 3. Still on low speed, paddle in the cornflake crunch and mini chocolate chips just until they’re incorporated, no more than 30 to 45 seconds. Paddle in the mini marshmallows just until incorporated. 4. Using a 2¾-ounce ice cream scoop (or a ⅓-cup measure), portion out the dough onto a parchment-lined sheet pan. Pat the tops of the cookie dough domes flat. Wrap the sheet pan tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, or up to 1 week. Do not bake your cookies from room temperature—they will not hold their shape. 5. Heat the oven to 375°F. 6. Arrange the chilled dough a minimum of 4 inches apart on parchment- or Silpat-lined sheet pans. Bake for 18 minutes. The cookies will puff, crackle, and spread. At the 18-minute mark, the cookies should be

We're making profiteroles." Profiteroles. Little cream puffs filled with vanilla ice cream and drowned in thick chocolate sauce. "Ha! I knew it!" he said triumphantly. "You already look ten times better. There is nothing as satisfying as making choux pastry." It was exactly what she was thinking. Choux pastry was literally one of her favorite things to make in the whole world. But she didn't tell him that. Instead, she grabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it on. Together, they melted the butter with water in a saucepan, then added the flour, stirring with a wooden spoon until it pulled away from the sides and formed a ball- that was Rosie's favorite part, the way it came together like that. There was something so satisfying about it. Then they scooped the choux into bags and piped them into little circles on a baking sheet, competing to see who could do it better- Bodie was faster, but Rosie was neater.

Next to the gallettes with their savory fillings, and even the banana-Nutella crêpe with its seductive chocolaty drizzle across the top, and especially next to whatever monstrosity Henry had ordered topped with three scoops of vanilla ice cream, the crêpe au sucre Rosie had selected certainly looked plain. It was a slim triangle dusted with sugar, but Rosie swore the sugar was sparkling in the dim light of the restaurant. She cut a tiny triangle off the tip and took a bite. Now this, this was everything. It was simple, but in the way that reminded Rosie that sometimes the simplest things were the best. The crêpe was golden and buttery and the caramelized sugar crunchy before it dissolved instantly, melting on Rosie's tongue. It couldn't be anything more than butter, sugar, flour, and milk. And yet... those simple ingredients were transformed into something transcendent. And that, Rosie thought, was exactly the power of cooking.

BARACK OBAMA’s first job was scooping ice cream at Baskin Robbins.

We speak of hidden sugars (such as the unexpected glucose syrup in a pizza topping or the surprising amount of sugar in teriyaki sauce), but oils are still more deeply hidden in our diets. Most of us are well aware that we eat a lot of sugar precisely because we love it so much. We can see the sweetness gleaming at us in the shiny slice of chocolate gateau, the scoop of praline ice cream, and the crunchy handful of M&Ms. No one deliberately seeks out foods because they are oily, but often we consume them without realizing the oil is there.

The most senior butlers were a pair of big, round-bellied Black men with sly senses of humor and the wisdom that comes from having a front-row seat to history. Buddy Carter had been around since the tail end of the Nixon presidency, first caring for visiting dignitaries at Blair House and then moving to a job in the residence. Von Everett had been around since Reagan. They spoke of previous First Families with appropriate discretion and genuine affection. But without saying much, they didn’t hide how they felt about having us in their care. You could see it in how readily Von accepted Sasha’s hugs or the pleasure Buddy took in sneaking Malia an extra scoop of ice cream after dinner, in the easy rapport they had talking to Marian and the pride in their eyes when Michelle wore a particularly pretty dress. They were barely distinguishable from Marian’s brothers or Michelle’s uncles, and in that familiarity they became more, not less, solicitous, objecting if we carried our own plates into the kitchen, alert to even a hint of what they considered substandard service from anyone on the residence staff. It would take us months of coaxing before the butlers were willing to swap their tuxedos for khakis and polo shirts when serving us meals. “We just want to make sure you’re treated like every other president,” Von explained. “That’s right,” Buddy said. “See, you and the First Lady don’t really know what this means to us, Mr. President. Having you here…” He shook his head. “You just don’t know.

The passenger door opened and someone else got in, holding a gun in one hand and a triple-scoop ice-cream cone in the other.

Joe,” Barack said, “if I hear one more story about your weird 1930s all-boys prep school, I’m going to lose it. We’re going to have quiet time. Whoever can stay silent the longest gets two scoops of chocolate-chip ice cream.” “And a waffle cone?” “And a waffle cone,” he said. “We start now.” “If you think I can’t shut up for five minutes, then—” “You’re still talking.

She dug into the already melting ice cream and scooped out a dripping spoonful. The hot and cold mixed in her mouth, chocolate and vanilla, sweet and a touch of bitter from the dark chocolate. The perfect balance of opposites.

I grab a piece of the chocolate Bundt cake I prepared yesterday and top it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and some whipped cream.

You wouldn't know it by their rapid ascension to ice cream dominance, but caution has guided their way. "The goal is to build out an anti-chain chain," Brian explains, fully aware that the charm of Ample Hills is that it's small, independently owned, and has quirks that locals appreciate. Every time they add a new scoop shop, they're mindful of creating at least one flavor that's unique to that location, like It Came Out of Gowanus, "the deepest, darkest, murkiest chocolate ice cream," in Brian's words, that's chock-full of white chocolate pearls, a nod to the waterway's once-prolific bivalves; chocolatey "crack cookies" made with hazelnut paste; and Grand Marnier-laced brownies.

Former pastry chef Sam Mason opened Oddfellows in Williamsburg with two business partners in 2013 and has since developed upwards of two hundred ice cream flavors. Many aren't for the faint of heart: chorizo caramel swirl, prosciutto mellon, and butter, to name a few. Good thing there are saner options in the mix like peanut butter & jelly, s'mores, and English toffee. A retro scoop shop off Bowery, Morgenstern's Finest Ice Cream has been bringing fanciful flavors to mature palettes since opening in 2014. Creator Nicholas Morgenstern, who hails from the restaurant world, makes small batches of elevated offerings such as strawberry pistachio pesto, lemon espresso, and Vietnamese coffee. Ice & Vice hails from the Brooklyn Night Bazaar in Greenpoint, and owners Paul Kim and Ken Lo brought it to the Lower East Side in 2015. Another shop devoted to quality small batches, along with weird and wacky flavors, you'll find innovations like Farmer Boy, black currant ice cream with goat milk and buckwheat streusel, and Movie Night, buttered popcorn-flavored ice cream with toasted raisins and chocolate chips.

Moving slowly and carefully to avoid bruising the fruit, I combined handfuls of plump raspberries and deep purple blueberries, a healthy cup of sugar, and some spring water into a heavy saucepan. It climbed slowly to a gentle boil while I stirred and folded it carefully onto itself. I lowered the heat and let it form a syrup before adding another handful of raspberries and a splash of raspberry brandy. Avery came back to hover as I was finishing the dish. I puddled the warm berries into the bottom of a bowl and added a scoop of my housemade vanilla bean ice cream. Nestling the bowl onto a white rectangular dish, I added two ceramic shot glasses and poured in the final piece. "What is that?" Tova asked, her voice hushed. "Something I've been tinkering with. It's kind of a hot chocolate meets a pot de crème. Silky, espresso-laced chocolate sauce with a touch of cream and a pinch of freshly grated cinnamon. They can sip it, like a mini-cocktail. I think it will go well with the berries.

At dinner Astarte slipped a blob of mayo under a scoop of his ice cream.

1 1/2 cups cold coffee • 2 scoops vanilla ice cream • 2 tbsps. chocolate syrup

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.