Friendzo bought an ice cream maker this evening, and brought it over to my place for some experiments. I told him that my electricity had gone out, but he wasn’t concerned. He had a generator in his trunk, as always. We built a fire in my living room and got to work.
I had stolen a hat from the haberdasher earlier in the day, and I was wearing it at a slightly jaunty angle. Friendzo told me that he once had a hat, in his matador days. I told him I cared not for his tales. The ice cream wasn’t going to make itself.
What flavors did we make? This is an excellent question, one deserving of a thorough explanation. The first flavor was a fascinating balance of figs and rutabaga. The contrapuntal interplay between the delicate figs and the muscular rutabaga was a highlight of the evening, a bold bit of culinary daring that paid enormous dividends for Friendzo and me.
Our other creations were no less astounding. We had happened upon some fresh arugula and were not about to waste it — with the Mahi Mahi filets that Friendzo found in the freezer, we were primed for a cavalcade of spectacular flavors. Of course, we needed a little something else to make this ice cream a true delight. After an extended deliberation period, we decided on cumin. This ice cream was, metaphorically speaking, a home run.
There were other flavors, of course — many others, but I’ll not bother you with all the sordid details. While the ice cream-making took most of the evening, there was still time for further excitement. Friendzo was getting all Andrew Marvell on me, saying that there wasn’t time, but I convinced him that indeed there will be time. We called up Jeremy Bentham for some whist and asked him to sample the ice cream. He’s an awful whist player, but he does have quite a refined palate for ice cream, giving several simple but extremely helpful suggestions. Who else would have thought of adding chives to the raspberry-sunflower sorbet? Not Friendzo, that’s for goddamn sure.
