The Eighth Wonder of the World

Iscream; you scream; we all scream for ice cream! Or, maybe only I scream, since it's a brisk April day. Time of year is no deterrent for me. I eat ice cream just about every day of the year. Ice cream study breaks always manage to snag me. Yes, I confess. I am a Harvard first-year, and I am addicted to ice cream and its affiliated products.

Every family has its skeletons in the closet. Every man has his weakness. For some it is lasagna, for others it is all things chocolate. My downfall is frozen dairy products. Ice cream is my favorite food group. It is to me as ambrosia was to the Roman deities. Had I been Eve, man would never have been evicted from the Garden of Eden. Fruit doesn't do anything for me. However, had the snake tempted me with an ice cream sundae, I would have been a goner--even if the Garden had had a polar address.

Heather Lewis, a staff member of Herrell's ice cream store, confirmed my relative uniqueness when I visited the store on a frigid January day. "In the winter, it's the hard core ice cream eaters, not the fair weather fans." The store makes most of its money during the warm summer months when ice cream can be interpreted as a respite from the heat. However, in Boston, which Lewis describes as "a mecca for ice cream," it seems that there are a few others like me out there. "Even on a day when the temperature is below zero, there are people. There was someone [who had been] waiting for 10 minutes when we opened today," Lewis informed me on that January day. I was impressed to hear that there was one person out there who topped my level of devotion to ice cream.

My co-workers on the New York State Senate campaign I worked on last summer teased me about my passion for ice cream. There was a Baskin-Robbins a good 10 minute walk away, and every day I made the trek. Some days I bought frozen yogurt, other days ice cream sundaes; I even sampled all the variations of the 'Blast' drink series. I knew all of the flavors in the store. By the end of my stint working for this campaign, I became convinced that I ought to work at Baskin-Robbins, since I could better advise customers on selections than the store's own staff. Ice cream is an odd drug of choice, especially for me. It's not as if I live in Florida. Oh, wouldn't that be nice. The weather in New York is a bit on the chilly side for a good portion of the year, to say the least. During the winter, it is a challenge to eat ice cream. (More precisely, I eat frozen yogurt. While I prefer fro yo, I refer to my dairy treat by its more fattening cousin's nickname because it is more mellifluous.)

At home, defrosting my ice cream enough so that I can serve myself, requires my putting the carton on the radiator for several minutes of sun tanning time. While eating, I snuggle against the radiator, and if it is particularly cold, I don a blanket. Some people might surrender rather than face these possible detractors from snacking enjoyment, but for me, it is worth the struggle.

Pleasant associations flood my mind as I think of my dear treat. Ice cream reminds me of summer, my favorite season. I love the warmth of the sun; nature is stunning during the summer months. Summer is the season of freedom--from school, heavy clothing and colds. Ice cream is the quintessential food of summer. Eating ice cream allows me to literally taste summer as I snack in my kitchen or my dorm room.

My favorite meal of the day is my ice cream meal. Yes, I really do consider my snack a meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, my ice cream--all are comparable time investments. Also, it is important to eat ice cream on its own. It helps the diner to better appreciate the merits of the selected flavor. Ice cream needs to be savored to be truly tasted.

Activate those brain cells! Eating ice cream is an exercise in appreciating life. In order to inspire thrills of ecstasy to tear through your body, you must think about the taste as you feel it in your mouth.

Scoops and Beans gets two gloved thumbs up from this ice cream connoisseur. This tiny store on JFK Street is the Neiman-Marcus of the local ice cream shops. Shopping here increases the pleasure quotient of my ritual. The menu is immense, as are the portions, but not the prices. There is an impressive selection of frozen yogurt flavors, ranging from the nothing-in-them variety to the I-can't-believe-this-is-low-fat sort.

Oatmeal cookie is a personal favorite. The luscious hot fudge deserves pontification. There is rarely a wait and the staff is eager to please. Whoever is on is always glad to put a cap on my cup of ice cream and stick it in a bag. Staffers also stick in a spoon and napkins, a thoughtful gesture. The bag is necessary because of my Raynaud's. Otherwise, I would be unable to transport dessert back to my dorm room.

Since arriving at Harvard, I have developed an entire ritual to accompany the day's climactic meal. The winter weather mandated certain adjustments, but I refused to allow nature to interfere with my happiness. I have Raynaud's Disease, a condition of bad circulation, which generally afflicts women of Northern and Western European descent. (My family hails from Germany). So, I need to guard my hands against excessive cold. It's sad that I still need to wear mittens in April.

My hands are extraordinarily sensitive and turn the colors of the rainbow according to the temperature of my surroundings. If it is not particularly cold, my hands are red. As the mercury plunges, my hands pass through stages of blue, purple, and black. The pain that accompanies the chameleon effect is irksome, which is why I prefer having other people scoop my ice cream to serving myself.

Herrell's tends to be less understanding about the bag issue than Scoops. The staff is pleasant, but some staffers are more customer service oriented than others; one woman had me bag my own purchase. That only happened once, though, and certainly does not detract from the fare. Their hot fudge is drool worthy. The frozen yogurt selection is definitely less extensive than Scoops and Beans'. However, cookies and cream is incredible and superior to Scoops'. Thinking about Herrell's cookies and cream motivates me to bundle up on a chilly night and proceed with my custom.

Ice cream is a treat to be taken advantage of when the opportunity presents itself, whether it be before or after sundown. The experience ought to be pleasurable. However, not all ice creams were created equal, nor were all ice cream proffering establishments. I have only noted my favorites. It seems that coming to Harvard was the right choice for me.

According to Herrell's Heather Lewis, "Boston specializes in gourmet ice cream. I don't know of any other city anywhere [that is] like this. People are fanatic about [ice cream] here." It seems I was separated from my home town at birth. Citizens of Boston, I am home.

Melissa R. Langsam, a first-year living in Hurlbut, is a Crimson editor.