Aimee Nez, Creole Creamery, Ice cream, Ice cream social, Kei Miller, lab, Laurel McConnell, Liz Rosenberg, Mary Rose O'Reilly, New Orleans, Picasso, poetry prompt, Raoul Dufy, The Prytania Theater, The Wave, writing prompt
Now this was in Louisiana, in the middle of August. Needless to say, an unairconditioned gym plus moody teenies were not such a good plan. We melted down faster than the slop they were passing off as ice cream. I am not sure what that goop was, but I am telling you that it almost turned me off ice cream for good. Seriously, seriously gross.
Luckily, I discovered Ben&Jerry’s when I went off to college. My only excuse for not having found it sooner was that my mother did all the grocery shopping back then. Let me just say a little thank you to all of the ladies at Hollins for keeping the Rat stocked with my favorite mix. I forget the name of it now, but it had some yummy shortbread chunks and was a total God-send. Sorry, but the cafeteria sucked! And you Virginians really need to learn about spice.
I was so very happy to move back to New Orleans where red beans & rice are kept on tap. And do not even get me started on crawfish. National treasure.
Almost as good as the ice cream. Almost! Creole Creamery on Prytania (that’s in the Garden District) really whips up a mean Creole Creme Cheese and a kickin’ Sweet Potato Praline. Some people swear by their Red Velvet Cake, but for now I like me some Blueberry Pie in a waffle cone thank you very much.
And if you happen to have come by in the daytime, you really should try to take some photos of the wild parrots that own the trees in Uptown.
Reminds me of one of my favorite paintings by Raoul Dufy. He liked the bright colors of tropical birds, and so do I.
I also think ice cream when I see photos of the Wave formation in Arizona. Chocolate swirl anyone?
What you do associate with ice cream?
A color? A smell? How about weddings?
These pics are from photographer Laurel McConnell on the happy couple’s anniversary. Very cute! And reminiscent of the opening photo.
Ice cream is perhaps an unofficial language of love??
Find a way to tell that story. Or work it out as a poem.
Or go another way. Whatever speaks to you, write!
And if you can find a copy, read In Praise of Ice Cream Vending Machines at a Greyhound Bus Station by the talented Aimee Nezhukumatathil. Then soak up Confession by Mary Rose O’Reilly.
Or try something a bit more political like this set from Kei Miller.
Post if you find something else that you like. I love it when you share.