It is a hazy grey lazy day meant for staying indoors. Boren
and I sit on couches, each with laptops in their rightful place. The Christmas
tree his girlfriend bought for our apartment stands center in the bay windows,
elegantly lit with white lights. Until Jamie has a free moment to adorn the
tree with her much-prized vintage ornaments, it holds only my two
contributions: (1) a stocking-capped penguin whose belly is a relative’s grade
school portrait and (2) an ice cream cone. Quietly contributing to the scene’s
iconic glow, Boren and I click around, alternating between work and
distractions. At this particular moment, we both eat Mexican popsicles.
Record scratch. Perhaps I should explain.
Back in September, I hoarded a dozen or so paletas in hopes
of clutching tightly to whatever I could of the all-too-short Chicago summer. Most paletas are just
popsicles—water, fruit and syrup. Nothing special, really. But the crema
paletas are a different breed entirely: not quite ice cream and not quite
popsicle, creamy while retaining that icy popsicle texture. I almost always buy
one of these frozen delights after a swim at Foster Beach.
I persuade the water out of my ears, follow the sound of the pushcart’s bells,
hand the mustachioed man my buck-twenty-five, and flip flop my way back home,
goggles and all.
The bad news, Ponyboy, is that Robert Frost was right:
nothing gold can stay, not even the summer sun. Paleta season is short and the
off-season unforgiving. Twitter-savvy food trucks may be more urban chic and
easy to track down, but some delicacy deliverers (like elotes carts or the
tamale guy) can only be found with luck and some know-how. So when the
temperature started dropping, I knew I needed to stock up so I headed over to
the place paletas carts hibernate during the winter, Paleteria La Reina
in Albany Park. Since then, the other ice cream in my freezer
has enjoyed the company of bilingual dessert products.
Since I bought the paletas in bulk, I gave all the other
crema flavors a try. With the exception of Coconut Crema (the ultimate) and
Rice (the cinnamon-y horchata-esque silver medal winner), the rest of the
flavors taste more-or-less like a milkshake that solidified after being put in the
freezer. Nothing bad about that, but one should be aware of how they are
distinct from ice cream.
I am not alone in saying that the first Coconut Crema paleta
marks the true beginning of summer in Chicago.
And sharing my dwindling supply in the off-season isn’t something I do lightly.
But the way I figure it, Boren and I eating paletas in December seems the best
bet for keeping the weather warm, at least until that damn groundhog seals our
fate again.
Paleteria La Reina
3012 W Lawrence
Chicago,
IL 60625
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