Thanksgiving Done Right

Thanksgiving is...cozy and welcoming with the spicy scent of brewing cider.

Thanksgiving is...stuffing your face with another mouthful, even though your stomach might burst.

Thanksgiving is...the culmination of all of the tastes of the season with the final bite transitioning a person into winter.

Bobtail's Sweet Potato Pie ice cream is...the taste of Thanksgiving, transporting me home. But rather than talk about this delicious flavor, I'm going to talk about family.

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This year I spent fall break in Spain, staying with my friend Louise in Barcelona. Her friends organized a Thanksgiving dinner in honor of some folks who’d recently moved from America. Half-expecting a paella-stuffed turkey, the meal was a delicious and hilarious hodge-podge with a few vague parallels to American Thanksgiving, like turkey being substituted with fried chicken. But, in a way, it was not unlike most Thanksgiving dinners I’ve had since moving away from home, feeling both joyous and incomplete. It feels as though the best any celebration could hope to be is second place because, for me, Thanksgiving is everyone packed in around the table during a crisp fall afternoon in Hampton, VA.

Growing up, I was lucky enough to live in the same city as one set of grandparents and my aunt’s family. We all liked one another so much that we spent birthdays and holidays together. Thanksgiving morning would start by giving gratitude at the morning church service and end at my grandma’s house. Once there, my brother Brian and I would ditch our ties and, while finishing touches were made on the food, my cousin TR and I would help out by raking the yard. We would inevitably finish leaf duty early and join my dad in the ritualistic sneaking of food from kitchen.

Eventually after being shooed away from our dutiful taste testing, the table would be set. There was always a surplus of food: turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, yams, green bean casserole, Jell-O salad, rolls and, one of my favorites, a cylinder of canned cranberry sauce. Brian’s birthday is in late November, so every few years, it would fall on Thanksgiving. It’s a good thing Brian likes turkey.

With so many people—Grandmama, Grandaddy, Aunt Shelia, Uncle Terry, my cousins Breea and TR, Mom, Dad, Brian and me—there wasn’t enough room at the table, even with the leaf put in. Each side of the family had a delegated member that had to sit on a small folding chair of questionable stability. This honor fell to the youngest member of each family—TR and me—because picking on the youngest is an age-old tradition. Both TR and I later grew up to be the tallest members of families, which I believe we willed into happening so we’d never have to sit in the smallest chairs again.

Each time the family sat down together you could expect a few hilarious things to happen: Uncle Terry would cause trouble by bringing up politics, Granddaddy would make a comment that the rest of us would regard as racially insensitive, we would hear about the crazy trouble some of Breea and TR’s friends had gotten themselves into and someone, usually me, would spill on the carpet.

One year, Grandmama had new carpet put in and we were all warned to be extra careful not to spill. Of course, no one ever tries to spill; it just happens. When I was the first to spill on the new carpet, there was a mild uproar that gradually turned into laughter. I was actually given a prize for being the first.

These traditions of the family all getting together—something we did for every birthday and holiday—continued as each of the kids started growing up, going to college and moving away. We all enjoyed spending time together. One year TR had finally had enough. “What’s wrong with us?” he asked. “We’re all so normal! None of us fight or get into much trouble! We all like each other!” And we all had to laugh because TR was right, but we liked it that way.

Stanley Cupcakes & The Chicago Blackhawks

Chicago Blackhawks cupcake by Magnolia Bakery.
Red sprinkles by Microsoft Paint.

My Michigan Avenue office building is across the street from Tribune Tower, the home of WGN Radio. Because of their close coverage of the Chicago Blackhawks, the neighboring courtyard has been celebration central several times throughout the hockey season and postseason. Having followed the Hawks more closely this season than I have any professional sport ever, I can understand why. (Where were all these fans when I was watching the early games in an empty bar?) Long before the Hawks began playing in the Stanley Cup Finals, there was no shortage of things to celebrate about this year:

• A record breaking streak to start the season. Going 24 consecutive games without a regulation loss, exactly half of the abbreviated season--they recorded a point during the entire month of February--the Hawks totally annihilated the previous record held by the 2006-2007 Anaheim Ducks which lasted 16 games. (That Ducks team went on to win the Stanley Cup.)
• Winning the President's Cup, which is awarded to the NHL team with the best record. Theirs was 36-7-5, totaling 77 game points out of a possible 96. Their game point percentage (.802) was the 6th best in NHL history. (With the exception of the 1929-1930 Boston Bruins, each of the top five went on to win the Stanley Cup.)
• Winning Round 2 of the Playoffs against the Detroit Red Wings. After being down 3-1 in the series, the team fought off elimination by winning three straight games. Sitting in the crowd with my brother, we watched as the Hawks won Game 7 twice, once in the third period--when referee Stephen Walkom denied Hjalmarsson's goal, I thought fans were going to break down the glass and charge the ice--and again in overtime off a goal by Brent Seabrook! Also, this round was historic because the NHL realignment means this meeting marked the last time these two rival teams could ever meet in the playoffs, other than the finals.
• Winning the Western Conference, thanks to Hatrick, excuse me, Patrick Kane's amazing Game 5 performance.

Plus numerous individual achievements:

• Corey Crawford and Ray Emery collectively won the William M. Jennings Award (goalkeeper(s) having played a minimum of 25 games for the team with the fewest goals scored against).
• Jonathan Toews won the Frank J. Selke Trophy (top defensive forward) and was a top three finalist for the Mark Messier NHL Leadership Award.
• Joel Quenneville was a top three finalist for the Jack Adams Award (top head coach).
• Brandon Saad was a top three finalist for the Calder Trophy (top rookie).
• Patrick Kane was a top three finalist for the Lady Byng Memorial Trophy (best sportsmanship, gentlemanly conduct and ability).
• Marian Hossa was awarded a silver hockey stick to commemorate his 1,000th game this season.
• Bryan Bickell exists.

So, yes, we've been and cheering (and singing) a lot.

During one of the celebrations in Pioneer Plaza outside WGN Radio, the Ice Crew handed out prizes to anyone who could shoot one-to-three tee balls past an inflatable Corey Crawford and into the net. Defying all odds I shot one in, though I'd never used a hockey stick in my life. (My prize was a red plastic cup with the team logo on it, valued at approximately ten cents. But I was so thrilled, they could have given me red, white and black pocket lint and I wouldn't have complained.)

Another, much more relevant time--Dessert blog! Focus! Focus!--Crumbs Bakery gave out free Stanley Cupcakes with the team colors to celebrate the start of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Realizing that "Stanley Cupcake" is too cute a phrase to let pass, the NHL sent out cupcakes with each competing team's logo in frosting to members of the media. One recipient used the bedazzled treats as inspiration in making his Playoff picks, predicting that the Blackhawks would be defeated by the Penguins in the Finals. As if a team wearing black and yellow could ever beat the Hawks. Ha!

With the real Finals having started--last night's triple overtime win against the Boston Bruins, the fifth longest game in Stanley Cup Finals history--the hype has picked up even more. Local Dunkin' Donuts chains have rebranded Boston Kreme as "Chicago Kreme." Another less detail-oriented bakery is offering their own Blackhawks cupcakes. (pictured above) Maybe, just maybe, it's time for me to revisit my recipe for Chicago Blackhawks ice cream--strawberry cookies and cream with marshmallows.

Ep4: To Uncle Bob, Wherever You Are

Entering New England, I couldn't help by be reminded of a few memorable sweets I consumed during the summer of 2005, the same summer Marisa Tomei and I became soulmates at Williamstown Theatre Festival. One such establishment resided less than a half mile from the Connecticut border. The frozen treats were excellent, but the owner made it even more memorable...

“What’s in 1600 Pennsylvania Ave?” I asked.

Looking annoyed, Uncle Bob, the large and intimidating proprietor responded, “Did you read the sign?”

I hadn’t noticed the sign, which said 1600 Pennsylvania Ave was a hazelnut chocolate ice cream. (It was more nutty texture-wise and creamy flavor-wise than your typical gianduja.) The origin of the flavor's unlikely name made me curious, but I decided to skip it since I'd already annoyed the man. “Okay, I’ll take a scoop of that and a cup of Black Raspberry ice.”

“Did you read the sign?”

Another sign? Hmm...They were out of Black Raspberry. Popular place. Must be the service, I thought.

Despite this rough beginning, Uncle Bob and I grew to have a good rapport over my many visits to Uncle Bob’s 40 Heavenly Flavors in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. The ice cream was good, but the ice was perfect. I’d usually order both…and then go back for seconds on ice. Out of 40 flavors, my favorites were the classics: orange and cherry. I would savor my treats under a shady tree on the benches in the back, enjoying the cool break from my AC-deficient Toyota van, facing a calming field of green. Yes, everything about the Uncle Bob's experience made the trip worth it, even the man, whose gruff impatience with oblivious customers somehow made him appealing. Perhaps it was because he looked and sounded like kin to Tony Soprano, but spent his days selling frozen treats that came in every color of the rainbow.

“Don’t get the blue,” Uncle Bob mentored.

Obediently, I consented, “Okay.”

“We have black raspberry, red raspberry and blue raspberry. All my flavors are good except for the blue. Don’t get the blue.”

My puzzled look prompted him to continue.

“Kids love blue. They don’t even know what flavor they’re ordering. Their parents say, ‘Whaddaya want?’ They say, ‘I want the blue.’”

When he started sharing nuggets of wisdom like this with each visit, I figured I was on Uncle Bob's good side and could ask him for a dinner recommendation nearby. Expecting a concise answer, I instead got detail upon detail. As he directed me across the border into Connecticut, Uncle Bob alternated between closing his eyes to concentrate and staring me straight in the face to make sure I was getting it all. I paid close attention. While he seemed eager to help, I really didn't want to have to ask him to repeat himself. He continued until he had told me some of the restaurant's history and the name of the waitress who worked there on weekends. He didn’t seem to mind (or notice) that his lengthy recommendation was holding up the line. (You know, for the business he ran.) That was Bob for ya.

Internet research leads me to believe Uncle Bob's 40 Heavenly Flavors is no longer in business. I found a few websites that mentioned it and they all list the same number that's no longer in service. Uncle Bob, wherever you are, know that I still think of your Italian ice, your oddly-named ice cream and your east coast hospitality seven years later.

The Future of Dessert for the 99%

May Day is coming, but the country's flaming cockpit has been radioing "May Day" since the collapse of the housing market. I could repeat the well-publicized news of economic inequality, plutocracy, corporate personhood or anything else that is fairly obvious to those with powers of observation uninhibited by Fox "News." (I don't mind joking about Fox News since it is treated with a grain of salt by my friends who identify themselves as having Republican and conservative views.) I will NOT be talking about these critical and timely issues for our nation. Instead, I will talk about dessert.

My brother recently sent me an article that details a natural resource whose supply is in danger. It is dark in color, highly viscous in liquid form and among the most important and needed substances in the world: chocolate. While demand for cacao increases each year, the finicky crop remains static. The crops have very specific needs to thrive but limited amounts of available land that can meet those needs. Deforestation, a controversial and unsustainable option, is the current practice while different ideas for plant cultivation are explored. But time is running out as each year brings higher demand. And future limited supply will result in chocolate going to highest bidder, namely those with the wealth.

Issues like this are easy to dismiss because it seems like a problem of the future. But that feeling only lasts until the problem hits where it hurts.

During my fourth visit to Boston this year, I made my typical rounds, which include a trip down Mass Ave. I passed the newly closed Daddy's Junky Music, a regional chain guitar shop I would go inside whenever I passed. I continued north to Newbury Street, Boston's funky shopping district for both local and chain stores for fashion, food and miscellany. My first stop, however, sent shock waves through me. Instead of a bustling ice cream escape house, I saw this:


On the closed entry doors of J.P. Licks was a message. It wasn't an advertisement for a new flavor to tempt me away from my old stand-by, a scoop of creamy Oreo Batter and a scoop of their chocolate-based Oreo. No, it was the disturbing message that the store was closed because the only store capable of affording the rising rent costs are big chain businesses. The Back Bay neighborhood Ben & Jerry's is still in business, the Emack & Bolio's charges on, but a successful local chain has been driven from its home. Here's the message in its entirety:


March 13, 2012

Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls,

It is with great sadness that I must announce the closing of this, our Newbury Street store. After almost 20 years our lease is expiring and our time has come to vacate the premises. Our last day open will be Sunday, March 11th. Our landlord plans to rent the entire building to a single tenant like the Converse, Patagonia, and Forever 21 buildings on this block of Newbury Street. We can neither afford nor utilize this entire 2 story building.

This was our third store when it opened and perhaps the most unique and wonderful looking store of any since. Our shattered tile, sculptural front counter was a genuflection to the great architect from Barcelona at the turn of the twentieth century, Antoni Gaudi. The counter was co-designed and built by Mitch Sidd. The magnificent, life-sized Holstein wall mural was painted by Kim Goldstein and Gail Henry. The overall design of the "Church of the Cow" was conceived by myself and built by CAFCO Construction.

As we continue to look for a new affordable home in the Back Bay, please be sure to visit our newest store at 150 Charles Street on Beacon Hill. The Charles Street shop is currently under construction and scheduled to open in April. You can also visit any of our 9 locations in and around Boston for your yogurt and ice cream needs.

Thank you so much for your patronage over the years. It's been a lot of fun serving you all.

Sincerely,
Vince Petryk
Owner and Founder of J.P. Licks

The second openly gay...ice cream?

Breaking news! While I was busy writing my multi-pan review of Ben & Jerry's Class of 2012, they did something worthy of absolute praise! After creating the first openly GLBT ice cream, Hubby Hubby back in 2009, Ben & Jerry's is doing it again with the UK launch of Apple-y Ever After.

Read this article: "Ben & Jerry's, the Vermont proprietor of ice-cream activism, has produced a limited-edition batch of apple pie-flavored pints—called "Apple-y Ever After"—to show its support for same-sex marriage in the U.K., where a gay rights organization has drafted a bill to legalize weddings between same-sex couples...'Sticking up for civil rights by a progressive company like Ben & Jerry's goes together like big chunks and swirls in ice cream,' Sean Greenwood, a spokesman for Ben & Jerry's U.S. operation, wrote."

Literacy, Music and Ice Cream

I believe I’ve discovered the unified theorem:
826CHI + Pitchfork Music Festival = Free Ice Cream

What makes this a unified theorem? Quite simply, if we all united in doing good and good tunes, we would be rewarded with ice cream. What other solution do you need? Though some scientists will miss working with variables, I’m sure most will be very relieved to learn that the unified theorem requires very little math at all. Plus, the unified theorem is delicious.

Perhaps you’re wondering how I discovered this equation. The back story is that 826CHI, a free after-school tutoring and creative writing center, offered a music journalism workshop in which fifth-through-seventh graders were given VIP access at the Pitchfork Music Festival. The students were granted interviews with Neko Case [editor's note: Swoon!], Battles, Das Racist, James Blake, Woods, OFF!, Fleet Foxes, Juliana Barwick, Cold Cave, Sun Airway, HEALTH, Kurt Vile, Zola Jesus, DJ Chrissy Murderbot, No Age, Shabazz Palaces and GSide. And then the students and instructors were visited by the Ice Cream Man, a touring ice cream truck with the simple goals of giving away free ice cream and motivating people to fulfill their dreams. Needless to say, this particular workshop got rave reviews. (This workshop evaluation is particularly amazing.)

I look forward to taking cone in hand and reading the zine that these young journalists produce.

826CHI is a chapter of 826 National, co-founded by writer/publisher Dave Eggers. As of this writing there are eight chapters of 826 nation-wide. So far I have volunteered with 826 Seattle and 826CHI. Methinks 826 Boston will be next.

What Charlie Sheen & I Don’t Have in Common

Winning.

I submitted an application for consideration to serve on Ben & Jerry’s Millennial Advisory Panel. The first of its kind, those chosen for the panel will be flown out to Vermont for a week, write and respond to Ben & Jerry’s queries about products and product ideas, have someone from Ben & Jerry’s shadow them for a day and be given 52 free pint coupons to use throughout the year. I felt that within a two month time span—submissions were accepted between February 4 and April 8—there couldn’t possibly be twenty American 20-somethings more qualified than me. Apparently, I was wrong. But no hard feelings, Ben. I'm sure we’ll meet someday, Jerry.

The application included five written answers and a video. Here are excerpts from my responses:

Video: Showcasing your creativity, share one strength of the Ben & Jerry’s brand and three things they could improve.My video is awkward, strange and humorous. You should watch it, though, because of the end when I sing a song I wrote that strings together 24 Ben & Jerry’s flavor names while paying homage to both “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the Hallelujah chorus.

#1: Summarize your life in 140 characters or less.
Superpowers include: clowning in burlesque shows, playing acoustic punk rock and teaching creative writing workshops for kids about zombies.

#2: Share your coolest discovery from the past 6 months.For this answer, I edited down the tale of learning the secret ingredient to authentic Belgian waffles.

#3: Share your life passion.
Growing up, I was given many opportunities; I feel I could pay this forward for the rest of my life. For this answer, I wrote about my volunteer efforts at 826 CHI and Barrel of Monkeys.

#4: Another brand you admire.
What impresses me more than anything about California Pizza Kitchen is that people of different economic classes are always eating there: three-piece suits have business lunches while jeans-and-polo parents wrangle their toddlers. What makes this possible is their simple model: American fusion cuisine meets pizza joint.

#5: What excites you about this opportunity?
All I really needed to know I learned from ice cream.

Growing up, eating ice cream was mostly reserved for celebrations. Then my dad started buying half-gallons of ice cream he found on sale. It was exciting, eating this frozen delicacy “just because.” Today, when I offer high-end ice cream to friends, neighbors and people I’ve just met—I’m not kidding—I can tell that between birthday parties ice cream gets forgotten. It seems strange that, as much as everyone enjoys ice cream, so many eat it only on rare occasions. I am known for my ice cream evangelism. When I call friends to meet up, they suggest going for ice cream. I can almost hear them smiling because, in their Pavlovian minds, when I am around ice cream is consumed.

And what a wonderful gift to share! Ice cream brings out the best in people. When a group of people eat ice cream together the conversation stays pretty positive. Try to imagine someone eating ice cream angrily. Absurd, isn’t it?

In my mind, ice cream gives people a reason to celebrate during a regular day. I feel serving on the Millennial Advisory Panel will make this celebration even more widespread.

2nd Annual Pi(e) Day Pot Luck & House Concert

My mom and I share a love of Clint Eastwood-directed films, singing and comfort food. So after I threw my first Pi(e) Day party last year, she decided to throw her own this year: chicken pot pie, mini-quiches, apple-berry pie, key lime pie and chocolate Andes mint freezer pie were on the menu. She also fully embraced the science of the holiday, printing out many (many) songs about pi. My favorite was “O Number Pi,” which was “O Christmas Tree” with different lyrics.

Over in Central Time, my 2nd Annual Pi(e) Day Pot Luck & House Concert noted the holiday’s scientific origins only in so far as we consumed round foods. Delightfully, I continue to make new friends who are bon chefs. After last year’s only-one-savory-pie-for-the-first-90-minutes fiasco, we started with shepherd’s pie, Spanish pie (frittata), chicken pot pie and, later on, mini quiches. And then the desserts came rolling in: blueberry pie, cherry pie, peach pie, spring-form pan cheese pie (cheesecake), four (Count ‘em: 4!) budget fruit pies in a bag, whoopee pies, fudge pecan pie and, my personal favorite of the evening, strawberry kiwi pie. In non-pie foods, there were chocolates and a cobbler that made an excellent breakfast this morning. Attended by over 30 people throughout the evening, everyone ate to their heart’s content while enjoying the music of Brad Brubaker & The Crowd Goes Wild and Dawn Xiana Moon .

This year no pictures were taken because my stomach and I had other pie-orities.

Sometimes we must venture out.

It snowed again. The previous day's slush caps refroze and had their peaks dusted with white. The shape of the frozen slush reminded me of the doughnut holes my mom would fry up for us when I was growing up. Perhaps I am the only person who would look at a wintry scene and think of doughnuts covered in powdered sugar and bubbling hot oil. Regardless, these thoughts of fried dough made my morning commute warmer.

Chicago Blackhawks Ice Cream: Phase 1

Last April, my brother spent four nights in Chicago with an elaborate sporting event itinerary for us both. We spent a cold evening in the bleachers at Wrigley, watching the first night game of the Cubs season. We watched the Bulls play the Cavs in the first round of the NBA playoffs; anti-LeBron chants were in the air, while everyone prayed under their breaths that Mr. James would sign with the Bulls for 2010-2011. But by far the most memorable event was Round 1, Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Having been raised in Virginia, I hadn't seen much hockey growing up. My only memories were of a friend who went to see the Hampton Roads Admirals play at Scope because she liked watching the fights. As a lanky and timid kid who was frequently (a) scared and embarrassed in gym class, (b) confused by everyone's obsession with football and (c) told by coaches that I needed to be more aggressive, her summation of the sport didn't exactly prompt me to ask if I could tag along with her. (She later went on to become an NRA enthusiast, I believe.) So when my brother inquired before his trip how interested I would be in going to a Blackhawks game, I answered I would happily go because he wanted to, hoping that both his enthusiasm and explanation of the sport would make it interesting for me. What I got was the most incredible sporting event I have ever personally attended.

Round 1, Game 5 against the Nashville Predators was an important home game. The best-of-7 series was split 2-2, meaning if the Blackhawks lost Game 5, the Predators would be playing Game 6 to win the series at their home rink. And it looked like that less-than-desirous outcome might just be in the Blackhawks future...until just under 14 seconds before the end of the final period.

In other sports, when the game is near its end and one team is losing, the only option is to "play harder." While teams have many times persevered with this hollow strategy, it's nothing compared to the competitive edge that is offered in hockey. In the final minute or two of hockey, when a team is behind they will often pull their goalie in order to put another offensive player on the ice. While this can backfire, it certainly did not when Patrick Kane scored the game-tying goal with 13.6 seconds left. The crowd "Da da-da-da da-da-da"ed loud enough that I believe more than one honky-tonk in Nashville erupted into flames. The game went into overtime and the Blackhawks scored again, effectively winning Game 5.

I instantly became a Blackhawks fan. I watched as many of the remaining playoff games as possible for a guy who doesn't get any channels on his TV and loiters in sports bars without buying anything . And while I have never had the privilege of eating ice cream from the Stanley Cup, I decided to create a Chicago Blackhawks ice cream. Pictured is Phase 1: chocolate cookies and cream with marshmallows, craisins, and red and green sugar crystals. While tasty, this flavor did not accomplish what I hoped it would. I'll explain more when I write about Phase 2...

Field Report: R&B Never Tasted So Good

Former Chicago resident, Rachel, explains her celebrity ice cream encounter:

I was getting home from a late night shift one warm night a few years back and as I'm walking, I see an ad for Edy's ice cream—buy one get one free—in the CVS window. I was immediately sold: partaking in 2 half gallons of ice cream when I get home could possibly be the best idea ever.

Fast forward to my waiting in line with a bunch of tired people, all of us ready for bed, a half gallon of moose tracks in one hand and a half gallon of vanilla bean in the other, and who walks into CVS, but R. Kelly himself. (During this time, he was going through his trial in Chicago regarding his extracurricular activities.) The body guards that surrounded him and the rest of his entourage all scattered into the various aisles as if they're on a mission. Apparently their mission was to get R. Kelly drunk, because they all start heading up to the front of the store with bottles of Jack Daniels, cases of beer, and I'm pretty sure I saw some tequila and margarita mix thrown in there as well.

R. Kelly, still standing up at the front of the store, announces "Hey y'all, I am getting #%!@ up tonight, and whatever you want, it's on me. Guys, you want condoms? You get condoms. Ladies, whatever you want, I'm buying."

All of us already in line are suddenly wondering if we should be running around, adding more to our carts, but, not sure if this is really happening. I ask the nearest bodyguard "Is he serious?" "Oh yes, ma'am, he's very serious." Some people jump out of line, but really I was perfectly happy just getting my ice cream.

In the confusion the line got readjusted, but all of a sudden, R. Kelly spots me and says "Hey, hey. Let vanilla through. Let her get her ice cream." So they let me up to the front. (I'm not sure if "vanilla" is a special term of endearment for this pale, white girl look I've been rocking for years or if he just happened to see what he was about to buy me, but I realize this might be the only chance in my life to talk to him. Wanting to thank him and let him know that under his circumstances I'd be looking to get #%!@ up as well, all I can come up with is "Thank you very much, Mr. Kelly."

"You're welcome, baby."

"You enjoy getting #%!@ up tonight."

"You know I will."

I am my father's son.

When I saw Ben & Jerry's was on sale for $2.50 (down from about $4.00), it seemed the perfect time to use my coupon for "$1.50 off 3 pints of Ben & Jerry's." If this wasn't good enough, after I made my purchase I received a coupon for "$2.00 off my next shopping order, courtesy of Ben & Jerry's."

3 pints of Ben & Jerry's for $4.00. My dad is quite proud of me.

Kindness Project Delivers 100 Cakes to the Community

Cool story. Food has an incredible power to bring people together.

On a similar note, I actually made a cake that I gave away for free at the merch table at my most recent concert. It was a huge hit and I plan on making it a regular thing.

Stanley Cup Sundae

The Blackhawks have done it. And now each of the players will have a day with the coveted cup.

The Stanley Cup has been victim to much debauchery, but others have used it to spread peace, love and ice cream. As the article says, "What better way to celebrate one of the sweetest moments of your life than with a giant ice cream sundae?"

Something Delicious This Way Comes... (Post #100!)

Seattle's Fremont Solstice Parade is my favorite festival event. During this time, the liberal neighborhood allows many unusual displays in their parade--naked bicyclists, puppets with political messages, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence--but does not allow any written word. This means no tacky logos or lip service corporate sponsorship. Any company that wants to take part in the festivities while marketing themselves must be creative. But this is all expository to how one chocolate company introduced to me the new feminine ideal:

Topless women parading down the street covered in chocolate.

I'll say it again: Topless women parading down the street covered in chocolate. Plus there was strategic gold-dusting that's commonly used for the tips, er, tops of truffles.

And, great gobs of goo, one of them was the girl of my dreams. This girl had sold me chocolate once before at the sponsoring chocolate shop and let's just say the Jasmine Truffles weren't the only thing that caught eye. And the sugar wasn't the only thing that had my heart rate up. And the aphrodisiacs in chocolate weren't the only thing getting me excited. (Whew! Is it getting hot or is it just me?) Needless to say, seeing her walk by covered in chocolate left me hungry.

"Dude," I managed to sputter to James. "I think I've sexually peaked."

Really, what could be better? Marisa Tomei and I may have once shared intimate details about what we like for dessert, but it's not like she offered to share her sundae with me or covered herself in whipped cream. (Down boy!)

I explained the situation to James: Not too long ago I had been serviced by one of these chocolate-covered goddesses at her place of work. Having been painfully attracted to her when she was fully clothed, it seemed like a sign to have seen her in this new, toothsome way.

"I should ask that girl out."

"Go for it, man."

"I should ask that girl out tomorrow."

And so it was. The next day I wandered into the chocolate store and--BAM!--there she was looking delicious, even while fully clothed. I wandered in circles around the store pretending to be interested in chocolate. (Well, maybe not pretending...) She offered me free samples. I tried not to drool.

I waited for the other customers to give us some space, you know, so the burning passions that might erupt wouldn't make their chocolate all melty. Polite chit chat between she and I began as I browsed, continued as I made my selection...and ended as I made my purchase.

The move had not been made. What to do now? Go back through the line buying chocolate until I found the courage? No! It was time to act! I wandered back to her section of the store.

"Want some more free samples?" she asked. "Marry me now," I thought. Luckily, more sensible words came out of my mouth as I made my move. But, sadly, she said she was already seeing someone. She politely continued the conversation a bit and I was smooth in my replies, but really I had already mentally checked out. I had a bag of chocolates to eat that I no longer had any obligation to share.

Unforgettable Krispy Kreme Memory Countdown: No. 1

When I was very young, my mom went back to school for her Master's Degree. With my dad working full-time, my grandparents were asked to watch me.

Granddaddy and I had a schedule to keep on these days. He would greet me when I arrived with a hug from his recliner and a "Heeeey, Pahd-nah!"--that's "Pardner" or "Partner" for y'all city folk. For breakfast, I would have apple sauce, corned beef hash and cubes of cheddar cheese. (Apple sauce remains almost a daily staple for me, while corned beef hash is purchased less frequently but always eaten with nostalgia.) This would be followed by a trip to a playground, either at the Hardee's on Big Bethel Road or the much larger wooden jungle gyms and slides, which I suspect were across Mercury Blvd. at Francis Mallory. Lots of running around and playing and making up games with other kids. The next item on the list was most important: meeting up with the other old men that congregated at Krispy Kreme to smoke, talk and drink coffee.

I remember how the place used to look: the counter that had stools that could spin all the way around, the cigarette ash and the coffee stains. I'd marvel at the doughnuts being made, traveling up and down while the dough would rise until the final stage, when the completed doughnut went by on the conveyor belt and up toward the ceiling where they would cool. (While a lot of this image has changed with sleeker, openly throwback design of today's Krispy Kreme, having the doughnut machinery on public display has thankfully stayed the same.) Granddaddy would buy me two doughnuts: a chocolate-frosted cake doughnut and an original glazed. The chocolate-frosted always felt like the "meal" doughnut that I'd have to endure to get to the dessert doughnut, the original glazed. (In retrospect, I realize that if I had understood things better then, I probably could have asked for two glazed instead and gotten my wish, but it all made sense at the time. First the meal doughnut, then the dessert doughnut.)

Unlike other kids that would come in, I would stay in my seat and behave, which means I gained the approval of the tough old men that we saw there every day. I remember that it was always exciting when "Uncle" Jesse was there; something about the man was dangerous, but in a Butch Cassidy, fun-loving way. My mom tells me I would sometimes report back with a mopey voice that "Uncle Jesse's in jail again." I didn't understand what it meant when a person didn't pay their child support; I just knew I missed my friend. The conversation just wasn't the same without him, but when he came back I was always ready to round the counter the give him a big hug.

But a person couldn't sit at Krispy Kreme all day. There was Bob Barker and The Price is Right to be watched, followed by professional wrestling--I think every kid's favorite at my age was Hulk Hogan--followed by soaps and/or cartoons.

There may not be a playground at the Hardee's on Big Bethel anymore. There may not stools at the counter of Krispy Kreme. There may not be any new episodes of The Price is Right with Bob Barker and his skinny microphone. And I may not be able to spend time with my granddaddy anymore. But I do think of these days Granddaddy and I spent together, more than one would probably expect, but most often when I go to Krispy Kreme and take the time to sit and enjoy the moment.

Unforgettable Krispy Kreme Memory Countdown: No. 2

It was my first date. Or at least I hoped so. I'd only met the girl a few days ago, but we'd already spent more hours together than I'd spent with some of my better friends. We couldn't stop smiling the whole time. I was crazy about her, but was it a date?

Started at Sandy Bottom Nature Park and I suggested we keep hanging out. We ended up at Krispy Kreme. I was a bit concerned because she didn't order anything. But when I sat down to eat my Boston Kreme doughnut, she revealed Item #3,045 that we had in common: Boston Kreme was her favorite doughnut. At this point the excitement was too much and I announced, "Okay, I'm going to hold your hand now." This prompted all of the wonderful things we had to say about one another to pour over the brim and eventually back to her place where I had my first (offstage) kiss.

Unforgettable Krispy Kreme Memory Countdown: No. 3

I love Krispy Kreme. And Krispy Kreme loves me. This has been proven so many times that whenever I eat their delicious glazed doughnuts, I can't help but reminisce. The countdown begins:

It was college. I had switched out of acting and was starting my first semester with my new major, where I would explore producing, directing and arts administration. Much to the chagrin of some professors, I had chosen to direct off-campus to assure no restrictions were placed on me or my art. And I was spending a lot money for a college production, hoping to recoup my losses, but more so hoping that charging admission wouldn't detract all of my friends from attending. I had directed before, but at the time I was at the helm a pretty difficult piece. We worked long rehearsals (which gave me a "reputation"), spending as much time as we could in the space with the performers and the designers.

The sound designer and I especially clicked during this process. Perhaps it was that we were sitting in the booth together during run-throughs. Perhaps it was that I gave a stamp of approval to a sound collage of city noise that also included a tiger. Or perhaps it was that we would go out for Krispy Kreme doughnuts a lot. It was right across the street from the theatre and hot glazed are hard to resist. What better way to spend our teeny tiny profit? As we continued to collaborate on theatre pieces and eventually recording music, it became our tradition to celebrate with a dozen glazed, often downing the whole thing in an evening.

A Button Blog

Candice, over at A Button Blog, has immortalized this blog in a clothing accessory.

Thanks, Candice! Great work, as always!

The End of an Era

The Hilton Village Parlor and Restaurant is no more. This was the go-to spot for ice cream growing up. Sure, it was clear over in Newport News and not my native Hampton. Sure, it wasn't homemade--they served Hershey's ice cream. Sure, they were always out of at least a handful of their advertised 50 flavors. But it was a wonderful place with a unique character that will be missed.

We'd go there after plays at Peninsula Community Theatre, both as cast and audience members. We'd go there after church sometimes, a group of us. We'd go there when, well, I just got a group together for the very purpose of getting ice cream.

My best friend James and I played an acoustic set there in summer of 2002. Besides all the toys and games littering the inside--chess boards, a pool table, Foosball and more--they sometimes had musicians inside. Since the owner recognized me from my frequent patronage, I asked if my band could do an acoustic set there (even though the music usually featured inside was more of "listener-friendly" than the punk stylings of Persona Non Grata). Of course we could! She let us set up outside amongst all the old toys and giant stuffed animals that decorated their part of the sidewalk. This type of activity along with the chaotic state of the Parlor's decor caused some friction between the business and some of the other, more reserved businesses in the otherwise high-end district. But that's what the Parlor was all about: fun.

That's not to say it was all giggles. Connie, the owner was generally friendly, but occasionally testy with customers. But in a down home way, not a "I don't know, I just work here" way. The owners were just a different crop of folks. (Her husband once ran for public office, though the signs advertising this indicated he was running as a write-in vote!) But, as with many small businesses, the owners were a constant presence and had pride in running their own business. I think it was only family that ever worked there, with maybe a few close friends thrown in, which means everyone was working there because there was some sort of investment. It wasn't just a summer job at DQ.

But now DQ is the only option, but there's no such thing as Blueberry Cheesecake soft-serve. Oh, and there's Lame Stone, which will happily overcharge you for low-quality, melty ice cream. Welcome to the death of small town America. We're not talking a one-horse town here, there are 1.8 million people in the metropolitan area. Is it too much to ask for more than a handful of local eateries on our side of the water? Do we really need another chain restaurant destroying the identity of our cities into one big suburban strip mall?

The loss of the Hilton Village Parlor and Restaurant is a sad one indeed. The business represents many things to me, not just a place to get one's ice cream fix. I don't think many of my readers are from Hampton Roads, but if you are, I invite you to share any memories of the Hilton Village Parlor & Restaurant in the comments.