Late-night ice cream
An impromptu late stroll for a dessert brought a peaceful sensation of fulfillment
Happens quite often. A scene in a TV show or movie you’re watching suddenly involves a piece of food that you cannot help but crave for. Doesn’t matter if it’s something simple and accessible or something elaborate and pricey, your mind just becomes fixated on it. My wife and I were watching an episode of HBO’s Girls last week in which the protagonist goes out looking for her missing—and high—mother, bringing her roommate along. At some point, they decide to make a quick stop for ice cream before continuing the search—encapsulating the tone of the show and the characters’ messy personalities—. It is quite of a frantic scene, purposefully reflecting the stress of not being able to locate someone. Still, seeing them suddenly enjoy a scoop in the middle of that situation made me want to have one as well. I don’t even have a sweet tooth. In fact, far from it.
“Should we go get some ice cream?” I asked my wife. She looked as perplexed as excited. She knows I rarely have desserts, but man does she love them. “Really?” she replied enthusiastically. I said it all depended on finding one, as it was late on a Sunday after all. I hadn’t realized how late it was though. A quick glance at the clock on the wall of our room revealed a surprising 10:42 pm. “Never mind” I said, prematurely conceding defeat. But curiosity had the best of me, and so I looked on my phone at what time the ice cream shop a couple of blocks away had closed. Google Maps indicated Open - Closes soon - 11pm. “Ok, we can make it if we leave right this moment.” We put on some shoes and a jacket and left the apartment.
The short trip down on the elevator to the ground floor gave us enough time to question our decision-making process. Ice cream this close to midnight? We are a couple in our mid-thirties who have to work the next day, what are we doing? Well, we’re getting some ice cream, that’s what. We walked quickly to make sure we didn’t get there just exactly before they closed, trying to turn a six-minute walk (according to Google Maps) into a four one. We arrived around 10:50pm, close enough to their closing time that we felt a bit bad about making the employee get up from his seat to take our order, but not enough to make us turn back empty-handed.
The ice cream shop, in a bright pink with white fluorescent lights, looked hauntingly beautiful that late. It was one of the few open businesses at that hour—the others being a McDonald’s and a jumbo pizza place—which made it stand out more among the street. We got in and made sure to waste no time ordering, as we still felt slightly guilty towards the employee. I delegated the decision to my wife, the expert in these matters. She chose a flavor with so many words on it I can’t remember it that well (honey-something covered cake, I think?). We paid the $7 it cost, rounded it up to $10 with tip as a thank you, and then headed home.
The short trip back, no longer rushed and with an ice cream in hand, felt so incredibly calm and fulfilling. Though it was barely 11pm, the city had a charming emptiness to it. The slightly cold temperature, combined with the rare silence and the lone nightlights gave our neighborhood a serene mood. We decided to take a bit of a detour and walk through the park in front of our apartment. We love that park, and the lampposts barely revealing the autumn colors at that time of the night made us appreciate it even more. Time suddenly felt much slower. We were walking at a normal pace but I could swear we were barely moving. All I could say to my wife was a not-very-inspiring “this feels so nice,” which prompted an “it really does” reply from her. We didn’t really need big motivational words anyway. We both understood what the other one was feeling.
By the time we entered our apartment there was barely any ice cream left. One of our cats jumped at the smell of it and so we let her lick the cup once we had finished, which she thoroughly enjoyed. We decided to watch another episode of Girls, happy with the choices we had made. The opening scene had two of the main characters sharing some sort of to-go meal. “Damn, that looks good” I jokingly told my wife. She just chuckled and laid her head on my shoulder. It had been a good Sunday.