The sun swelters, melting me into the pavement. The intense burn, roasting my exposed flesh as I walk along the street, praying to all the deities that some relief will come to this intensity as I oozed past the IceGuerilla store. Ice cream. Relief. Hope.
A mixed bag of emotions as I first stare at disbelief of the insanity of an ice cream mixture that some of the customers where ordering. A lactose intolerant nightmare plagued by thousands of years in Purgatory and a tempestuous being dancing on the tip my emotions. I stare. And in a rare moment of expressionism, I ask. "Can I shoot a photo?" The awkward acknowledgment of that it was okay, was made only more awkward with the realization from all involved that this oddity of nightmares shouldn't be consumed by anyone other then frat boy mistakenly looking to impress his would be girlfriend or at least a small family. So I snap and picture. And parts of my soul weep.
I stand at the display glass painfully aware of the setting, the street and the neighborhood. The Schloßstraß in the heart of Steglitz, a quite, pretty district in the ever increasingly over populated city of Berlin and this street is the main artery of that district full of people and shops, that pop up and disappear before one has chance to get to explore them. I see the ice cream that I'm going to try.
Rum raisin, is one of those ice cream flavors that I have to be in a particular mood in order for me to really enjoy. And this version was enjoyable. The rich and creamy, slightly sweet ice cream melted gently in my mouth and rolled down my throat and nestled into my stomach and ass.
The coolness from the ice cream started to take effect, first from my lips, the ice instantly freezing my lips as the sun turned the frozen dairy into melted joy. Then from inside out, ice fighting through layers of warmth, blasting through these layers as a geyser explodes from the depths molten lava and then relief. The day's sun cooling ever so slightly allowing for the medical necessity of this moment, relief.
I slowly roll towards the sun, smiling as a victor sizing up his conquest, gloating for I knew the secret, the one way of facing down guaranteed defeat and standing tall. And then like a trickster playing with cords, my brain started to roll into gear, new sweat emerged and challenged the edge of my brow. What had I just eaten! I stared, the black cone slowly forming shape, forming realizations and new patterns in my brain. What is in this cone. How was it dyed? Why was it dyed? And just like that, I was defeated. Waffle cones just like their big cousins the Waffle, are relatively simple food not usually more then 5 or 6 ingredients and none of those ingredients would turn them black. At best, some natural combination of beet powder, spinach powder....at worse squid ink.....my stomach fills with dread turning the ice cream into a toxic liquid of fear. Hoping that my fear of squid ink (and yes this is a real thing) is nothing but an over active imagination but knowing it won't be a natural substance. So what's left? Some relief and hope emerges as I think that maybe just maybe it's black food dye....but this creates another type of worry and at the same time leads me back to the my initial question, What I have just eaten? And this is how the Pandora's box works, an endless series of questions and answers that become more fearful and more horrifying the deeper you get.
I hang my head and slowly make my way home, listless and depressed. Like so many things in life, ignorance is bliss and I've been around too long to have to be able to take shelter in the ignorance...so as I reached my apartment, knowing what I know, I took refuge in the tasty nature of the ice cream it self but realized that ultimately is was a far from perfect experience.