Jump the Shark Week 4: Ice Cream Goes to Eleven
I’m a summer baby. On my birthday every August 1st, I always got the same thing: a Carvel ice cream cake. I ate this in the only acceptable way: split the layers down the middle, devour the crunchies, eat the chocolate layer, then the vanilla, then throw out the rest. The only thing that matters is the crunchies, so really everything after that is downhill.
I don’t know if it’s that times have changed, or that I’ve just become a more sophisticated lady with very refined tastes, but on my bithday last week, Carvel cake wasn’t doing it. It seemed so flat, so pedestrian. I’m 34 years old, a D-list celebrity chef, author, raconteur, and international culinary icon to at least 6 or 7 people.
There’s one thing I’ve learned eating my way through the culinary capital of the world- everything tastes better when it’s made by hand in small batches, with only the most sophisticated of ingredients, in flavors that are so underground I haven’t even heard of them yet (though I won’t admit it). And if there’s any sort of void in the artisan food market, its need to be corrected immediately.
This is Brooklyn after all.
Presenting our newest product:
This weekend, you can experience our small batch crunchies on our secret, off-menu ice cream sandwiches. Just pick a cookie from the counter, we’ll add a big scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, then roll it in the crunchie of your choice. Or better yet, pick up a package to carry in your purse or masculine satchel, so that when the ice cream man comes down your block, you’ll be able to have an intimate curated food experience for one, while the hoi polloi around you gawks at you with envy.
Each sack of crunchies comes in a hand tied bag, using locally sourced twine. We are hoping to have these in fine ice cream parlors and gourmet shops in the next several weeks. They are also available for mail order, and would make a lovely addition to any Brooklyn-centric gift basket (the holidays are only a few months away!).
We will also be donating $1 of each bag sold to Frankie’s Mission to help families who support families battling childhood cancer. Because cancer can seriously go f*** itself. (<——-that part is not satire)