Day Trip: Strawberry Ice Cream

Day Trips bring to your inbox a little factoid, a little imagery, maybe a recipe, a little trapdoor for you to slip through in your Monday morning routine.

Strawberry gelato in Rome

One of my earliest memories dates from when I was four years old and my parents took me to see Santa Claus at the mall. I remember eating a waffle cone of strawberry ice cream while we waited in line not to see Santa but to see Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in his stable.

Years later, I ate strawberry ice cream for breakfast on a warm summer morning in Budapest. The lady who served me the ice cream from a sidewalk cart had gnarled hands, leathery skin, wispy gray hair coiling out from under a colorful head scarf, and a mischevious twinkle in her eye.

“Ice cream is good for you. Makes bones strong. And it’s fun,” she said in broken English.

Fighting jet lag while passing through Rome on a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a writing conference, I stopped at a cart at the top of the Spanish Steps for stracciatella and strawberry gelato.

And the first thing I ate when I stepped foot in Cuba was not ropa vieja or a mojito or pan de media noche but helado fresa, hecho en casa. Homemade strawberry ice cream, sold by three young men in their late teens or early twenties, from a cart plugged into a generator that quaked like a cartoon rocket about to take off.

I think today, instead of my coffee break, I’ll be on the lookout for some strawberry ice cream. Whatever strawberry ice cream means to you, I hope you find some today.