Yesterday, Iowa City saw its first lacy dusting of snow. More like icy dandruff than an accumulation, it still served to awaken my winter instincts. My body may live in Iowa, but everything I know about winter still lives in Seattle. This was evident at recess when I stood on duty next to the Kindergarten teacher. The tiny flakes whipped around our faces and I danced in place. “So, what does it take to cancel school?” I asked, thinking that what was currently falling would suffice to send kids home in Washington. “It has to really dump and make it hard for the plows to get things clear in time for school to start. It’s not so bad here. I keep snow pants at work and twenty minutes before recess, I put boot warmers inside my boots. It’s great,” she replied, “The kids bring sleds.”
After work, I drove down the street to get my hair cut. I have head knowledge of how to drive in the snow, but little firsthand experience. My inner Seattle girl knows the best way to drive in the snow is not to drive at all. After you’ve braved the roads to stock up on groceries, head home and stay there until things melt. Turn on the TV and keep tabs on “Winter Onslaught 2010”, or whatever the local news station has named the current weather system. On the way to the salon, I coached myself, “Easy on the brakes. Leave lots of room. Nothing sudden. The railroad tracks could be slippery. You can do this.” The people around me drove as if it were any other non-snow day. That makes sense, because, as I mentioned before, there were no real accumulations to be had.
The only accumulation I really had to deal with was the buildup in my memory of winters where every flake was cause for alarm. This winter will no doubt involve many stretching experiences and quite possibly the purchase of some good snow pants, but I welcome these. It’s time for my instincts to move to Iowa too.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Graham Central Station
One of the bigger perks of living in the Midwest is having access to an ice cream store called Whitey’s. They offer smoothies, milkshakes, and sundaes, but I think those are offered because they needed to fill up space on the menu board. I can’t see any compelling reason to order anything other than a simple scoop of delicious ice cream. The folks at Whitey’s are happy to give samples of any flavor. I always know exactly what I want, but I taste another option first for the simple pleasure of variety.
Variety in ice cream is a fairly new concept for me. I remember going to Baskin-Robbins with my brothers as children. We’d carefully examine each of the 32 flavors, even pausing to voice our observations. “Bubble gum ice cream? I wonder how they got it to be so pink!” “Wow, that’s a lot of chocolate in that one. Look at the brownie pieces!” After thoughtful consideration, the three of us would come to the same conclusion: French vanilla (because it’s clearly more sophisticated than plain vanilla).
I don’t think Whitey’s offers French vanilla and I wouldn’t choose it if they did. My new fixation is a masterpiece called Graham Central Station. The fact that someone created an ice cream that tastes like graham crackers blesses me to no end, but it doesn’t stop there. They added a personal touch (shout out, if you will) for those of us who eat with texture in mind: sweet, slightly crunchy chunks of graham cracker mixed throughout. Jeremie and I fondly refer to these scoop sections as “bits” and he says the word with a slight lisp that makes me laugh. If I offer him a bite, I make sure it’s got some “bit action” in it.
Someday, when I move away from the Midwest, I will miss my Whitey’s treat. I am glad you can’t get it everywhere; exclusivity enhances its preciousness. I mean, having Whitey’s available all over the country would be like having a scoop of Graham Central with every bite containing a “bit”. Hmmm….that sounds pretty nice, actually.
Variety in ice cream is a fairly new concept for me. I remember going to Baskin-Robbins with my brothers as children. We’d carefully examine each of the 32 flavors, even pausing to voice our observations. “Bubble gum ice cream? I wonder how they got it to be so pink!” “Wow, that’s a lot of chocolate in that one. Look at the brownie pieces!” After thoughtful consideration, the three of us would come to the same conclusion: French vanilla (because it’s clearly more sophisticated than plain vanilla).
I don’t think Whitey’s offers French vanilla and I wouldn’t choose it if they did. My new fixation is a masterpiece called Graham Central Station. The fact that someone created an ice cream that tastes like graham crackers blesses me to no end, but it doesn’t stop there. They added a personal touch (shout out, if you will) for those of us who eat with texture in mind: sweet, slightly crunchy chunks of graham cracker mixed throughout. Jeremie and I fondly refer to these scoop sections as “bits” and he says the word with a slight lisp that makes me laugh. If I offer him a bite, I make sure it’s got some “bit action” in it.
Someday, when I move away from the Midwest, I will miss my Whitey’s treat. I am glad you can’t get it everywhere; exclusivity enhances its preciousness. I mean, having Whitey’s available all over the country would be like having a scoop of Graham Central with every bite containing a “bit”. Hmmm….that sounds pretty nice, actually.
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