Hand to Mouth

misadventures in eating

I still have tennis elbow. And a serious food aversion.

with one comment

My first job (ever) was at a Marble Slab Creamery my next door neighbor opened when I was a freshman in high school. He needed young people willing to work for $6.50 an hour and I was still fourteen enough to think that $6.50 an hour was the kind of money worth suffering the indignities and pain of food service. All I could think of was the number of Mocha Freezes I could purchase at the local Borders Cafe, the $5 flip-flops from Old Navy, and other such fourteen year old pursuits. (You add eight years to that age and I would have been calculating the costs of hookers and blow — mostly because nothing tickles the funny-bone better than the phrase “hookers and blow.”) You see, I didn’t understand the undertaking: working at an ice cream store is the darkest, deepest corner of hell. Dante knew it, too. That’s why the Seventh Circle is cold.

Scooping ice cream, for those who have scooped it, is bad enough — but places like Marble Slab and Cold Stone compound that pain by getting their counter biscuits to hand-mix things like Oreo and M&Ms and cookie dough (my gravest enemy during those harsh days) into the ice cream — on a frozen slab. If you’ve ever thought just scooping ice cream was hard, wait until you have to mix hard objects into it.

As employees, we had the right to a free ice cream with every shift (another HUGE BOON I thought at fourteen, despite the fact I was too busy trying to develop anorexia to truly appreciate it) — by the end of my four (five?) month tenure of late nights (we purportedly closed at 11 p.m., I never managed to get out of that store any earlier than 12:15 in the morning) I hated ice cream. Seeing it make me nauseated, and as sad as you might think this was, it ushered me into my Super Overconcened About My Weight And Other Such Things That I Can Never Fix Like My Bone Structure Or Worse Yet My Skin Because Wow Considering Peeling Off All My Dermis To Replace It With Skin Filtched From Alicia Silverstone Is Way, Way Creepy. So at least I could take comfort in always saying, “No thanks, I hate ice cream.”

But it’s summer again in North Carolina, a scorching 90ºF (and up) week, and all the lawns are wilting under intense punishment, both from above and around, as water restrictions start tying up hoses and sprinkler systems throughout the county. And guys? As much as I hate ice cream? It’s all I can think about.


Written by lshen

May 30, 2007 at 7:33 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. Granita a la Beaufort, S.C. (courtesy Fred Thompson)

    Pour 2 c. unsweetened iced tea; 5 c. water; 12 oz. frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed; 6 oz. frozen oj concentrate, thawed; 1/4 c. granulated sugar; and one pint whiskey or rye into a 9X13 inch baking pan. Stir, and set in the freezer. Every 45 minutes stir or scrape it with a fork. After a few hours, it should be frozen but loose and slushy.

    Serve in punch cups or an old fashioned glass. Topping it with a splash of chilled ginger ale (don’t stir!) is nice if the slush has set too long. If you only want to make half a batch (God only knows why, because this is the perfect amount to keep one person liquored up for about one long weekend), use a half-size baking pan and save the extra juice/tea/booze mixture in a pitcher for next time.


    May 31, 2007 at 2:17 am

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