I feel like I’ve been hibernating forever. I haven’t been to the gym since before COVID started and my attitude has generally been that my 8-mile jaunts a few times a week (weather permitting) entitle me to eat an occasional fried chicken dinner. If you’re going to ask me to justify the chocolate cupcakes I baked, or the banana bread, or the tray of brownies, then my honest reply, Your Honor, would be to ask you, “Who skips dessert during a pandemic?” Comfort food seems like a necessity, especially during this long, cold winter. So I consider it self-care. (But I’m not sure I’d swear on a stack of bibles with that explanation.)
But I did do something crazy yesterday, even by my standards. I kidnapped Phyllis just before we parted ways in the park and dragged her (ha) to Emack & Bolio’s for ice cream even though it was 26 degrees outside. I know, what the hell was I thinking? Well, I was thinking that ice cream is such a summertime representation of a happy food, and that I haven’t been there since last August, and hell, I was so jonesing for it despite the freezing temperatures, and jeez, she’s such an easy mark, and I didn’t want to indulge alone. (Aren’t you glad you don’t live inside my head? Pretty busy up there lately overthinking everything from the rotation of my bath towels to how to get parchment paper to uncurl on cookie sheets.)
While we were waiting for the very nice ice cream scooper to make our treats I was checking out the wall where my son’s pictures once hung. He was a guest at a birthday party there years ago and his crew polished off The Emack Attack sundae that boasted about 20 scoops with 20 toppings or something hideous like that. They had a before and an after picture of Matty there smiling big with his pals and we loved going in to admire the pics and point them out to everyone in the shop. He was ice cream royalty! Afterwards Phyllis and I walked past Levain Bakery and the line was out the door and down the block. Thankfully I’m not the only one in a winter depression desperate for a little sugar.
After I arrived home and defrosted, I called my Mom to complain that nobody came to see my apartment this weekend. So instead of giving into my disappointment, my Mother took the opportune moment to let me know that there’s no good cake in Florida. And she said it deadpan just like that. Can this really be true? I know there’s good ice cream at several Kilwin’s locations there, and I love the sundaes at Jaxson’s in Dania Beach, but cake? Holy seven layers, Batman! She might be right. I’d hate to rethink the whole move to a warmer climate plan where I can save money on state income tax and be closer to my parents just to be sure I can have local access to good cake, but Mom does raise a critical point. I will have to start researching baked goods from Boca to Bal Harbour before I bolt.
jenslittleblackbook.com 