Of Sheep and Ice Cream

Finally. After weeks of up and down weather, it seems that summer has decided to grace us with its mosquitoes and mojitos. Beach and ice creams all round! And after slurping away (too rapidly, according to my Catalan friend) a mojito, we decided to trot off in search of a cooling gelat.

Once at the corner stand, with its bright, attractive (and no doubt additive-riddled) colours, I made an observation: no longer are the masses content with such dull flavourless flavours such as strawberry, lemon, vanilla, or chocolate. It appears we are much more demanding in our quest for variety, and so strawberry transforms into strawberry cheesecake, chocolate metamorphoses into Oreo biscuit, the crown of vanilla is usurped by crema catalana, and lemon callously thrown to the pitiless ‘Smurf’ flavour ice cream. I know not what a Smurf tastes like but the colour reminds me somewhat of mouthwash or that vile WKD stuff that has the gumption to call itself a drink. Thus I immediately jumped on the cookie-wheeled bandwagon and decided to try the strawberry cheesecake and bread and chocolate flavours. I came, I chose, I ate... I was mildly disappointed.

So that was ice cream at the beach; now for the city equivalent.

There stands a new ice cream parlour in Girona, which offers delicious chocolate cardiac arrest in a bucket sprinkled with mini chocolate strokes and cubes of chocolate aneurysms; all that’s needed is a spade and you can construct your very own chateau de chocolat, or dig your own grave, courtesy of the brothers Joan, Jordi, and Josep Roca. Their surname is incorporated into the name of the parlour Rocambolesc, which translates as 'crazy' or 'outrageous' in a lovable, cute, and cuddly way that makes one think of kittens and rainbows and smiley potato waffles. 

Until we reach the climax of lewd culinary experimentation: sheep's milk ice cream with candyfloss. This is what dissatisfaction amongst the masses has led to, this is the fruit of the tri-headed Frankenstein: the invention of a hideous monstrous frozen dessert that terrifies people in a seemingly innocent cloud of wispy sugar and ovine cream. What perverted mind could even dream of such a combination? What manner of beast could entertain such a ghastly notion? These are dark times indeed.... 

I rather fancy you think I'm being melodramatic. 'After all,' you're probably thinking, 'if Chagall can paint a goat with a violin, perhaps sheep’s milk ice cream with a bouffant of glucose isn’t so terribly bizarre. Just more edible. And there was a place in Covent Garden that started selling human breast milk ice cream in 2011.' And perhaps I'll concede the point and everyone will be happy and live life as though they´d not read this ultimately pointless tirade against creative frozen dairy products. But, if I might just quote Matt O'Connor - founder of said Covent Garden ice cream parlour - as saying that nobody has 'done anything interesting with ice cream in the last 100 years', I put it to you: Do you really want guano flavoured ice cream? Do you?? Remember Mary Shelley's novel; stay away from electricity and dead people; and stick to vanilla ice cream.