I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Gelato?

No, No! That is not the ditty we sang as children. It doesn't even rhyme. This is the line for people who live in Italy. In the United States, "I scream, You scream, We all scream for ice cream" is our line. The song which this particular line comes from originated in the 1927. Legend says it was a song sung about the "Eskimo Pie". The "Eskimo Pie" started life as the "I Scream" bar. Of course, today there is no "I Scream" bar or "Eskimo Pie". Eskimo Pie has  gone the way of Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben, as not politically correct. Today it's known as Edy's Pie. Not the same, If you ask me, but I never found any fault in Aunt Jemima or Uncle Ben. I guess I'm not politically correct either.     

I was never exposed to gelato in my youth. I first tasted it when I went to Italy in my wine selling days. I like it but I like ice cream more. I think that is the case with most Americans. We were raised on ice cream not gelato. Of course today we see gelato out there but we see more ice cream. There are a lot of big commercial ice cream producers and a ton of local small independent ice cream producers. Americans like their ice cream. 

Frozen treats have a long history dating back to the ancients in China and Persia who sent runners to the mountains to get snow so they could make the original snow cones. They flavored that snow with all sorts of things - honey, fruit syrups, fermented milk and beans. Ice cream as we know it is more recent. It developed with the discovery of the "Endothermic Effect" which is when you mix rock salt with ice. It drastically lowers the freezing point allowing chefs to freeze liquid ingredients without diluting them. 

Early proponents of this effect made ice cream by placing the ingredients to be frozen into a metal cylinder, topped with a lid that had a handle, the cylinder went into a barrel, the barrel was filled with ice and rock salt, then someone constantly rotated the cylinder, occasionally stopping to open the container and scrap the frozen contents from the sides. After the contents reached a certain consistency, they were put into containers and cured in ice before serving. This whole process took several hours. 

It was a labor intensive endeavor. With the cost of all the expensive ingredients, sugar, ice and salt, this was something enjoyed by the rich and powerful, not common folks. Early day ice cream was a luxury item beyond the means of the working class. Of course, they were the labor component of the equation. Knowing human nature, I'm sure some of them sneaked a taste. They had to be sure it was good enough for their rich and powerful masters.

There was no refrigeration back then so everything relied on the availability of ice on a year round basis. This was an extremely expensive and time consuming task, but not beyond the scope of the rich and powerful. Ice was harvested during the winter months from frozen lakes, ponds, or rivers. It was then placed in an "Ice House", where it was insulated from the heat. In a good winter, the ice harvest would last all year. 

In the United States, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were early admirers of this treat. As was Dolley Madison (that's not a misspelling). They expended vast amounts of money to enjoy this luxury treat and to serve it to their guests. 

Some of the flavors enjoyed in the early days of our country were the same as modern times. They enjoyed chocolate, strawberry and vanilla like we do today but also had savory flavors, like Parmesan cheese, foie gras & truffle; floral & botanical flavors like orange flower water, and lavender; rich spice and grain flavors like brown bread, cinnamon and Ambergris. Ambergris was a rare, highly prized substance produced in the digestive system of sperm whales and gave the ice cream a musky, earthy undertone. I think I will stick with chocolate and vanilla, thank you. 

Things changed when Nancy Johnson invented the world's first hand-cranked ice cream maker, receiving a U.S. patent for her "Artificial Freeze" on September 9, 1843. Her brilliant device, which used a wooden tub filled with ice and salt alongside a hand turned crank, metal cylinder and perforated paddles, transformed ice cream from an elite luxury into a widely accessible treat. She didn't make a vast fortune from her invention. She sold her patent to William G. Young for $200. Young made some improvements and started commercial production of the machine. 

During the late 1800's and early 1900's, there were improvements to the machine. Most notable were the improvements made by the White Mountain Freezer Company. The company's initial success came from patenting it's "triple-motion dasher system" among other things. This mechanical system, rotating parts in opposite directions, simultaneously scraping the edge of the canister while beating the cream inward. This gave the ice cream an unmatchable, ultra-smooth texture. They were so successful that at one point they were the largest manufacturer of hand cranked ice cream freezers in the world. 

In the 1960's, my family had one, but luckily it was the updated electric motor version. It made great ice cream. I think that was due in large part to the ice cream base. We used whole milk, heavy cream, real sugar, and real vanilla extract. We didn't use corn syrup, guar gum or any kind of chemical stabilizers, like most of the commercial brands. So we ended up with all natural ice cream with a butterfat content of 15 -16 percent.  

The machine helped too. It would churn the base into ice cream in about 20 - 30 minutes, based on the ingredients, we sometimes added peaches or strawberries. The gear ratios only allowed a 20% to 30% overrun. So there was not a lot of air.

Overrun is the percentage of air incorporated into the liquid ice cream base during the freezing and churning process, causing the final product to expand. In other words, it measures how much air is in your ice cream. If you start with 1 gallon of liquid base and churn it into 1.5 gallons of ice cream, the volume has increased by 50% meaning it has a 50% overrun. 

We have all tasted those grocery store brands with 100% to 120% overrun. This is a way to increase profits by selling you air. The legal limit set by the FDA is 100% to be able to call it "ice cream".

There are lots of ways manufacturers increase profit. There is the concept of "shrinkflation" whereby manufacturers sell a 48 ounce container instead of the original half gallon (64 ounce) container at the same price as the old 64 ounce container. You'll never see them advertise this modification. Money, money, money.  

There is a legal minimum on the butterfat content at 10%. Otherwise, it must be labeled a "frozen dairy dessert", "low fat ice cream", "reduced fat ice cream", or "non fat ice cream". Check the label on your current brand. A lot of companies built their reputations on selling real ice cream, only to be bought out by large corporations intent on profit over quality. These folks slowly changed the formulas and procedures in the ice cream so that it no longer looks or tastes like it used to. They call this progress. I call it greed.

The old saying, "the front label sells, the back label tells" is very relevant in ice cream. Read the back label of your current ice cream brand. You might be surprised at all the ingredients besides milk, cream, and sugar. 

You can also learn a lot by the weight. The next time you buy your favorite brand, pick up the 48 ounce container and compare it with the weight of a 48 ounce container of Tillamook ice cream. Any difference? Air doesn't weigh anything. If you compare it to a half gallon of Blue Belle, there is a more noticeable difference. Blue Belle's half gallon container is still a half gallon (64 ounces), not 48 ounces. There might be other undesirable things in Blue Belle but not any "shrinkflation".

To be legally called "Ice Cream" in the United States the product must weigh 4.5 pounds per gallon. This fact keeps the overrun (added air) to 100%. Also, the milkfat content must be a minimum of 10% and it must contain at least 20% milk solids. The entire dairy mix must be pasteurized using specific time and temperature thresholds (155° Fahrenheit for 30 minutes) before freezing. It also must contain less than 1.4% egg yolk solids. Anything containing more must be labeled "Frozen Custard" or "French Ice Cream". 

So what is "Soft Serve Ice Cream"? I don't know if you have noticed but your cone from McDonalds or your dipped in chocolate cone from Dairy Queen is not real ice cream. They don't call it that either. McDonalds calls it a "vanilla cone" and Dairy Queen calls it "soft serve". The reason is not because of the amount of air they whip into it. That is usually between 30% to 60%, so no where near the maximum of 100%. The reason is because the milkfat is usually less than 5%, half of the minimum of 10%. 

Soft serve is not made in a batch freezer like hard scoop ice cream. It is made in a continuous feed freezer. This freezer holds the mix in a refrigerated hopper and feeds it into the freeze cylinder as needed. It is so quick that the soft serve isn't actually made until it's sold. It is much quicker than serving hard pack batch ice cream. It is served at a much warmer temperature than batch ice cream, 18° to 24° rather than 0° to 5°.

The dominant flavor of soft serve is vanilla. Of course there are hundreds of add-ins to modify that but usually it starts as vanilla. You won't be seeing any places serving 31 flavors like Baskin-Robbins. Occasionally, you will see a machine with another cylinder for chocolate and a middle draw handle to serve a twist of both flavors. 

That is the problem with soft serve. You need a cylinder for each flavor. 31 flavors would require 31 cylinders, an expensive situation. A dual cylinder heavy duty machine costs about $20,000. Serving multiple flavors would mean several machines would be needed. A place serving hard scooped ice cream can serve several flavors from one machine. They have a serving cabinet that holds all the finished flavors, ready for dipping and a walk-in freezer to hold backups. In a typical working day, a hard scoop shop can make 6 to 15 different flavors depending on machine size and cleanup time.   

I am not a big fan of soft serve. Although, I have had my share of "Peanut Buster Parfaits". If I have my choice, I always go for hard scooped ice cream. I like the flavor and the texture. It's what I grew up with. 

So what exactly is gelato? The core differences between gelato and ice cream are that gelato uses more milk and less cream, incorporates less air during churning, and is served at a warmer temperature than ice cream. These differences alter the texture, fat content, and overall flavor profile of gelato. 

 

Gelato is made in the same kind of batch freezer as ice cream. The mix is different (more milk less cream - butterfat 4% - 9%), the speed is slower (low overrun 20% - 30%) and the temperature is warmer (10°F - 15°F). So you end up with a similar yet different product. 

In my wine selling days, I spent a lot of time in Italy. The Italians take most things dealing with eating and drinking very seriously. They have a media authority called the "Gambero Rosso" which translates to "Red Shrimp". Founded in 1986 by Stefano Bonilli, it is the ultimate referee of Italian culinary excellence. Named after a fictional tavern in the story of Pinocchio, it issues Italy's most prestigious gastronomic ratings. 

Its highest rating for a wine is "Tre Bicchieri", three glasses. At Winebow, if one of our wines got the "Tre Bicchieri" award, it was an easy sell because everyone wanted it. They have a similar award for gelato shops called the "Tre Coni", three cones. Only 70 to 80 out of the 19,000 gelato shops in Italy get this designation each year. 

On my trips to Italy, I spent a lot of time researching gelato and chasing the "Tre Coni". It was easy to do this research, there was a "Gelateria" on every corner. Restaurants also served gelato. After dinner I often had an "Affogato" which translates to "drowned". It was gelato that was drowned with hot espresso. Absolutely delicious. 

The top flavors in Italy are Pistacchio, Stracciatella (Chocolate Chip), Nocciola (Hazelnut), Cioccolato Fondente (Dark Chocolate), Fior di Latte (Pure Sweetened Cream), Bacio (Chocolate & Hazelnut), Zabaione (Sweet Marsala Custard), and Amarena (Cream with Dark Amarena Cherries). I have had them all. The flavor that stands out in my memory isn't even gelato. It's Limone, which is a sorbetto, no dairy. It's the Limone I had on the Amalfi coast made with Sorrento lemons. It was served in a carved out lemon shell. It is made with the zest and the juice from those lemons that are more sweet than bitter. It was perfection. I have also had "Limoncello" made from those lemons but that is another story. 

Gelato has a much more intense, vibrant flavor and a denser, silkier texture than traditional ice cream. There is no shortage of different gelato flavors just like there is no shortage of ice cream flavors. Some of these flavors baffle the mind. What were these people thinking? Perhaps they were under the influence of something? 

Can you get bad gelato in Italy? Absolutely! In touring gelaterias, I came to notice certain characteristics of the good shops. There were no neon or bright colors. Natural colors are muted and dull. Real pistachio is a brownish-green (the color of ground nuts), not neon green. Real banana is grayish-white, not bright yellow. I started to look for shops that stored their gelato flat in low metal containers or covered wells (pozzetti) rather than piled high in fluffy, colorful mountains. They use a flat metal spade (spatola) rather than a curved ice cream scoop to maintain the velvety, creamy texture of gelato. I also looked for signs that said gelato artigianale (artisanal) or produzione propria (produced in-house). Most of the good ones I found were "Tre Coni".  

My favorite shop in my Italian travels was "Grom" in Florence, close to the Duomo. I found it by accident one night on my way back to my hotel after dinner. It was right there so I had to try it. I went back several times after that. They had a limited selection, only about 15 flavors and they were served in pozzetti with metal lids.

My favorite flavor was their "Crema di Grom", which was a smooth pastry cream made with egg yolks, with added crumbles of "miliga biscuits (corn shortbread), and 70% dark chocolate chips. At one time there were some Grom shops in the United States but Grom was bought by Unilever. That is never a good thing, a big corporation buying a small independent quality focused company. There are no longer shops in the United States and things are not quite the same. Ah, progress.

In the U.S. finding gelato shops of any sort is a difficult task. There are 12,000 dedicated ice cream shops here compared to 1500 gelato shops. Of the 12,000, there are a lot of small premium ice cream stores using local ingredients to make premium and ultra premium ice cream. Sally and I search these out in our travels. According to Sally, there is always room for ice cream. It fills in the cracks. 

There are a few shops that stand out in my memory. They range all over the country and one in Paris. The first is "Wild Scoops" in Anchorage, Alaska. The first thing you notice after the line out the door is that there are only 10 flavors. This is a good thing. They feature locally sourced Alaskan ingredients. Because this is Alaska, their base mix comes from the Lower 48 (there is only one commercial dairy operation in Alaska). They are extremely particular about this base. It is crafted as a premium / super-premium style blend featuring a 16% butterfat content, resulting in an exceptionally rich, dense, and smooth texture.

All the flavors are quite tasty. Yes, they give samples. They make a waffle cone scented with cinnamon and anise. They have one option that is quite unique. You can get your flavor selection in a cone and then get a "Baked Alaska" torched topping. They call the topping marshmallow fluff but it is actually "Italian Meringue". The egg whites have hot melted sugar added as they are whipped. This cooks the meringue so that it is safe to eat without actually baking it. They torch it to give it the Baked Alaska look. Delicious.

All the way across the country is "Mount Desert Island Ice Cream" in Bar Harbor, Maine. This is a highly acclaimed, woman owned (Linda Parker) small business known for its artisanal (15-20 flavors at a time), high butterfat (15%-16%), small batch (3-5 gallons), and ultra-dense (25%-30% overrun) ice creams. Their motto is "Fearless Flavor" and they have some very interesting ones. One being "The Dude" which is of course, white russian flavored because we know "The Dude Abides". Mount Desert Island Ice Cream is a favorite of the Obamas, so it comes with a great recommendation.

The shop has a blue bench out front which I have used on occasion. Once, I was attacked by a hummingbird who thought my gray hair was a flower. I remained still and after a while the hummingbird came to the realization that my hair held no nectar and flew off. I didn't share my "Callebaut Chocolate" in a house made waffle cone which has a nectar all its own. 

The shop adheres to a strict "no-sample" policy implemented to control environmental waste (spoons), control costs (profits), and keep the customer lines moving (it's a popular place). They do have a flight option of four different scoops in a tray with spoons (?) that is quite popular, if you want to try several of the imaginative flavors. 

All the way down the coast is "Leopold's Ice Cream" in Savannah Georgia. "Leopold's Ice Cream" is a historic and iconic ice cream parlor located in the heart of the downtown. Founded in 1919 by three Greek immigrant brothers (George, Peter, and Basil Leopold), it has been serving its secret family recipes for over a century and is currently owned by Hollywood film producer Stratton Leopold, son of Peter. When you step into the parlor, you experience a retro 1930s soda fountain vibe, complete with original black marble counters and added movie memorabilia. 

The original Habersham Street location closed after the death of the 2 older brothers. It remained closed for 35 years while young Stratton became a successful movie producer. In 2004 he  resurrected the ice cream parlor with the old family recipes at a new location nextdoor to the Trustees Theater owned and operated by the Savannah College of Art & Design.

The ice cream is made with a custard blend using egg yolks, 12% to 13% butterfat, and 25% to 35% overrun. This gives it a dense, heavy, almost chewy texture and yet it has a clean and creamy flavor. Good ice cream. They also serve light lunch and dinner fare (soups, salads, sandwiches, and pastry), but most people come for the ice cream.

Chocolate Chip is Sally's favorite and mine is the Chocolate (Dark). Jimmy Carter's favorite was the Butter Pecan. Their most famous flavor is Tutti Frutti. It was a favorite of Johnny Mercer, of Moon River and One For My Baby songwriting fame. He was a local and actually swept the floors of the original shop as a child of 10.

Back across the country is the Bi-Rite Creamery in San Francisco, California. The Creamery was founded in 2006 in the Mission District by pastry chefs Kris Hoogerhyde and Anne Walker as an extension of the historic Bi-Rite Market (it's a few doors down). The Creamery quickly became a beloved neighborhood fixture known for it's handmade, small batch ice cream. It's also known for a smell, the scent of waffle cones being freshly made in the shop daily.

Bi Rite Creamery uses an ice cream base they buy from Straus Family Creamery, which is a commercial organic creamery. The mix they use is made up of only 4 ingredients - Organic Milk, Organic Cream, Raw Unrefined Organic Cane Sugar, and Organic Egg Yolks. It is one of the purest ice creams I've had from a shop. The butterfat is 16% and the overrun is 20% to 25%. Reminds me of the ice cream my folks used to make.

They add pure flavoring ingredients that are local and seasonal. They get quite inventive. They serve 24 different flavors daily. My favorites are the "Caramel Chocolate Crunch", and "Tiramisu". The chocolate they use is Guittard which is from San Francisco.   

They also have a soft serve machine but that mix is different. It has a 8% butterfat and a 35% to 45% overrun. It does use an organic plant based stabilizer to keep the right texture going through the  commercial soft serve machine. So, there are 2 flavors of soft serve available daily in addition to the 24 hard scooped flavors. 

While in San Francisco I came across another ice cream phenomenon called the "It's It". The "It's It" ice cream sandwich was invented in 1928 by George Whitney. For nearly a century, this unique combination of a scoop of dense rich ice cream nestled between two large oatmeal cookies and dipped in dark chocolate has been a Bay Area staple. They make their own ice cream and keep it at a 14% butterfat with 40% overrun. They started with only vanilla but since 1980 they also have chocolate, strawberry, mint, and cappuccino. I have to partake of them when I'm in San Francisco because it costs way to much money to ship them to the East Coast. They are delicious and very satisfying. 

During my travels in Europe, I discovered exceptional ice cream at Berthillon on Île Saint-Louis. Founded in 1954 by Raymond Berthillon, what began as a modest café-hotel became a world-renowned luxury ice cream institution. Raymond died in 2014 at age 90, but Berthillon remains proudly family-owned and operated across three generations and is now a Parisian culinary icon.

The family buys fresh ingredients daily, before dawn, at Rungis International Market outside Paris. They offer 30–40 flavors each day from a repertoire of about 75, most of them seasonal. 

All Berthillon ice cream and sorbets are produced in the Laboratory beneath and behind the flagship shop and tea salon at 29–31 Rue Saint-Louis-en-l’Île. Berthillon does not use artificial stabilizers, emulsifiers, or synthetic flavorings. They rely entirely on high-quality, full-fat dairy products - specifically milk, heavy cream, and egg yolks—which gives the ice cream its signature dense, velvety texture without relying on chemical thickeners. Their sorbets are famous for tasting like a concentrated burst of fresh fruit. This is because they use an exceptionally high percentage of pure fruit pulp and juice compared to water and sugar.

The flagship shop and tea salon are open Wednesday through Sunday. Berthillon products are also served at roughly 140 cafés, shops, and restaurants throughout Paris. My first taste was actually at Le Nemrod, a bistro in the 6th arrondissement. Having read about Berthillon's flagship shop before our first trip to Paris, we made several visits to it on Île Saint-Louis—and it always wowed us.

The flagship shop is basically a walkup / takeaway window. There is always a line. It's the only place that serves all 30 to 40 daily flavors. They are listed on a blue automated sign on the left as you reach the counter. The list gets smaller as the day progresses. I usually get 2 scoops in a cone - the Vanilla ice cream and whatever looks interesting that day. The most famous flavor is the fraise des bois (wild strawberry) which is a sorbet.

In my restaurants we always used ice cream, even after my trips to Italy. Why? I am not a pastry chef, so most of the desserts that I had on my menus came from the different restaurants where I had worked in my early years in the business - "I stole with my eyes". A lot of the desserts had ice cream as a focal point or as an "ala mode" accessory point. Ice cream is what the customers expected, not gelato. 

The brand I remember from the early days was Sealtest. it was everywhere on the East Coast and in all the restaurant where I worked. It was "The" restaurant brand. When I opened my first restaurant, The Iron Gate House, Sealtest is what we served. 

In the first year, one of our customers was a man named Mitch Berliner. He came from Northern Virginia and owned a business called Berliner Foods, which was a gourmet / fine foods distributor. Mitch sold a new brand of high quality ice cream called Häagen-Dazs. Mitch came back in the kitchen one night after his dinner and insisted I should be serving a high quality ice cream to go with our high quality menu. He thought we should be selling Häagen-Dazs.

Mitch explained that Häagen-Dazs was an American ice cream brand founded in 1960 in The Bronx, New York, by Polish immigrants Reuben and Rose Mattus. Despite its sophisticated, European sounding name, the brand had no historical ties to Europe and was entirely created and manufactured in the United States. The name, Häagen-Dazs, is completely made up by Reuben. They are not words in any language but they sound European (Danish?) Reuben figured more people would buy Häagen-Dazs than "Reuben's Finest".

At the time the majority of commercial ice cream producers were competing on low prices, using air and stabilizers to lower their costs. Reuben decided to do the exact opposite. He made a heavy, high end "Super-Premium" ice cream. He banked on a formula with a high butterfat content (16%) and very little air (20% overrun), using only natural ingredients - fresh cream, milk, sugar, and egg yolks. Sounds like a familiar theme. 

Mitch was also from New York and in 1974, struck a handshake deal with Reuben to be the brand's very first distributor outside of New York. New Yorkers like to stick together. They never had a written contract.

I told Mitch to send me a tub of the Vanilla. He did and it was really good so, we started doing business. We had a dessert on the menu that was a scoop of coffee ice cream topped with Tia Maria, toasted coconut, and a dollop of whipped cream. I called Mitch and asked if Häagen-Dazs made a coffee ice cream. His reply was, "They make a coffee ice cream that will keep you up at night". We started buying that too.

When I sold The Iron Gate House and moved to Captiva, we used Häagen-Dazs in both restaurants there, The Greenhouse and The Sunshine Cafe. By this time, Häagen-Dazs had several flavors besides the original 4 - Vanilla, Chocolate, Coffee, and Strawberry. I only ever used the Vanilla and the Coffee because they fit my dessert needs. I wasn't running a scoop shop. 

When I went into the wine business, ice cream became a personal interest rather than a professional one. This was also when I was exposed to the wonderful world of gelato. Everyone should travel. I wish I had done more in my youth, when I could really enjoy it. 

After 10 years in the wine business, I decided I liked cooking more than selling wine. Selling wine had its pluses financially and with holiday time off. I determined that I was the most reasonable boss I had ever worked for, so that was a big factor in my decision. 

I had an opportunity to purchase a location rather than having to lease, so I got to be my own landlord too. Sally and I opened the Crazy Conch Cafe on Tierra Verde in 2001. We used Sysco as one of our suppliers and they had Häagen-Dazs, so it was available. 

In my search for suppliers I came across a local company called Working Cow. They made a super-premium ice cream using local dairy, cane sugar, no high fructose corn syrup, no egg yolks but a plant based stabilizer instead. They made true American ice cream not frozen custard with 15% butterfat and 40% overrun.

I tasted it and it was really good. I liked supporting small independent suppliers making quality products so I used Working Cow. They were local so that was another plus. We used their  Vanilla and their Coffee. They had a portfolio of 140 flavors but we were not a scoop shop. 

During my restaurant career I tried making ice cream on my own a couple of times. I had learned how to make Crème Anglaise, which is a dessert sauce. I used it with fresh berries and under several chocolate desserts, e.g. flourless chocolate cake and chocolate terrine. It consists of egg yolks, milk, heavy cream, sugar, and pure vanilla extract or vanilla paste. Sounds familiar, doesn't it. You put that sauce in an ice cream freezer and you have vanilla ice cream or frozen custard if you're going to get picky. I used one of those Cuisinart ice cream makers with the canister that you put in the freezer. It makes good ice cream. I made good ice cream. 

My problem was I was always the chef in my restaurants so I was wearing a lot of different hats. Time is never on your side in these kinds of situations. There are never enough hours in a day and a small operation doesn't have enough money to hire a dedicated pastry chef. My ice cream was good but it wasn't better than Häagen-Dazs or Working Cow's. Just like my baguette. It was good but not better than Mazzaro's. I used my head and Working Cow for my ice cream and Mazzaro's for my bread. 

After about 10 years, it was time for me to get out of the restaurant business. I always worked the line in my restaurants. I wasn't one of those executive chefs that work in an office and oversee the line from a chair. I was down in the trenches. I loved it. Cooking in a restaurant situation is like living at the beach, once you get that sand between your toes it's hard to shake. You don't do it to make money. There are easier ways to make a dollar. You do it because you love it. It's not work. There is one problem though. It's hard on the legs especially the knees. Cooking on the line is a young man's game. My legs gave out. 

I retired and ice cream once again became a personal interest not a professional one. Our travels helped in the pursuit of this interest. It's nice to see that there are lots of folks out there that believe that quality matters. They have the passion to pursue it.

At home, I get ice cream from the grocery store. Occasionally from a local shop but mostly from the grocery store. I like Blue Belle. the Moo-llennium Crunch in particular but the Vanilla too. They don't make a Chocolate Chip which is Sally's favorite so I buy the "Publix Rich & Creamy Premium Chocolate Chip Ice Cream". There aren't very many companies that make chocolate chip ice cream any more. It's hard to find. Publix is one.

Publix ice creams are not the purest ice creams out there. They have high fructose corn syrup and some chemical stabilizers. On the plus side they still serve a true 64 ounce half gallon, the butterfat is 12% and the overrun is 40%. Another plus is they sometimes go on sale 2 half gallons for $10. 

Blue Belle has had some problems in the past with Listeria and some mislabeling but I have never had any problems with it so I use it. It sometimes goes on sale for $6.99 for a half gallon. It has 13% butterfat and 60% overrun. We use the Natural Vanilla Bean and the Moo-llennium Crunch which is vanilla with pecans, walnuts, almonds, caramel and dark chocolate chunks added. It's pretty killer ice cream.

I know you are probably wondering why I don't use Häagen-Dazs or maybe Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Ben and Jerry's makes great ice cream. Sally and I have been to their factory in Waterbury, Vermont. It has a 13.5% butterfat and 24% to 40% overrun depending on the flavor. At the factory they have massive storage tanks labeled Milk, Cream, and Sugar, so there is no doubt as to the ingredients used in their ice cream. They have close to 100 different flavors with lots of interesting mix-ins. In fact they are the masters of the mix-in. They invented Cherry Garcia and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice creams and a massive cast of others. 

The problem with both these brands is they only sell their ice cream in pints, not half gallons. In the case of Häagen-Dazs, it is a shrinkflation pint of 14 ounces. Ben and Jerry's still does a 16 ounce pint. They do pints for a variety of reasons dealing with the quality of their ice cream in a grocery store environment - icing and freezer burn in particular. 

There is also one big "Math" problem. When you go to a scoop shop and spend $5 to $6 for a single scoop in a cone, you don't really worry about the cost factor. When you are buying ice cream for home consumption and you realize that the 4 pints, that you'll need to equal a half gallon (Shrinkflation or not), costing $6 a pint will equal $24 a half gallon, you are hit with some "sticker shock". These two brands occasionally go on sale, but even at "Bogo" pricing it equals $12 a half gallon. That's a lot of money for ice cream, even if it's really good. 

I'm retired now and on a fixed income, so I stick with Blue Belle and Publix Rich and Creamy Premium, especially when they're on sale. In the research for this post, I have read some real positive reviews of Tillamook ice cream. I've eaten their cheese for years but never tried their ice cream. I'll be checking it out. You can teach an old dog new tricks. Who knows, I might buy one of those "Cuisinart Ice Cream Makers" with the freezer canister, and dust off my old recipe for Crème Anglaise. Because "I scream, You scream, We all scream for ice cream".

Crème Anglaise or Vanilla Ice Cream

    12 - Grade A Large Egg Yolks          2 - Cups Granulated Sugar

    1 - Qt. Whole Milk                             1 - Pinch Kosher Salt

    1 - Pint Heavy Cream                       2 - Tbsp. Vanilla Extract

In a bowl whip egg yolks and sugar until ribbons form. In a            stainless steel-lined sauce pot heat milk and cream until it is almost to a boil. Temper yolk mixture by adding two ladles of hot milk/cream mixture, stirring all the while, being careful not to curdle the egg yolks. Pour warmed egg yolk mixture into the pot of hot milk/cream. Add vanilla extract. Lower heat and continue stirring until slightly thickened. You can do this over direct heat but you have to be careful not to cook too long or too fast or you will curdle the egg yolks.

Remove from heat and whip custard over an ice bath until cool. Place in a stainless steel container and top with a piece of plastic wrap on the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Place container in the refrigerator and chill thoroughly.

Makes a great sauce or if you want ice cream, once thoroughly chilled, place in ice cream freezer and freeze following manufacturer’s directions.

 

Two Drifters, Off To See The World

It was a Saturday night in June. We knew it was going to be busy. Most Saturday nights were busy. This was summer. This was the beach. Busy had a whole different meaning in the summer. I was lucky, I had the "the duces” that night. They were a row of five two-tops that ran right next to the windows that sat right on the boardwalk. They had a great view of the ocean even on dark nights thanks to the two floodlights on the roof of “The Kettle”.

I was in the kitchen discussing the possibility of getting one of my orders out of that kitchen and to my customers, with Roger, the chef. The order had been in the system for quite a while. During a pause in the conversation, I was confronted by my buddy Rat.

“You’re one lucky shit.”

“Don’t give me that. You had the duces last night and made a ton of money.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that “smoking hot, little black dress” sitting in your station, all by herself. She doesn’t have a date. According to Queen Bee, she’s not going to be joined by another person of any persuasion, male or female. You’re one lucky shit.”

“You know as well as I do, that could be a good thing or, most likely, a very bad thing.” At the beach, who eats alone?

“I am more than happy to take her off your hands, if you’re a little gun shy.”

“Don’t be an asshole. You need to take care of the tables in your station before you end up in the weeds.” You never wanted to be in the weeds.

I then continued my discussion with Roger. We reached an agreement whereby I supplied his four line cooks with four ice cold cokes from a nearby vending machine and suddenly all my orders started receiving priority treatment. Graft will always be alive and well in the restaurant business.

As I returned to my station with my 2 piping hot dinners, I found that Rat had greatly understated the situation. Sitting at one of my tables was not a “smoking hot, little black dress” but a stunningly beautiful young lady in her late twenties. She had vibrant raven hair that flowed halfway down her back. Her eyes were a sparkling blue-green that held innocence and a bit of sadness. She was slim with ballerina like grace in her movements. She wore no jewelry, save a pair of gold studs in her ears. She wore a short yet elegant little black dress. 

I came over to introduce myself. When she looked up at me, I noticed  a striking simplicity to her face. So much so, my heart took one of those adrenaline jolts that never happen with me but just did. She didn’t wear much makeup. She had high cheekbones and that dark skin tone that tanned way before it ever burned. The skin looked soft and smooth but had a slight pinkness from her day in the sun. I was speechless, which was unusual for me. I talked to beautiful young ladies all day long on the beach. This lady was different.

I guess, I had been standing there for a while because she said, “I’m sorry, are you here to help me?” The words flowed from her in long velveteen ribbons as if from a cello.

“Yes, I’m sorry. My name is Zack and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes. I would like a glass of white wine, sauvignon blanc, if you have it, and my name is Kate”

“Nice to meet you, Kate. I’ll be right back.”

Queen Bee was our matre’d. He was tall but a bit heavyset. He was standing at the service bar as I approached to place my order. “I didn’t think you’d mind me sitting her at one of your tables. As skinny as she is, she isn’t going to eat much, so you’re not going to get a very big tip, but I'm thinking you won't mind that.” He snickered and left. He was sometimes amused by simple things.

I returned with her glass of sauvignon blanc. “Would you like me to tell you about tonight’s specials?”

“No. I kind of know what I want.” As she said this, she looked up at me and smiled. It was a smile that warmed my heart. “I’d like a half dozen of the oysters on the half-shell, with just sliced lemon, please. I don't need any of the other accoutrements, cocktail sauce or whatever.”

“Good choice. They are local “Lynnhavens”. They came in this morning.” I smiled. “You like raw oysters?”

She laughed. “Yes, I was raised in Northern Virginia. My father indoctrinated me, at an early age, to the pleasures of raw oysters, specifically Chesapeake Bay oysters. It’s like taking a crisp bite of the ocean with all the briny, minerally, sweetness that encompasses. I have been a fan since I was a little girl.”

”I see. And what would you like for your main course?” I was beginning to be a fan of this young lady.  

“All I really want is a piece of fresh fish. What would you suggest?”

“The flounder, it also came in this morning. The chef can do a classic sauté with lemon and butter. Perhaps with some fresh asparagus spears as a garnish.” This was basically a French Sole Meunière preparation, using flounder instead of sole. Some might find this unusual because our chef Roger was ex-Navy and Filipino. Anyone can learn to cook French as long as they have the desire. Roger was a damn good cook. 

“That sounds perfect.”

“Let me get that started for you.” As I turned away and headed to the kitchen, I shook my head. What was I missing? This lady was stunning and yet she is eating alone. From the pink tone of her skin, I could see she had spent most of the day on the beach. So, why hadn’t one of my fellow beach bums tried to pick her up? There are all sorts and ages of us on the beach. One of them should have struck her fancy and yet she sat here all alone.

I did my best to keep a conversation going with her, but we were reaching peak hour, seven to eight o’clock. Everyone wants to eat between seven and eight o'clock. I was expected to turn each of the "duces" at least three times, sometimes four, on a busy night. That’s at least 30 people. Well 29 tonight because of Queen Bee’s amusement.

I got in the “zone” where there was no wasted motion as I went about my duties. I was doing twenty things at once but appeared calm and collected. I spent extra time with her because she was dining alone. As I served her oysters and flounder, I found out she was a teacher, fifth grade, lived in an apartment complex in Arlington, was a terrible cook but could do the simple things, enjoyed museums and art galleries in D.C., the Hirshhorn in particular, and liked Beach Music, especially the Tams. She had gone to school at Duke, so she knew the “Carolina Bop” and her family had money. Duke is an expensive school.

While I was in the kitchen Rat came up to me and said, “You got her room key yet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s staying next door in the Hilton according to Queen Bee. That makes it pretty convenient for you.”

“People get fired for doing shit like that.” 

The “Kettle” was the restaurant for the Hilton. The restaurant property was owned by the Hilton but leased to an independent company. The “Kettle” did room service and breakfast for the Hilton and got the benefit of that tremendous view for dinner and of course the benefit of huge profits. Location, location, location. The Hilton and the Kettle didn’t want employees having any kind of relationship with any of the guests. There was a rule against that.

“That’s true but it has never stopped you before.”

“I know but I don’t think she’s interested in me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe she hasn’t warmed up to you yet. My offer still stands. If you want, I can take over at any time.” He kind of snickered when he said this, which pissed me off.

“Fuck you. Go take care of your hordes in the back.” His station tonight included one large window table and several large tables with children in an area we called “Siberia”. Children are not conducive to fine dining. I know the argument, “How are they supposed to learn?” That’s a valid point but oh, the learning process.

Kate had finished her dinner, passed on dessert and ended things with an espresso and a snifter of Grand Marnier. Nice. That’s how I like to end a meal.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. You can just bring me my bill.”

I returned in a few moments with her check in a leather cover. “It was a pleasure serving you. I hope you have a great rest of your night.”

“Can I charge this to my room?”

“Certainly.”

She signed the check, stood and started to walk away. I don’t think any man was ever disappointed in watching her walk away. She did have on a pair of enhancing black high heels. She stopped, turned and walked back to me. “Listen, I have a bottle of single malt scotch in my room. You look like a single malt kind of guy. Would you like to come by for a glass after you get off work?”

I was stunned for a second, but after a beat said, “Yes, I am and I would love to, but I have another idea. How about we immerse you in the total beach experience? Why don’t you put on something a little less formal and we can take a stroll down the boardwalk, admiring that beautiful ocean as we go. Down about 10 blocks, there’s a place, called “The Shack”. It is the perfect beach bar. I hang out there a bit. Well, that’s not true. I hang out there a lot. They only serve beer, the jukebox has a ton of Beach Music classics, and it has lots of interesting Beach people, not a lot of tourists. They don’t have a dance floor, but people have been known to dance anyway.”

“Is the beer ice cold?”

“As cold as my landlord’s heart.”

“That sounds perfect. I’m in room 321, but of course you already know that.” She pointed to the check in my hand, smiled, turned and walked away. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of watching her walking away, but that’s me.

It took me about 2 hours to finish up, change clothes and make it to her door. I was wearing jeans, a Shack t-shirt, and a pair of “Top Siders”, which was my usual late night drinking attire.

When she opened the door, I was dazzled. “You look fantastic,” I said. She stood there in a white linen sundress. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. The dress was bright white and fell gracefully in an A-line to just below the knee. It had a smocked bodice with a round crew neckline and short, slightly flared sleeves. On her feet were a pair of white Chuck Taylor hi-tops laced halfway up and tied in bows.

“Oh no. Is this too dressy? I didn’t bring a lot of clothes. I have a pair of jean, if…”

“No. You look absolutely perfect.” I didn’t know if I liked the “smoking hot, little black dress” with the heels or the “simple white sundress” with the Chuck Taylors more. They both looked great on her.  

We came out of the hotel and walked to the railing of the boardwalk. We stood there for a moment and looked at the ocean. It was a clear night with a quarter moon sitting on the waves.

“This is always a great view but I really love the sound,” she said. It’s soothing and magical at the same time.”

“Yes, It’s hard to believe anything bad could happen out here. Bad things do; they happen everywhere but it’s hard to imagine.”  

“Zack, there's something I need to talk to you about.”

Oh boy, here it comes. I knew it. Things were just too perfect.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I know you’re wondering why I was eating alone.”

“Well, yes. Knowing all the “whore dogs” on the beach and this beach in particular, including Matt the lifeguard on this stretch, I was wondering why you were dining alone. I know you had to be propositioned at least 10 or 20 times this afternoon. I’m sure you have your reasons and it’s not really any of my business. People always have reasons for what they do. I respect that.”

“Zack, I'm pretty and I know it. No brag, just fact. I have heard every line known to man. I was propositioned numerous times and some of them were very imaginative, but nothing I haven't heard before. I know these guys. They have been around me my whole life. They want one thing and when they get it, they drop me and are off to their next conquest. They don’t care about me or any woman. Therefore, I don’t listen to them. I shut them down the moment they start to speak. They eventually backed off. Matt was among them. When he realized where I was coming from, he discouraged the more persistent ones.”

“I can understand your feelings and your desire to be left alone, but a lot of ladies come to the beach in search of male companionship. They want some nice looking tanned guy to tell them lies. Hopefully beautiful and imaginative lies. They aren't really concerned with the truth. It's summer and this is the beach. They are nowhere near home, so they can break loose and do things they might not do at home. The really good “whore dogs” are successful in their campaigns 98% of the time. The ladies are successful 100% of the time. I’m not really sure who is taking advantage of whom.”

“Is that so. The "whore dogs" are at 98%? What's your success rate?”.

“Nowhere near that.”

“I find that hard to believe?’

“Why?”

“Tanned toned body, sun kissed hair, and drop dead blue eyes? What’s not to like.”

“You are way too kind. Most women don’t look at me that way. So my success rate is not very good.”

She shook her head and said, “The main reason I wasn’t interested in all those other “whore dogs” as you call them, is because I’m a single mom. I have a little girl. She’s 4. It’s just me and her.”

“Her father’s not involved?”

“No. He was my big mistake. He left a long time ago. I have no idea where he is and I don’t care. My parents help out with money, and they watch her some of the time. That’s where she is now. It gives me a break.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Why do you say that? You don’t anything about me.”

“That’s true but I’ve been hurt in the past. That has made me a pretty good judge of character. I see in your eyes that you too have been hurt. I also see you are a caring person. If this guy hurt you after you had his baby, he's an idiot.”

“He actually left before she was born." 

"Then he's an asshole as well as an idiot."

She nodded her head and said, "Can I ask one thing of you?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend or a husband. I don’t think you are looking for a girlfriend or a wife. Neither of us is ready for that. There’s too much out there we want to see. You know, the stuff around the bend out of sight. I like to travel. I’ve been to a few places. I want to go to more and I want to do that now, while I'm young.”

“I understand what you're saying. My dad was in the military. He's been to Asia - China, Japan, Korea, and almost all of the states. He did most of the exotic places before I was born. Growing up we never lived longer that 18 months in any place the first 15 years of my life. He's a stern and stubborn man. Things have always been, his way or the highway. We don't agree on much. I sometimes question if I am really his son. He did give me one thing. He indoctrinated me in the desire to see new and far away places.”

“So, we have something in common.”

“Yes, that and oysters... My buddy Rat and I are going to Vermont in November. We met a couple that run a surf shop here. They do that during the summer and then head north and run a ski shop at Mount Snow in the winter. They’ve been talking up Vermont so we’re going to give it a shot.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It does. We’ll probably hit some other spots. There’s a lot to see up north.”

“I don’t have very good luck with men. They lie to me and end up hurting me. Since neither one of us is looking for any kind of commitment, will you do me a favor and just be kind to me.”

“Be kind to you?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think I can do that? What if I’m like all the other guys. Aren’t we all pretty much alike.”

“No, I think you are different. Maybe it’s the magic in those blue eyes. Or maybe it's the magic in the wine I drank. It’s a feeling. With you I feel safe.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best to be kind to you.”

“I see no reason we can’t be kind to each other as we go through this, whatever this is. I have always thought that actions speak louder than words. Words can lie.”

“I agree. Now can we go get that “ice cold” beer. All this talk has made me very thirsty. I also want to see if you really know the “Carolina Bop”. One of the money men behind The Shack is Big George Lineberry. They say he was one of the inventors of the “Carolina Bop”." Most people don’t call it that. They call it the “Shag”, but it’s same dance.

“Lead me to the beer that's as cold as your landlord's heart... Just so you know, I realize this talk of feelings, and such probably has made you very nervous. I will tell you here and now that I will never fall in love with you, so you don’t have to worry.”

“You might not fall in love with me but you are making this very difficult for me not to fall in love with you. Just so you know, I have had a couple of young ladies in the past tell me that they won't fall in love with me. They ended up making that statement a lie. Fair warning, but it was only a couple.”

“You’re a funny man. How did you end up here in Virginia Beach…” We started our 10 block stroll up to “The Shack” and I told her an abbreviated story of my life. She did the same. We didn’t lie to each other. We didn’t want to.

When we arrived at “The Shack”, Mike, one of the owners was on the door with a couple of his large, ripped bouncers. Mike was pretty buff himself. They all worked out across the street at Wareing’s Gym. Because of the size of these guys, they never had any problems at "The Shack". When people drink there are sometimes problems. Mike was one of the nicest people I've ever met. He could talk to anyone. Everyone felt comfortable around him.

Kate had insisted on bringing her I.D. and some money. I told her that she wouldn't need either one. She didn't need her I.D. because she was with me. Mike and his bouncers never ID’ed me or my dates. Also, I had had a good night tip wise, of which she had been a generous part, so she wouldn’t need any money. She said nonsense. She would pay her fair share. I learned a long time ago to not argue with a determined woman.

As we walked in you knew this was a beach bar. I loved this place. It was aptly named “The Shack”. There were rough hewed wood panels on the walls and bare wood beams on the ceiling. On the left as you entered were two Rene Pierre Foosball tables. I had spent a lot of time and money learning the art of Foosball over the last 2 years. After the tables, a worn wooden bar extended all the way down the left hand side. It was always crowded with glasses, pitchers of beer and people. If by chance you lost track of which glass was your glass, the bar rule was, your glass was the fullest and coldest. 

On the right was a row of short church pew, 4-people booths with tables that had Tiffany lamp shade lights over them. Even with that, the whole place was still kind of dim, even in the daytime. 

When Mike and his partner Alfred were putting things together, they didn’t have a lot of money for decorations. They got their patrons to gather some “attic finds” and hang them on the walls. They were mostly old pictures and things related to the Virginia Beach of the past. There was a large (2’ x 3’) aerial photo of the beach circa 1950 something. I liked it the best. After the booths, there was a pool table, a jukebox and a no dance floor area where Kate and I managed to dance the Carolina Bop. She was good.

After the jukebox were the restrooms and a small kitchen. To sell beer, you had to sell food. The menu at The Shack was very limited. It consisted of a hamburger, a cheeseburger and a marinated skirt steak, all served with fries. Yes, red meat ruled. You could get a salad. It consisted of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and onion, all the garnishes they served on their burgers. Vinegar and oil was the only dressing. They had a Monday night special every week which was the marinated skirt steak with fries for $5. Rat and I were usually off on Mondays, so we were regulars for this deal.  

The Shack was always crowded with locals. There were lifeguards, off-duty waiters, waitresses, bartenders, cooks, surfers, shop owners, clerks, off-duty law student summer cops, rich people, poor people, and all in between. They all had different degrees of bronze skin, insatiable thirsts for ice cold beer at 25 cents a glass, and an appreciation for Beach Music. 

Mike’s girlfriend Judy was there too. She and another girl, both with Hawaiian Tropic Professional Tanning Oil tans, were paid to hand out free cigarettes on the beach. They walked up and down the beach giving away sample 4 - packs of cigarettes. Can you believe that? We were in Virginia, which is the real Marlboro Country. Richmond was the home of Phillip Morris. This was back in the day when smoking was an acceptable habit without any restrictions. As with all the beach bars, there was a constant haze of smoke lingering in the air of "The Shack". I was never a big smoker, but Rat took full advantage of Judy’s summer job. He smoked Marlboros and that was one of the brands she handed out. 

Kate and I sat in the back booth and talked. She was a thinker. I like women who think. At closing time, which was about 1 or 2, Mike’s crew brought out the ammonia. They wiped down everything with hot strongly infused ammonia water - tables, stools, bar, walls, floor, everything. A cloud of fumes started in the back and made its way toward the front door. It would take your breath away. It was a not too subtle way to tell you, “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here”. We left.

As we walked back to the boardwalk, we passed “Eden Alley” and I pointed to a second story window. “When I first moved here I lived up there in an apartment for a year.”

“I see why you became a Shack regular. It was right next door.”

“Yes, that may have been one of the reasons.”

When we got to the boardwalk, we leaned against the railing and looked out at a perfect scene, clear sky, soft rippling waves and that distinct ocean sound. It even had its own smell. We took off our shoes and walked down to the water’s edge. It felt great. We started walking on the hard pack back to the Hilton.

“Most people fall in love with the beach on sunny days or clear nights like this. I didn’t. When I first moved here, to that apartment, it was the end of winter. I came out here one rainy night. It was pouring and freezing cold…”

“Like your landlord’s heart?”

“Yes. I had on a sweater, a hooded jacket and a pair of boots but I got soaked and was cold to the bone. I headed south towards Rudee Inlet walking close to the water. I passed under all the piers and ended up at the inlet. I got up on the rocks. The ocean was raging, the wind was howling and the rain was coming down by bucketfuls.

I started walking back. I got about halfway and I realized I was no longer cold and miserable. I was warm and content. It was at that moment I realized I was in love with the beach and I was pretty sure the beach was in love with me. I know I will spend the rest of my life close to the water.”

“It’s nice to find something that makes you happy”, she said.

“Yes, it is.”

We walked the rest of the way to the Hilton in silence. She had her hand in mine. It didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt natural, the hand and the silence. When we reached the hotel, she turned to me and kissed me on the mouth. It was a soft yet warm kiss. Not saying a word, she took my hand and led me up to her room. That night we were kind to each other.

She came down 3 or 4 other times that summer. I made her stay with me. There was no sense paying those big bucks for a hotel when my apartment was 2 blocks from the beach and I had all the beach equipment you could possible need - chairs, floats, towels, the works. When she came down in August, she asked if she could bring Sophia, her daughter. I thought that was a big step for her. I said, of course. Sophia was great and we had a good time. I was up in D.C. in September, and I spent the night with her.

Rat and I left for Vermont in mid-November. We had a lot of adventures up north. Kate and I lost touch. I didn’t come back to Virginia Beach that summer. I worked at a small inn outside New Hope, Pennsylvania. The owners had an apartment in Manhattan, so I got to explore the city. I returned to Vermont that winter and worked at a small inn there. 

It was a year before I got close to D.C. again. I called Kate’s number, but it had been disconnected. She and Sophia had moved on. I'm glad I knew her. She answered the Alfie question, "Are we meant to take more than we give, or are we meant to be kind?". We are meant to be kind.

That time in September, when I was at her apartment in Arlington, after Sophia had gone to bed, we were dancing the Carolina Bop in the kitchen. The song was “Far Away Places” by the Embers. I looked at Kate and there were tears slowly flowing down her cheeks. I stopped dancing and said, “Why are you crying?”

She grabbed my hand and said, “Don’t be silly. I’m just happy”.

I don’t think I will ever understand women. Maybe I don't have to. I have learned a lot from each of the ones I have known.

"Where's the cat?"

"I don't know."