It is the last day of summer and I would like to take a moment to celebrate the goddamn ice cream sandwich.
It … it is a perfect dessert.
On the surface, it seems kinda dumb, right? The cookie is a poor excuse for a wafer, much less a cookie, and the ice cream is best for describing a watered-down way of playing defense.
But holy hell if the combination of the two isn’t the damn definition of “better than the sum of their parts”.
And you notice more when there’s less to notice.
The silent thp from the first bite when the cookies are fresh and crisp. The almost-fuzzy remnants on your thumbs when you’re done and it isn’t. The wax-paper wrapper and that everyone knows exactly what that is when you hand them one. The way on a July day that the ice cream squishes out the side and drips on your towel. The understanding that no, this isn’t traditionally a breakfast food, but fk it that is exactly what is about to happen.
The ice cream sammie is a portable piece of summer. Until next year, friend-o.
[Ed. note: /until next Tuesday, because who are we kidding here.]
[Ed. note 2: And get out of here, neapolitan. You can come on back in when you can commit to something.]