Häagen Dazzled

There was a time in my life when I worked at Baskin Robbins. I learned the difference between sorbet and sherbet, that a tub of rum raisin cost the franchise owner more than a tub of mint chocolate chip, and how to make cool ass ice cream cakes adorned with ballet slippers, smiling kitties and soccer fields. It was during this tenure as the scooping queen when intense sensations of nausea would pass through my body whenever I'd catch a whiff of ice cream. C'est vrai, mes amis: ice cream has a unique scent.

Ironically, during these late years in high school, my body became lactose intolerant. I was devastated. Truth be told, that may have had something to do with my aversion to ice cream. Alas, it has been over a decade since I first donned a Baskin Robbins apron over my baby pink collared cotton polo shirt and, as they say, everything healed in time. I can now enjoy ice cream whenever and wherever. I still get a little of the uh-oh-someone-get-me-a-bag-quick feeling whenever I get a whiff of any of the heavenly 99 flavors, but that feeling disappears in a hurry once I have a spoon in my right hand and a cup of ice cream in my left.

Yesterday, I discovered Häagen-Dazs' pistachio ice cream. It doesn't have the green dye or artificial pistachio flavor so common of other ice cream brands. It's delish. Is it so bad that I picked up a second pint tonight?