An Ice-Cream Burn!

"So... What is the symbolism behind liking vanilla ice-cream?" I ask in mock seriousness, trying to use my most curious face.

At first he looks at me as if I just came from another planet, but at some point it eventually occurs to him that I am trying to set off some sort of pseudo-scientific conversation. Slowly his rather tense lips break into a knowing grin, and he takes up his menu, examining it with intense concentration written on his face. He mutters a few things under his breath, and feigns mental calculations.

"Well, according to my evidence, choosing vanilla as one's favorite flavour has many implications of varying importance. First of all, vanilla shows simplicity. Perhaps a bold, honest character; a man that does not use manipulation and deceit as his weapons of choice. Vanilla is white, like innocence. Like virginity. It could also signify the desire to recapture one's lost childhood and purity, the need to rid themselves of the burdens of adulthood. Vanilla is fairly asexual. It has a mild, soft flavour; it holds no secrets, no dangers, no desires. It is also mostly feminine in it's nature: soft, sugary, domesticated. It represents the values of devotion, simplicity and incorruptibility. It is a virtuous flavour." He analyses, and I am shocked at how smoothly and naturally he utters the most amazing non-sense.

I also note that he still is very much a child at times, for he is actually eager to play with me. Only the games he likes are of an entirely different kind. This kind.

"I fully agree with you. And I would also like to state that vanilla is the nemesis of chocolate. Chocolate is the face of temptation, or sin. Its deep, bittersweet flavour is meant to evoke excess and the loss of innocence. Chocolate is easy to love, because it provides easy, ready pleasure; it is thus very popular with the plebeian masses. It is also a symbol of the complexity of human relationships, for it initially woos you with its intoxicating aroma, offering you endless sweetness, only to leave a strange, bitter taste in the back of your mouth. I might also go as far as saying that chocolate represents the devil, coming to us in the form of temptation, of guilty pleasure, ready to addict us to his charms" I reply, and I am fairly proud of myself.

I did not know that I had it in me, improvising so skilfully. He is trying hard to hold back his laughter.

"Then there is straciatella, isn't there? Straciatella is a strange hybrid, a ying and yang state of being. Straciatella is innocence soiled by sin. It is love polluted with hatred. It is feminity and masculinity together. The straciatella individual is the multi-faceted, the owner of the many masks. He is the owner of a wide spectrum of characteristics, ranging from virtues to vices. He is neither divine nor demonic. He is human nature itself, he is inner conflict and contradiction. Straciatella is mankind. Straciatella is us." he observes, his tone considerably grave, and now it's my turn to grit my teeth in an effort to avoid roaring out in laughter.

What a charismatic, fiendish man; he makes the most unbelievable garbage sound like mystical facts and spiritual truths. It's kind of scary, actually, I note to myself; this man could lead armies.

"Much can be said about lemon ice-cream. Lemon is stingy, it's sharp. Its colour is yellow, a colour related to the sun, to summertime and warmth. And indeed it displays both the fresh, carefree aspect of summer, and its other, more destructive facet. For lemon is not simply a friendly, warm flavour; it holds a hidden edge, the inherently sour nature of the citrus. Just like the summer holds a silent threat, it burns the vegetation and wears out the human body. The lemon person is warm, friendly, but deep inside his core a small destructive urge resides.

Beware of the citrus man." I throw back, and in all honesty, I can barely believe I am making all this up on the spot.

He is actually chuckling by now, perhaps at the low, warning tone of my lasts sentences.

"Coffee ice-cream has a very precise, narrow audience. Coffe ice-cream is the flavour of maturity. It holds the bitter, disillusioned nature of the coffee bean, and is a symbol of crushed dreams, of routine, of the difficulties of life. But coffee has a different side, too. With coffee comes the refined aroma of wisdom, experience and knowledge. It represents a coming of age, a rite of passage. The coffee individual is the disenchanted one; he is no longer a child, he has left behind his vanilla days. Coffee is he who has accepted the nature of our lives, who can find joy in bitter repetition, who no longer holds on to naive dreams. Coffee is the hardened man." He concludes dramatically, and that's the last I can possibly take while keeping a straight face. I throw my head back in a fit of roaring laughter.

"You lose." He states, grinning widely and holding back his own obvious urge to laugh.
I shake my head, and pick up my menu once more.

"I never said the objective was to avoid laughing out loud." I observe and offer him a smug smile, and I can feel him biting his tongue to hold back some nasty comment.

Even though our table is fairly isolated, there are quite a few people watching us, and they are fidgeting rather uncomfortably at our display of enjoyment.

The British are rather stuck up, I guess.

I look through the flavours once more.

"After careful consideration, I will have two balls of pure, corruptive chocolate." I whisper.

As I look up, he is trying to immitate the expression of a virtuous woman who's morals have just been gravely insulted and then he makes his choice.

"I'll have a ball of vanilla and a ball of coffee." He concludes after a short moment of thought, and he closes his menu, and gives our requests to a passing waiter.

"You can't do that." I state. "Vanilla and coffee are incompatible. They represent entirely different stages of one's personal evolution." I explain then in mock exasperation.

He smiles widely and leans in towards me, as if to confess some sort of horrible secret.

"Well that suits me. I am fairy incompatible with myself. If you leave the two of us alone, it always ends up in tears." He confides, pursing his lips and shaking his head in regret.

I stare at him incredulously...

Then the waiter comes and we eat some ice-cream.