Forgotten Fruits

It’s like prison. They insist on eating 3-squares every day. If they miss a meal, it’s a civil rights abuse. So to keep child protective services away, I need to go to the grocery store.

B-K (not burger king, but before kids), we could go to the grocery store every three-four weeks. Once the kids came along, I got a frequent flier card to the Giant and Safeway–2-3 times a week is now the norm. (Living in the city makes the Cotsco and Shoppers’ way too inconvenient.)

So I am at the Giant, and they have Breyers’ ice cream on sale. Including my mostest ever favoritest flavor, Peach Ice cream. But I can’t eat 1/2 gallon of it. Damn! That’s too much of a great thing–my lust for which I blame le Dog.

Yup, when I used to work at the overpriced arcade in Ann Arbor, barely down the block, on Liberty Street was le Dog. A shack that sold hot dogs, and incredibly sophisticated soups and a shake of the day.

Some weeks, he would serve the most amazing peach shake ever. I didn’t want to have one. I like chocolate shakes. And I don’t like peaches. But he convinced me to try one and it was the best. I was broke, and couldn’t afford gourmet shakes, but Mr. le Dog liked to play video games so I could trade game tokens for the most incredible peach milk shakes. Ever.

This was the beginnings of the trail that led to the frusen gladje strawberry ice cream. And my love of Gifford‘s banana ice cream.

I usually buy variants of vanilla or chocolate with junk in it. But the fruit ice cream is really where it’s at. Like that peaches and cream pint that I just put away that took me back across the street from the Michigan Theatre on Liberty Street.

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