Normally I’m a chocolate, caramel or peanut butter kind of girl. In the summer, like many other people, I crave cool and refreshing foods. Lime popsicles, vanilla ice cream or frozen yogurt, watermelon and well, fruit of any kind, really. In my crazy compartmentalized brain, ice cream is solely reserved for consumption AFTER dinner. UNLESS, the ice cream is purchased at an ice cream establishment. Cold Stone Creamery at 2pm is perfectly acceptable; an afternoon Blizzard from Dairy Queen is not only allowed, but highly encouraged, as well.
What about ice cream from a carton in my freezer? Nope. Negatory. Not permissible.
After dinner only.
With a few exceptions, that is.
I find that it’s best to be *somewhat* flexible where ice cream is concerned. Too many restrictions can be detrimental to the idea of eating intuitively. So, if my body is calling for ice cream, far be it from me to deny it. That would be wrong; and I don’t like to be wrong.
Today, an exception was made to my ice cream rule and I’d like to place all the blame on the Pioneer Woman. It’s all her fault. After eyeing her blackberries and sweet cream recipe, I had nothing (NOTHING!) but berries and cream (ice cream, in my case) on the brain.
So, thanks PW. I salute you.
What a mighty fine afternoon pick-me-up, it was.
Is a bowl of ice cream in the afternoon more redemptive if it’s red, white and blue?
Patriotism must count for something?
And, what if you eat your patriotic ice cream from a Noah’s Ark bowl? A Biblical shout out deserves some sort of pass, right?
God Bless America.