Great gelato is harder to find than an oenophile with a healthy liver, or a gambler with a solvent bank account.
Finding mediocre gelato is easy. It’s everywhere you see the word “gelato.” It’s in malls, it’s in shopping centers, it’s in restaurants. Gelato is everywhere these days, and everywhere you see gelato you can bet dollars to doughnuts it came from a box, a mix, or a factory.
How can you spot industrial gelato? Easy. Just look for wild and exotic flavoring gee gaws:
….and/or swirling syrups:
“Coming soon” is just what Asian food aficionados and Riesling rangers have been wanting to hear about Chada Street, Bank Atcharawan’s new street eats and fine wine emporium on Spring Mountain Road; it is not, however, something you want to blurt out loud once you’re inside the place.
All things exquisite* are disgusting when you first try them. – ELV
We’ve all been there. You’re at lunch with a group of colleagues, or invite someone into your home for a bite. Everyone’s salivating over the menu or parsing the finer points of your ouefs Escoffier fourée a la Parmigiana when someone (usually a guy) says something like “I don’t eat seafood,” or starts sniffing some unfamiliar dish as if it was designed to kill him. When this happens ladies and gentlemen, you have run smack dab into the “Yummy Phase,” and the socially stunted palate pygmies who are consumed by their childish food fears and infantile eating obsessions.
Adam Carrolla — a comedian possessing a keen eye for social absurdities and truckloads of common sense — rightly explains this retarded reversion (to insisting upon foods that appealed to you when you were ten years old) to a sense of entitlement on par with sitting in a high chair and wailing about wanting more ice cream.