Creamed Ice

Winter, Autumn, somewhere in between. 5pm, sun falling down, residing onto the side of the apartment block for a few seconds, slashing a glare across Han River........

Give me strength. Thriving, and living with an abundance of comfort-ness, in this country is easy. However, I have come across a new, impossibly difficult, and daily challenging, ‘decision making moment’. You may remember that my last, blogged, tough decision making dilemma was ‘what to listen to on my way to work’, well my new dilemma is, Ice-Creams! Which one shall I eat today??

The choice is extraordinary. The options that I have delved into, to date, our nothing short of delicious. So delicious, that, about 9/10 times I end up eating two.

I might research into the exact number of varieties they have here, in Korea. In England, I can remember it being a straight choice between a Cornetto, Magnum, Solero, Feast and Callipo (and mini-milk). That was hard enough. I could roll off a list of about 15 I’ve already tried and would consider as a premium taste of ice-cream. The ice cream freezer at my local convenient store is (inconveniently) large enough to house a small Asian family and their pet dog (depending on breed). I’ve stood at the summit of the menu-less freezer for about 10 minutes before, going through the motions of taste and after taste satisfaction, before finally, comfortably, relying on one of my top three choices, most of the time. The decision irritates me so much at times, that I end up purchasing 3/4 different options, taking them home, placing them in the freezer, relaxing, contemplating, deliberating, assessing and then plunging in with the instinct of my head, or heart.

To cement this, new, phenomenon in my life, the price is no more, and sometimes less, then 25p, a pop. Just today, I bought my entire class an ice cream, total price was about £1.75. That’s one Deluxe Magnum in some corner shops in London.

Something, within this state of ice cream satisfaction, does baffle me. One of my favourite choices of creamed ice is in the shape of a fish (fin, scales and pout included). I do eat some of the seas little swimmers, but in general I would declare myself as an extreme part time eater of fish. The process of fish, from the sea, to the rod, to the fish boat, to the port, sea-weed cleaning, sea-dirt removing, head chopping, eye-popping, gutting, hand slipping etc, disgusts me. Fish smell foul when fresh, fish stink when being cooked, fish, most of the time repulse me. My stomach has turned over, flipped, twisted, stretched and cleared out countless times just at the smell of most fish. (n.b. I love you Tuna)

My old house, the rather sexy offictel across the road from my, new, old school humble abode, was pivotal to a number of shops. One of the shops was a fish restaurant. Not a huge problem, but my walk, from the bus stop to the front door was a wind tunnel. At the end of the wind tunnel stood the fish restaurant. Every minute of every hour, of every day I would be walking home to the repulsive intake of smouldering fish eyes, and brains.

With all this taken into the equation, you would have thought I would pass on the fish shaped ice-cream. I tried to, but it’s far too delicious and scrumptious to ignore. The ice cream in question is a sandwich style ice cream. A sensationally soft outer curtain, that once opened exhibits a succulently mouth watering filling of vanilla ice cream and then a generous layer of sweet red bean paste. If served at the right temperature you can safely melt away from lives worries and stresses, and seduce yourself into ice cream heaven.

It was 430am, I set my alarm to watch the Carling Cup tie between Spurs vs. Liverpool (COYS). Mid way through the first half (0-0), hunger struck me hard. As it was an unsociable hour, and I was unsociably attired, I thought thrice about heading out to the store. I did, however, venture into my kitchen and started a very brief exploration of my cupboards. I stalled upon the freezer. My fishy friend was there. I’m, confidently, sure that this was the sole inspiration for Tottenham’s goal fest towards the end of the second half (half-time 3-0).

Happy Days!