Sallow scoops sashayed themselves onto the mellow mountaintops of a waffle cone. Creamy droplets of gelid relics slid so soothingly down the hand that held it. Ice cream-what a delectable topic about which to piece words together . . . Frozen treats of any savory flavor, clue-hewn hue, and lackadaisical stack . . . What seems so special about this spectacle, you ask? . . . The mystery of how ice cream came about is not a rather prosaic story as some may regard it, but the history unfolds-in point of fact-as marvel.
So, it all started one day-one rainy day, really-when a boy lost all sense of creativity in the turbulent tempest called boredom. Yes, it transpired on that day when the storm shook his corner of the world-when he became a sojourner along the road of unearthing a certain something that would forever be the cartographer to draw the course of the future.
Our character, Jim-by this name he came to be known-, peered out the trickling trinket of a window to spot something rather unusual . . . This uncommon occurrence replied to Jim’s wondering mind in such a way that it unhinged his now agape mouth, leaving him staring into the outer world of white.
Snow peppered the ground.
Seeing as this was not a very small matter, he took into his confidence curiosity, which wound its way into the kitchen for a metal bowl and a cool, copper spoon. Upon donning the apparel he thought necessary-shorts and tennis shoes-he gathered his tools and wrapped his expectant fingers around the knob of the quivering door. And, with a deep breath, he respired as his eyes closed, the door opening-the wind beckoning. His eyes shut and the door slammed in shock, far too quickly for Jim to take a peak at the arctic ocean into which he would traverse. It felt freezing, cool streamers of gelid frost creeping into his skin, quivering into his nerves and making them wish for feeling. He peeled his rimy eyes from their fixity as he panned his sights around the room . . . There sat nothing warm to aid him in his conquest, but that wouldn’t stop him from discovering!
Upon wrenching his shivering fingers from the clasp of the icy bowl, he persuaded his white hand to stretch itself, ringing its apprehensive shudders against that doorknob again. The door opened. The white inundated. The boy shivered.
So, our little sojourner met this outside world with nose red, eyes glazed, smile blazed, and heart opened as he caught the splits of frozen water that rained from the black ocean of a sky. The gelid breeze threw its frolicking fingers through Jim’s hair, sweeping against his frame as if to hamper his efforts, but knowing Jim, he wasn’t about to give up the fight.
After a while, the sallow pieces of colorless flakes swiftly dropped themselves into Jim’s bowl in a soft, blanket of a pile. Jim, upon seeing his spoon buried and his nerves frozen solid, peered up into the sky.
He thought for a moment . . . At first glance, nothing seemed to yield anything less than a staring sensation of stillness, but after a moment or two, he grasped the spoon, winding his tongue around the white treat that drooled watery remains onto his taste buds. It needed something, a little spicing up . . . Maybe a little bit of sweet stuff, milk possibly, and even strawberries . . . A brilliant idea struck him . . . Hmm . . . But, it needed a name.
Ice cream! That’s it . . . that’s what it’s called.
And that, my friend, is how a very ordinary boy by the name of Jim created the first batch of not-so-dull ice cream with a few strawberries, a sprinkle of icy flakes, and a little ingenuity.