The customer asks for a sample, the patient server hands over a dollop of frozen dairy on the end of a stick, and the customer smacks their lips once, twice, three times then emits a vague sound of approval from Bananarama-stained lips. The ice-cream server doesn’t know where to look, or what expression to wear, as the customer gums at the glob of gelato. The customer asks for a taste of the vanilla. Then the chocolate.
This excruciating exchange happens daily in ice-cream shops and gelaterias across the world. Why many ice-cream customers – or as I call them, ice-cream cowards – feel entitled to samples before committing to a flavour, I do not know.
Bigger, more consequential life decisions are made without a road test: marriage, babies, funeral caskets. It is wrong that I inspect an apartment for five minutes before the auction and subsequently sign over my life to a major bank while spineless sorbet samplers spend the same amount of time trying before buying a $6 scoop.
What is the worst-case scenario if the Mango Tango is not as mango-y as promised, or the Rumball in the Jungle is boozier than you would have liked? Ice-cream is an ephemeral thing, a frozen confection that in a few minutes will become only a sweet memory. We start dying the moment we are born, and ice-cream starts melting the moment it is scooped.
Sample abusers will get their just desserts. But for those seeking redemption, will it be cup, cone or courage? For once in your life don’t be a coward, and pick a flavour without the preview. Be brave. Take a risk. Live, laugh, lick.
