While several of my colleagues here at the Kitchn have been escaping to Provence or Alaska (in their minds, at least), fueled by food memories, I've been sitting on my couch with a spoon in my hand and a container of ice cream in my lap. Sometimes it's before noon. No bowl, no serving size, no time limit.
I admire people who ration ice cream into ramekins. It's just adorable, how they put appropriately size portions into small bowls and manage to keep a half-gallon container of ice cream around for more than a week. Mine usually last three to four days. A pint? A pint is a single-evening activity (if my husband helps, although I'll admit I'm fully capable of cleaning one out on my own).
When I was in college, I'd eat ice cream for dinner. I know, I know, cue the finger wagging now. I'm much more mature these days. I eat balanced meals most of the time. But scooping ice cream into a bowl has never become part of the routine.
I like the feeling of the carton in my lap. I like skimming around the edges to get rid of the softest parts, then evening out the middle. I like trying to figure out how many servings I've had ("If there are 16 in the carton, and each spoonful looks like a tablespoon, and I've been eating for 20 minutes...") and then giving up.
This is freedom, I think. Freedom to keep going, even when I know that if I stop, there will be enough for tomorrow night. Freedom to pour some chocolate sauce directly IN to the carton (why dirty up dishes?). Freedom to eat it in bed.
Of course, it's even better when the ice cream is homemade, like the one above. That's chocolate with peanut butter swirled in, and the best part is there's no label telling me how many calories are in it. I just finished off the last bit. And you know what? I only have to wash one container.
Related: Recipe: The Best Chocolate Ice Cream
(Image: Elizabeth Passarella)