Imagine juxtaposing mystical, comical and aspirin-inducing memories of science laboratories, with my delectable addiction to ice cream. Akin to a wonderland, of sorts.
We made the right, paradoxical choice on a sunny San Francisco weekend when we ventured into a quirky ‘out there’ bar on a surprisingly residential district of the happening city. The Ice Cream Bar is a full service 1930s style soda fountain, a concept I’ve salivated over in Philadelphia before. This one, however, serves alcoholic classics, amplifying the California quotient of all things quirky, thanks to pastry chef Lori Rich. With everything made in house, from the cookies to the candies to the mix-ins and the array of essences and bitters that made this look more like a witch’s enchanting brewery, I was thrilled to dabble in my favorite of all desserts.
The fun was really about observing the candid ambiance of this whimsical place, right from ancient looking vials names ‘acid phosphate’, to hand written scripts on others with ‘rhubarb root’, ‘five spice’, ‘wild curry’ and other infusions that could really put modern gastronomy to shame.
The two floats ordered commenced with a classic chocolate one, aiming to satisfy the dessert craving that was dedicated to the devotion of chocolate. It was Guinness with caramelized honey ice cream, Valrhona chocolate syrup, a float of Graham’s 10 year old tawny port, all served tall in a vial that could almost resemble a childhood sundae. Chocolatey beyond divinity, I could taste the liquor far more prominently than the honey, making it render an immediate buzz while hypnotizing the tongue with saccharine sweetness.
The second was a seasonal fruit sorbet with green tea infusions and Napa Brut prestige sparkling wine. While on the lighter side, it reminded me of island adventures and more tranquil afternoons where the bubbles in the drink were reminiscent of the dreams in the sky.
And so, buzzed on ice cream, we frolicked through the topsy turvy architecture of this enchanting city, perfectly tipsy in broad daylight. I was of course sporting my favorite leopard print by Topman and Armani eyewear, coated in a studded jacket by McQueen courtesy of San Francisco‘s eternally spring weather.
For as they say, don’t grow up, it’s a trap!