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ice cream, self-flagellation

This ice cream is so good, it is making me rethink my life.

Ever since I ate it this afternoon, I have been wondering why on earth I left San Francisco.

Chickenland may be closer to wine country and my job. And it has a nice farmers market and a good yoga studio. And I live down the street from the track and a short run away from the trails. But all of this seems really trivial.

What matters in this moment is that there is no Humphry Slocombe here.

Now that I have tried the famed Secret Breakfast -- bourbon ice cream with cornflakes -- I will never be the same. And you would be forever changed, too, after eating this rich, milky vanilla with a hint of bourbon on the finish and cornflakes that somehow stay magically crunchy. It's the stuff of fairy tales.

Also good: The Thai Chili Lime sorbet (which tastes exactly how it sounds -- savory and tart all at once, with a bit of a kick to it, yet still ultimately refreshing) and the Vietnamese Coffee made with Blue Bottle coffee (this is what Coffee Ice Cream Heaven is like -- nothing I've ever had before comes near it, not even Mashti Malone's Turkish Coffee).

Now excuse me while I sit in the corner and wallow in regret.

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