Rum Raisin

Consuming (note: not eating) Rum Raisin is like lying underneath a web of freeway bridges with your eyes closed, blocking out all visuals except the brief daggers of light that flicker with each passing car. There is a sense of probable dread-- metal, wooden or cigarette debris from the vehicles could dislodge from the car-worlds they so normally inhabit and injure you-- but also one of hypnotized calm, thanks to the amplified hum of Michelin and Goodyear against greased, heated concrete. Rum Raisin seemingly replicates this experience with massive, body-vibrating drones of rum and cream punctuated by abrupt, skreeing hits of semi-hard raisins, abrasive yet not unwanted. These improvised experiences explore the gray area between tranquility and disarray, and they can draw your imagination into a wilderness it will refuse to leave, even when your nerves are shot to hell by so many conflicting emotions.

The experience ranges from the hallucinatory drone of a dark yet unavoidable dream, to the sublime of the modern machinations. As Radiohead claims:

"In the neon sign,
Scrolling up and down,
I am born again."

So too, is it to be born again through Rum Raisin. It's not unwanted or unpleasant, but in no sense is it familiar to us. It takes one from a state of comfort in being to a state of awareness, for better or worse.
It allows us to disrupt that peace with emotionally perplexed flavors and multilayer textures that seem to be stranded in the middle of the sea.

However, in no way does Rum Raisin release that tension. Consuming it concocts a ringing and crescendo-rising drone from flavor to flavor, the bittersweetness of the approved-alcohol and a sense of creaminess that mirrors a resemblance of  a field recording in an industrial neighborhood slowly melting in a thermonuclear firestorm. The consumption lends itself to a manner of being that can be seen in a droning and meditative light. As the consumer attacks the product, it  brilliantly unleashes fragmented tastes, rum-soaked raisins that skitter between appealing and abrasive, almost in the sense of television channels; while they soak the walls of the mind with a soft, greenhouse din created from nothing more than feedback. It uncannily recreates a pseudo-sweatshop atmosphere which mimics a dozen machines' tick-tacking needles jammed with ripped dreams and sunray dust. And then there's the entire effect, which is like dancing in the rainwashed streets bleeding pure psychedelic.

Folks who consider these variations on ice cream to be monotonous or in some manner bastardized should obviously keep their distance from the flavor. It doesn't require any postmodern conceptual disclaimer that must be read to understand this though-- it is to be felt. Whatever your tastes may be, please consider this flavor as existing the style of an almost-mondrian, a Manet (not Monet) impersonator. It pans away the linear drone of air conditioners and moving vehicles, looking for something more in the meaning of the dark movements of the world, it introspects, and wants to understand.

So alien.

Coffee

Nudged comfortably between Vanilla and Chocolate is arguably the most polarizing ice cream in the post cold-war West: Coffee. I don't want to launch a considered historical treatise on the subject, but I will say that, despite its scary rep for some, there's as much a variance in flavor, texture, even impact-- I've experienced more than one tasting wherein my reaction was almost completely different than my mate's-- as you'd find in any other kind of ice cream. The problem isn't that there's not enough taste to keep my tongue busy; it's that my tongue is generally accustomed to a much more rigid flow of flavors. Flavors like the Mint leave few breadcrumbs or signposts for me, so if I am to consider this flavor a "journey", it's inevitably going to be closer to metaphysical than linear. And, as any member of the real world will tell you, metaphysical ice cream journeys aren't often on the daily agenda.

None of that is to say I haven't gotten lost on a few and lived to tell about it. When I was younger, I figured people ate this stuff because 1) they were crusty academics and/or food snobs; 2) they were super-geniuses who I should fear; or 3) they were strange homeless bohemians. Having seen many lights since then, I've realized that this flavor isn't terribly different than other flavors I eat, except that I sometimes have to guide myself (rather than let the taste/feel /consistency do it for me).

Coffee, an esoteric visit from a quintet of tastes featuring ingredients from all over the Midwest and East Coast, holds a decidedly unique taste from each creator, and is only too eager to lead me into mysterious regions. The contrast between the coffee flavors and the smoothness of the cream offset by the richness of the milk and sugars ebb, flow, rattle and hum their ways through extended expositions on apparently poetic themes. The flavor's taste is sparse considering the amount of ingredients available at their disposal; to their credit, very few toes are stepped on here, as the makers clearly possess an ineffable will to surmount the norm. Often, if two or three ingredients are sounding at once, another will drop out, or play a supportive role; effectively, this lends no small amount of shape to a flavor that would be formless by definition.

Coffee opens with harsh roasted overtones, quickly followed by smooth cream; creating a taste reminiscent of a chilled latte, feeling like rusted metal, but soon enough turning to agitated clawing and swooping. The opening flavors become an overture, incorporating taste-informed lines and eventually stating a minimal aesthetic, at which point the color and consistency join the fray. The base ice cream composition takes the high, ethereal road while the choice coffee baritone opts for more punchy terrain. This kind of everyone-in-their-place, spatial interplay is typical for the flavor in better incarnations, and may be good news for anyone expecting hardcore traditionalism.

This flavor is strictly abstract (probably closest to European free improvisers like Landliebe, or even Talenti without the overt humor), which places them firmly outside the trumpeted, oddly populist downtown NYC improv clique, but is always engaging despite it’s will to pander to irony. I'm tempted to say the flavor would be a good starting place for newcomers to ice cream because of its relatively restrained mood, but I don't want to imply that this is a gentle breeze. It's an interesting taste, and will succeed if it is one by a creator who should be on the radar for anyone interested in these kinds of journeys.

Bubblegum

Bubblegum, as it's name suggests and entails, is all about superficiality. But while your eyes glaze over as you read this text, ready to abandon thoughts of pursuing such a flavor, you must realize that it's superficiality is not derived from vanity. Quite the opposite. The whole concept of bubblegum is to sardonically remark upon the effervescent and non-fluid nature that culture derives. Bubblegum is the taste of an existential crisis... a pure and heartfelt reflection upon the willingness for a 'complex' ice cream, something society as a whole yearns for, begging beneath the stars for some grand allusion to the core ideas of existence. Alas, such begging is fruitless and foolhardy, and entails a deeper disillusion.

What distinguishes bubblegum from the rest of it's modern peers is a sense of craft located in the sweet spot between willful amateurism masking incompetence and not gumming things up with bells and whistles. It's immediate and substantial, but initially, it can seem distracting that the flavor is built more for sweetness than complexity. Yet this isn't a concept that needs anchors-- as much as the sweetness allows the flavor to play counterpoint to modern concepts of ice cream, it's held back by this goal as well. Overall, the gist of the flavor is appropriately unaffected, working in tastes that almost feel like 45-degree angles-- exact, acute, and just right. Because this style of taste doesn't attempt to align itself with any others it creates a new vista, taking an already strong slant to a higher plateau.

But as with any conceptual idealism towards adroitness, one wonders if the idealism outweighs the actual material, or if they are equal. Take, for instance, Duchamp's Fountain. The same ideas are in play here, is the fact that the ice cream itself is a overly sweet and trite mess antecedent to the transcendental metaphor of society being as trite as the flavor aims to convey? Or worse, would it be accepted not as a metaphor or statement but the ideal in and unto itself?

As I sit here, fingers softly brushing across the keys, I stare out my window, rain softly glazing the ground as a fresh steam awakens from a cold and dead earth. It is the same with Bubblegum, it is not a creation, but a byproduct of hubris unknown. The rain is picking up as I sip my tea with honey, feeling safe inside my home. If you close your eyes, the storm can carry you with it, and make you realize how truly you are nothing compared to it. But the truth of the matter is that the storm will pass, and you will remain... but the same you does not remain, you are forever marked with the change brought by the sweeping of the dark storm across the brittle and uncaring sky. I watch the pine trees darken with the sky. I realize this: that bubblegum is the storm, it changes you, makes you realize what ice cream truly means... but can be so easily ignored as many would choose. However, there will always be those who understand what storms and bubblegum truly are, and this ineffable truth cannot be corrupted.

Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream

A complete contrast to the trite degredation of popular society that conists of all things that vanilla aspires to become, Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream (hereto referred to as Homemade) distinguishes itself from its contemporaries in that by attempting to go back to its roots, it makes a transcendent journey which truly encompasses the ideas that Vanilla so forlornly attempts, and makes good on their promises. Hailing generally from a similar region as that of Strawberry, Homemade is a fighter, taking its own title of Vanilla and changing what that truly means. When you taste it, you truly believe it was made in a home, and hell, it may have even been made in your home. It reminds me of my harsh years of growing up in the suburbs of Massachusetts, only going to Europe every two years, tormented by my contemporary high schoolers. However, that is far in the past, I (as you know) am making my way between the states and her more melodious counterpart, Europa, quite frequently now. But still, this ice cream, this beautiful ode to all ice cream, Homemade, truly reminds me of a dejected youth, and his violet subjugation of the societal system by way of using common social norms to destroy the boundaries of what is and is not Vanilla.

Thinking of what truly ice cream means to the world, it does sadden me that not all ice creams can be seen through this veil of rebellion, and thus I must reluctantly return to why Homemade is different from Vanilla at all. If both are indeed to be considered Vanilla, why is Homemade such a hallmark and important work, whereas Vanilla is so entry-level and bland? Is it the rebel spirit that construes the true nature and essence of Homemade, making it what it is? If so, it seems that rebellion is a quality to be sought and cherished.

One significant difference between Homemade and Vanilla is that the latter, especially early in its career, was willing to please palettes that would even listen to the radio. For better or worse, Homemade is not intended to be a popular flavor-- that's just not what it does. So I don't want to overstate this flavor's accessibility. A few samplings here, especially longer ones like combining it with organic self-roasted fair-trade Columbian espresso and other such tastes, approach the winding density that marked the death of Vanilla. On these, the structure of the components is elusive-- at any given moment you're not sure if you're tasting the ice cream, the coffee, or a combination of both. The ingredient sheet helps a bit, but with two cups of Homemade to digest, you won't feel too guilty about using different flavors here and there, or digesting the flavor in pieces. Helpfully, returning to the most immediate flavors causes their charm and appeal to bleed into the ingredients that surround them-- so the flavor seems to grow and change as you enjoy.

I specifically use enjoy over consume due to the context which consume places upon most ice creams, for you do not truly consume ice cream, unless one doesn't understand ice cream or society et all.

Vanilla

Mainstream commercialist bullshit.