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.
