Holy cow

When I was little, I lived in Dallas but had big dreams of living in New York City someday (too much Woody Allen and From The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, I reckon), and my young parents indulged my non-Texan tastes. So, for instance, when the weather was warm and we wanted something sweet and cool, instead of going to local favorite Brahm's we went to the Haagen Dazs shop. So chic! But when I was nine we moved to Houston, and on my first day of fourth grade at a new school in a suburb that bordered the sticks (KIKK Country was the number-one radio station and nine year old boys were already dipping Skoal) my so-called fancy pants preferences just didn't fly. When we kids sat around in a circle and as a means of introduction said what our favorite ice cream was (because, you know, you are defined by what ice cream you favor), when I said Haagen Dazs Coffee, I was shunned until fifth grade.

I found my redemption with the natives, however, in a half-gallon tub of Blue Bell's Cookies and Cream. Man, that stuff was amazing. Vanilla so pure and smooth it felt like velvet. And mixed up in the vanilla were countless Oreos, so many that you mouth crunched when you ate this ice cream. Blue Bell is made in Brenham, a stone's throw from Houston. And you learn very early that Blue Bell is so delicious, even the cows in Brenham are happy. Well no wonder. Pints are for sissies. And coffee is for breakfast.

Today, R.W. Apple, a writer for the Times who has the best job in the world (all he does is travel the world and eat) waxes poetic about Blue Bell. I can't really add much to what he's already said, but note this: if you're ever in a place that sells the stuff, buy a big ol' tub and dig in--you won't be sorry. And for $4.99 a half-gallon (compared to $4.99 a pint for other company's ice cream), it's a summer time treat that can't be beat.