Saturday, February 10, 2007

Hello, my name is Kelly, and I am a gelatoaholic

That’s not even a word, but it should be a real condition, and worthy of serious consideration. Possibly even treatment. I’ve been trying to keep it under wraps, but as Spring approaches it’s only a matter of time before I relapse into a full blown gelato binge. I can only thank my lucky stars that I don’t live in Italy, as I would be as big as a casa. Gelato shops around here are few and far between, but rest assured, I’ve tried pretty much all of them.

Gelato is Italian Ice Cream, and if you’ve been reading, you know I’m a self-proclaimed ice cream whore. Now those damn Italians have gone and made it with milk instead of cream so you get to tell yourself that it’s “better” for you because it has less fat. Grazie, my little Italian geniuses, grazie. I don’t know which is a more substantial accomplishment really, the Sistine Chapel or Gelato.

Gelato isn’t just fancy ice cream, it’s an experience. You have to go out and saunter into a quaint little shop where you will be mesmerized by the flavors in the perfectly cooled case. Flavors like Chocolate Frosted Yellow Cake, Tiramisu, Cheesecake, Amaretto, Caramel…ok, my mouth is watering. You differentiate between the sizes with cute terms like “a little” or “a lotta” depending on where you go. And the traditional gelato shops serve your gelato in a little, brightly colored, polygonal, plastic cup with an equally sassy plastic spatula. Seriously? Serioulsy.

I’m addicted to Gelato. There, I said it, but don’t even think I’m going to rehab.

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