When I was a little girl, I read a story that involved making ice cream out of snow. I have no recollection of what the story was about, the ice cream making may or may not have been the whole of it or it could have just been the resolution. I haven't thought of that story in ages but I do know that it intrigued me for years. Ice cream out of snow? If that was a real thing, think of all the ice cream a kid could make! And vanilla ice cream was my favorite flavor (and still is) so how hard could it be to take white snow and make it in to white ice cream?

So as I stepped into the hotel room and saw the abundance of pure white untouched snow beyond the sliding glass door, of course after years of having no reason to remember this story or the curiosity it inspired, all I wanted to do was make ice cream. Carrying no real ingredients or tools with which to start, I decided that if a spoon was good enough to scoop ice cream into my mouth, it was good enough to scoop snow into a bowl. And so I began to scoop away.

Time and again I arched the spoon into the snow, carving out tiny hollows. The deeper I dug, the bluer the light became and the color, so magical helped me forget the numbness in my fingers. I dug and I dug. I mashed that snow harder and harder into the bowl. (I had looked up a recipe on the internet and it said that the snow had to be very very compact) Sweat beaded on my forehead and froze in droplets on my hairline. I scooped until I could scoop no more. And then I realized that with my exceptionally limited means there was no way I would actually be able to make this snow into ice cream.

BUT FEAR NOT!

My endeavor had provided me with the poor man's freezer. So when I bought a pint of vanilla ice cream at the store, I had the perfect spot to house it. Vanilla ice cream never tasted so good.

P.S. Ariel Barbie pressed her shells into my freezer and left a mark. Barbie may think she can do anything, but grrrl better watch out, biotch.