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Last week, we asked you to reveal those moments when realized you'd been making a big mistake as a consumer. Today, we want to lighten it up and talk about those times that make you most proud.
Maybe you're like me and it's that cast iron skillet you've had for over 20 years, and which just gets better with use (and proper care, of course). Or perhaps it's the car that's seen you through two marriages, four jobs and five presidents?
And then there are those things that might have cost a pretty penny but were well worth the expense. After all, in some cases you do get what you pay for.
So share your stories with the room about those purchases that have made you most proud.
If you were tricked into volunteering for a Big Brothers Big Sisters-style program, and you live in San Francisco, here's an easy way to get out of the job. Take your kid to the Humphry Slocombe ice cream shop in San Francisco's Mission District and order her some Coconut Candy Cap Caramel sorbet--the "candy cap" is mushroom! Or try the Salted Licorice, which Elizabeth Weil in the New York Times says her kids threw on the sidewalk. Or leave the kids at home and try the Secret Breakfast, which contains so much bourbon that "the scoop always runs soft."
The flavors are the invention of pastry chef Jake Godby, who by 2006 had had it up to here with the lame-ass regular desserts he was making at upscale restaurants. Now he experiments with ice cream, while still consulting with those restaurants to create unusual desserts for their menus. If you're in San Francisco and want an affordable way to try out a bit of culinary experimentation, you can do it by the scoop at Humphry Slocombe.
My favorite part of the article, which reads like a Wonkaland horror story, is this brief description of Godby. It also has provided me with my new excuse whenever I do something inappropriate: "That's the ice cream talking."
Godby nodded. He's not a talker. Vahey describes him as "pathologically shy." Godby did mention that the previous weekend in Sonoma, he walked by the dead body of a homeless man who'd been hit by a car. He knew this was a dark tale, and entirely out of sync with the expected portrait of the happy ice cream man selling ice cream to the happy children. But that was the point. Godby enjoyed the dissonance. The batch freezer whirred in the background. "That's the ice cream talking," he said, then sank into quiet again.
"I'll Take a Scoop of Prosciutto, Please" [New York Times]
