On Sunday I accompanied my wife and sister-in-law Snow to Strickland’s Ice Cream in Irvine, California. The original Strickland’s is in Akron, Ohio, and the Orange County Strickland’s is currently the only Strickland’s west of the Mississippi.
Snow is a remarkable lady who has lived in many places around the globe, from Helsinki to Zambia, Madrid to Key West. She’s a lefty, but a lovable one, and we don’t talk politics, much. But on matters relating to obscure knowledge –the hyena is not of the dog family, for instance– Scrabble, and art history, I listen closely. I listen very closely when it comes to ice cream because she, like my wife, is an ice cream fanatic.
“Strickland’s is the best ice cream I have ever had,” she opined on Sunday.
C’mon, I said. The best ever?
The. Best. Ever.
Given that this takes at least 15,000 scoops in ice cream emporiums and brands on three continents and in more than 50 countries (I am being conservative here, calculating less than one scoop a day for only forty years, and she has been emancipated and thus free to indulge as she wishes longer than that) that is quite a recommendation.
So, if you are ever in Akron, Irvine, Sarasota or anywhere else you see the Strickland’s sign, do yourself a favor and get a cone.