מײערן אײַז קרעם Carrot Ice Cream

מיט אַ פּאָר טעג צוריק בין איך געפֿאָרן אַדורך פּראַספּקט פּאַרק אין ברוקלין און זיך אָפּגעשטעלט בײַ אַ יאַריד פֿון אַפֿריקאַנער קונסט און קולטור. דאָרטן האָב איך זיך באַקענט מיטן באַרימטן אײַז קערם מבֿין אַל דוראַנט. מיר איז געװען שװער אױסצוקלײַבן נאָר אײן טיפּ אײַז קרעם, אָבער איך בין געװען שטאַרק צופֿרידן מיטן מײערן אײַז קרעם װאָס איך האָב ענדלעך באַשטעלט. אין באַנד 1,קאַפּיטל 19 פֿון מלחמה און שלום מאַכט מאַריאַ דעמיטריאָװנאַ אַ װיץ אַז זי װעט דערלאַנגען מײערן אײַז קרעם, אַ דעזערט װאָס האָט דעמאָלט עקזיסטירט נאָר אין װיצן. דוראַנץ אײַז קרעם אָבער איז אַן אמתער און געשמאַקער מאכל, אָן איבעריקע געװירצן. דער פֿרישער טעם איז נאָר פֿון מאײערן און קרעם. װאָס קען דאָך בעסער זײַן?

“You won’t ask,” Natasha’s little brother was saying; “I know you won’t ask!”

“I will,” replied Natasha.

Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. She half rose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what was coming, and turning to her mother:

“Mamma!” rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish voice, audible the whole length of the table.

“What is it?” asked the countess, startled; but seeing by her daughter’s face that it was only mischief, she shook a finger at her sternly with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.

The conversation was hushed.

“Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?” and Natasha’s voice sounded still more firm and resolute.

The countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitrievna shook her fat finger.

“Cossack!” she said threateningly.

Most of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked at the elders.

“You had better take care!” said the countess.

“Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?” Natasha again cried boldly, with saucy gaiety, confident that her prank would be taken in good part.

Sonya and fat little Petya doubled up with laughter.

“You see! I have asked,” whispered Natasha to her little brother and to Pierre, glancing at him again.

“Ice pudding, but you won’t get any,” said Marya Dmitrievna.

Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of and so she braved even Marya Dmitrievna.

“Marya Dmitrievna! What kind of ice pudding? I don’t like ice cream.”

“Carrot ices.”

“No! What kind, Marya Dmitrievna? What kind?” she almost screamed; “I want to know!”

Marya Dmitrievna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the guests joined in. Everyone laughed, not at Marya Dmitrievna’s answer but at the incredible boldness and smartness of this little girl who had dared to treat Marya Dmitrievna in this fashion.

In War and Peace, Marya Dmitrievna, driven to the end of her carrot by Natasha, jokes that dessert will be carrot ice cream (Book I, chapter 19). Al Durant’s fresh and sunny carrot ice cream, unmasked by extra spices, is no joke, but real and delicious. I came upon Mr. Durant and his ice cream at a fair in Prospect Park, and he also has a shop.

Flavors Ice Cream and Bakery
761 Flatbush Ave
Brooklyn, NY
718-462-5575