Mister Softee, Saboteur

I consider myself somewhat of a food connoisseur. My picky repertoire includes, but is not limited to: guacamole, filet mignon, cake, Greek salads, fruit salads, chili, pizza, cheese, brownies...I could go on for days.

Amongst this splendiforous plethora of foods, I also consider myself a soft serve snob - vanilla with rainbow sprinkles on a cake cone being my drug of choice.

Perhaps this gastro-snobbery stems from the fact that I used to work in ice cream. Yes. In what was arguably my most favorite job in eleven years of slaving away (free ice cream and candy galore! That's a no brainer), I helmed the counter of a dandy little ice cream store called Oscar’s.

New York City is a far cry from Salisbury, CT, but the soft serve I've had here just doesn't compare to dear old Oscar's (which is, sadly, no more).

Tasti-D-Lite (besides the AWFUL name) is OK. But they can't put sprinkles on a cone. Really? REALLY? Sure, sprink-dunking takes some mastering. I’ve lost my fair share of perfectly swirled cones to the sprinkle monster (but more to the magic shell monster).

But seriously, a cone without sprinkles is like New York City without rain. It’s just...unfathomable. And certainly unpalatable.

All these little fro-yo pop-ups (Yogurtland, 16 Handles) are delish, yes, but no cones = no dankes. It's understandable - it's pay by the ounce and it's kinda hard to weigh a cone - but there has to be a better way!!
There’s always McDonald's...but it’s McDonald's. And they don’t have sprinks either!

Pinkberry is good but that only comes in a cup. And again, no sprinkles. Annnnd it's not vanilla.

My options - for soft serve, at least - ended there.

That is, until last month. Yes, indeed. This very past May, I had one of the happiest days of my NYC life. I discovered Mister Softee.
It was a lovely May afternoon. And all I wanted was an ice cream cone. A few of us were headed uptown in a hurry. Ben and Jerry’s was too far. As was 16 Handles. I whined and whined and whined some more when all of a sudden a Mister Softee truck came into view.

Now - we all know that I judge the shit out of everything. Mister Softee was certainly no exception. I mean, it’s a TRUCK. The machines probably aren’t cleaned all that often (yikes, if ever). Who knows where the mix comes from. There’s no running water - how do they wash their hands? Gah!

But the more I thought about a vanilla with rainbow sprinkles, the more I wanted it. And my brain's better judgement gave way to my tum’s craving.

OMG. It was delicious. Perfect consistency. Like melted marshmallows, light and fluffy and airy. The vanilla flavor was not overpowering, yet very present. Even the SPRINKLES were deliciosa - nicely colored, not neon, and with a sweet little taste...very unlike some thick, cakey jimmies.

And then, I knew. Knew that I was in trouble. That the big bad Mister Softee truck was going to become the bane of my existence.

And I was right. One hundred and ten percent correctamundo.

Now it’s officially a problem. An addiction. But let's be serious, I don't really care about the ice cream crashing my so-called "diet".

More to the no dankity point - why are you not there when I want you, Mister Softee? Why do you hide on streets where I cannot find you?

Why, Mister Softee, why?

Case in point: last night. All I wanted was a Mister Softee ice cream cone. Alllllll I wanted. But my immediate reaction for this craving was not, No I can’t, I just ate my face off on vacation.

No, no. It was a deeply innate, ridiculously panicked fear that the Mister Softee truck on the corner of W 4th Street and LaGuardia, the only one I knew of in the Village, would not be there.

My fear was realized. He wasn't there.

Super duper sad face.

I walked gloomily down 3rd Street. Would my ill-fated luck bring me McDonald’s or Yogurtland? No sprinkles or no cone. No sprinkles, no cone. For the life of me I could not decide what the lesser of the two evils would be!

Then: I saw it. No...not Mister Softee. But another snack mobile parked on the corner of 6th Ave. It got me thinking. Yes. Yes I have seen snack trucks here often. And, oh, yes I’ve also seen them on the corner of Waverly.

Maybe, just maybe! My pace quickened, keeping time with my fluttering heart.

And then, there it was.

Sigh.

In it’s very own Mister Softee hideout lair. It was fate.

I got my fix. And it was pure bliss.

I gobbled that ice cream cone down in record time. It was so good.

Seriously, I could eat Mister Softee soft serve for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But please, I beg you: if I ever come to that, don’t be my friend anymore.