There was a time when smoothies were not readily available on the East Coast. That time was 2001. I was in Rhode Island that summer visiting my grandmother. Not a smoothie to be found. And at age 13 I was particularly addicted to blended fruit.
So too was my friend Hannah Betterton who joined me and my father on this adventure to RI. Hannah and I would ask for smoothies everywhere we went to no avail.
So we made our own. We went to a small grocery store in Wickford, RI, but they were out of vanilla ice cream (what kind of town IS THIS?!??!). Instead we bought ice cream sandwiches. We had to peel off the chocolate cookie skin that was tightly fused to the ice cream with our bare hands. Our precious phalanges were frozen after this intense exercise. We were able to conjure up some sort of smoothie-esque beverage. It wasn’t anything special.
One day my grandmother came home with two iced beverages. I would argue that they were more akin to slushies then smoothies. She set them on the table for me and Hannah and said, “Here are your damn smoothies. Now you bettah drink them all!”
We completed the drinks. Despite the completion we overheard her telling her friend Ruth over the phone, “I bought them smoothies and they didn’t even finish them!” I don’t understand this allegation.
Why am I thinking of this? Because the other day I went to Humphry Slocombe for ice cream and saw this flavor:
I went with chocolate smoked sea salt.