The Rum Raisin Affair

I have a sweet tooth.  My sweet tooth is the size of the Empire State Building, approximately.  If I could eat processed sugar at the expense of all other foodstuffs I'd consider it.

I was at the local SPAR grocery store the other day, an establishment that could fit inside the dry cereal aisle at your local Wal-Mart.  I decided on ice cream for dessert; the selections were limited: Vanilla, Chocolate, and Rum Raisin.  I rejected the Vanilla outright as it needs a lot of shit dumped on top of it to make it a real dessert and I wasn't going to waste any valuable sugar eating time on more shopping; briefly considered Rum Raisin; and purchased the Chocolate.  We ate the container over a few days, finding it middling.  For a few subsequent days we took a tour of other dessert options: Milka bars, digestives, and choco-croissants.

Then I was back at the SPAR.  I looked at the ice cream and purchased the Rum Raisin, without any malice of forethought.  The Vanilla was still staring back at me blandly and the Chocolate sucked.  The packaging for the Rum Raisin looked vaguely caramel-like, the product studded with raisins.  I wasn't thinking of drinking when I  bought the product.  I was looking for dessert.  I was looking for a   processed, refined white sugar delivery system.

"Are you crazy?" SuperK asked me when I got home.  "What are you thinking?"

I looked at the package.

"It's ice cream," I said.  "I want something sweet."

"I don't know why you'd even mess around with something like that," she replied.

I opened the ice cream which had been in an ice cream freezer because ice cream is meant to be . . . you know . . . frozen, finding it kind of half-frozen.  I took a small spoon and put a bit in my mouth.  I spit it back into the sink.  The taste of rum was overpowering.

"Oh, we're not eating that," I said.

I looked at the ingredients which were in French.  It appeared to me that the rum content was actually 35% - I had purchased 70 proof ice cream.  You gotta love the French.  That additive would definitely counteract the sugar effect of small children.  Here, Little Jonny, have some more ice cream.

I dumped the ice cream in the sink and started to run hot water on it - I didn't want that shit even in my house.  The raisins clogged the drain and the hot water dissolved the rum-saturated ice cream.  I swear it smelled like a distillery.  I'm trying to spit the rum taste out of my mouth, rum fumes filling the apartment, as I try to unclog the drain.

I was a bit rattled for a while.  While I wasn't pondering drinking, it did not escape my attention that this happened in an area where The Fellowship isn't present.  It reminded me of the story in our literature where one of our early members convinced himself that a shot of whiskey wouldn't hurt him if he just took it in a glass of milk.  The Book talks about strange mental blank spots.

I'm having a big bowl of vanilla ice cream tonight.