My heart is thumping at an irregular pace, each of my breaths are sharp and shallow, and my palms are clammy with sweat. No, I'm not going on a blind date or having a heart attack. I'm in the middle of eating Momofuku Milk Bar's Salty Pistachio Caramel soft serve, and with each lick my taste buds are being turned up to 11. And I can't fucking handle it.
The soft serve is cold, but as soon as it hit my lips it becomes viscous, warming, creamy, drippy. The pale green of it is flecked with what I think is vanilla bean. The texture isn't marred by crystals at all, it's so silky...almost whipped. The way this is melting all over my tongue is just shameless, even obscene. I got the cornflake crunch to go on top of the sexy swirl of frozen cream...but it doesn't even need it. In fact, it's getting in the way. People are shooting me dirty looks as I slink through the street with my prize. I'm walking in a trance, sighing, "So good, so good!" I'm seriously losing my grip over a desert.
I'm near the end. I'm sitting and waiting for the F train back to work, slumped down on the bench. I'm so comfortable in this singular moment, this fetid subway platform could almost be my home. I don't want this to be over, so I'm trying to eat slowly; my brain is recording how amazing this tastes and feels. Somehow, this increases the deliciousness...and also increases my lunacy.
The train comes and I am licking the cup as I board. LICKING THE CUP. I know I probably look insane licking the insides of what looks like a slightly large Dixie cup. But oh, if they only knew what I knew, and tasted what I'd just tasted, they'd be willing to look crazy too.