A swift pull is all it takes to unearth it from it from its frosty resting place. It slips out onto my hand, leaving a thin layer of cold moisture on my skin. Its shape is a familiar one: wide and welcoming at one end, tight and narrow at the other. The golden film that cocoons its outside is accentuated by flecks of white and blue, the same as the three others it came with. But unlike its brothers and sisters, this one is special. Why? Because today, I have chosen it and it has chosen me.
Tip Top Chocolate Trumpet - today we will become one.
Unassuming, yet decadent. Simple, yet sleek. The chocolate Trumpet truly is the prince of the 4-pack at home category. Unlike the haughty Magnums or the preppy Kapitis, Trumpy doesn't make you feel like you need to be someone else. There are no weirdly sensual ads where unnecessarily red lips seductively break away tiny pieces of coating, a bejewelled hand wiping any remnants off the corner of their mouths lest they fall onto their haute couture evening gowns. There are just those same unforgettable memories you've had together since your childhood. Friends will come and go but the Trumpet stays the same, waiting to welcome you in its sweet, sticky embrace.
I slowly strip the top wrapping away, followed by the lid. A long strand of fudge clings to its underside, surrounding by little tips of ice cream. I can tell you're already smiling. You know what happens next. The lid. My tongue. A delightful little tease of what’s about to come.
I rip the rest of the wrapping before I dive in. Controversial I know, but I like to behold the trumpet in all its glory before I indulge. There is a beauty that occurs in the way the topping blends into the ice cream and the ice cream blends into the cone that is only found in nature. Snowflakes, spiders webs, Tip Top Chocolate Trumpet.
The first bite is a kaleidoscope of chocolate hues. How are there so many ways to sculpt what is already a near perfect flavour? Little solid drops of chocolate chip, carefully placed by what could only be the fingers of angels. The molten fudge, coursing through valleys of ice cream like the great rivers of our world. And of course, the ice cream itself - a chocolate cloud that could only occur above the cacao trees of the Amazon.
I follow these flavours down the rabbit hole. Tumbling through cone and ice cream alike. We can't be in Auckland anymore Toto. The fatal flaw of the ice cream cone is that every consecutive bite leaves you wanting even more but delivers even less.
I hit bedrock, the solid chocolate at the very tip of the cone. Bittersweet. It's not long before the Trumpet is naught but a memory. Such a shame. But there will be others. Many others. In fact three more in the freezer.
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