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May. 20th, 2012
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May. 20th, 2012 09:53 pmSo apparently this afternoon I ate the best gelato in the state of Nevada.
Mum and I went trooping around the casinos, just to see them -- I'd never been in one before -- and buzzed the art museum, but she'd already seen the Monet exhibit and I'd already seen the paintings in it, which came from the Boston MFA. (Plus, honestly, I'm not a huge fan of Monet's paintings.) Next to the art museum is a little bakery with a gelato case, so I nipped in to get a croissant for Mum and a cup of gelato for myself.
There was a couple at the counter dithering indecisively over what to get, and apparently unwilling to stand aside and let more decisive people go forward, so the woman behind them (in front of me) was getting visibly impatient.
"I just want a cup of gelato!" she said. "I've been waiting six years for this gelato."
"It's that good?" I asked.
"It's the best gelato in the state. The peanut butter or the dolce de leche. I've spent years waiting to get back to Vegas to eat this gelato. Why can't these fuckers hurry up?"
I can't eat peanuts, but I do love me some caramel, so I got a cup of dulce de leche. It was damn fine gelato, too. And a great story to tell.
Basically we played tourist today, did some window shopping, and came home to rest. We've spent the evening eating pizza and watching Cook's Country, where my mother ships Chris Kimball and Bridget Lancaster in a kinky food-based affair.
Me: Did I tell you about how I suddenly started liking black olives?
Mum: No. was it olive a sudden?
Me: I'm telling the internet you said that.
In an unlikely twist, we're also watching Sherlock tonight, the American airing of Reichenbach Fall. Mum happened to mention "I've been watching that Sherlock show. He's an odd guy, he's quirky" and I swear, my jaw dropped. I've considered trying to introduce her to Sherlock many times, but always dismissed it as being too intense and violent and...well, modern for her; she much prefers the safer, more blue-skies USA network shows.
I'm dying to know what she thought of Irene Adler in this, but I don't know if I dare ask for fear I might find out.
Mum and I went trooping around the casinos, just to see them -- I'd never been in one before -- and buzzed the art museum, but she'd already seen the Monet exhibit and I'd already seen the paintings in it, which came from the Boston MFA. (Plus, honestly, I'm not a huge fan of Monet's paintings.) Next to the art museum is a little bakery with a gelato case, so I nipped in to get a croissant for Mum and a cup of gelato for myself.
There was a couple at the counter dithering indecisively over what to get, and apparently unwilling to stand aside and let more decisive people go forward, so the woman behind them (in front of me) was getting visibly impatient.
"I just want a cup of gelato!" she said. "I've been waiting six years for this gelato."
"It's that good?" I asked.
"It's the best gelato in the state. The peanut butter or the dolce de leche. I've spent years waiting to get back to Vegas to eat this gelato. Why can't these fuckers hurry up?"
I can't eat peanuts, but I do love me some caramel, so I got a cup of dulce de leche. It was damn fine gelato, too. And a great story to tell.
Basically we played tourist today, did some window shopping, and came home to rest. We've spent the evening eating pizza and watching Cook's Country, where my mother ships Chris Kimball and Bridget Lancaster in a kinky food-based affair.
Me: Did I tell you about how I suddenly started liking black olives?
Mum: No. was it olive a sudden?
Me: I'm telling the internet you said that.
In an unlikely twist, we're also watching Sherlock tonight, the American airing of Reichenbach Fall. Mum happened to mention "I've been watching that Sherlock show. He's an odd guy, he's quirky" and I swear, my jaw dropped. I've considered trying to introduce her to Sherlock many times, but always dismissed it as being too intense and violent and...well, modern for her; she much prefers the safer, more blue-skies USA network shows.
I'm dying to know what she thought of Irene Adler in this, but I don't know if I dare ask for fear I might find out.