Rating 💋 💋 😘
Can we please take a moment to process how ridiculously cold this past weekend was? Horrible. Absolutely horrible. Every winter I question why I live in New York when I was very clearly not built to withstand such frigid temperatures, yet here we are again, bundling up to take on another round.
Sigh.
Last Saturday, Becca and I spent our day seeking refuge from the cold while still somehow exploring the city. After having a lovely morning getting lost in stacks of books at The Strand and skipping around art galleries that made my heart severely nostalgic for my days as an art student, we stowed away into a cafe and spent two hours talking over lattes. Then, once we were completely thawed out, we made a very rational decision:
Let's go get ice cream.
I mean, what else would you do in forty-degree weather?
Milk Bar was a spot on my list that was also a short walk from where we were in Chelsea, so all signs pointed to yes. We were off and running in the direction of frozen custard.
The shop is really more of a hallway with an ordering window on one side and a four-person bench in the back, so do not go with the expectation of eating in, unless you're lucky. We stood in the back with our cups until two spots on the bench opened up, because we were not mad enough to take our frozen treats back out into the cold, and those were really our only two options.
The brief menu makes it easy to decide on your selection, and we both decided to go with the classic soft-serve ornamented with corn flakes. Looking at the marketing pictures from Milk Bar, my taste buds imagined they'd be getting vanilla ice cream.
Nope, not the case.
It really is just frozen milk, whipped around and covered in cereal. So that is the taste you should expect: milk. The name is not being coy, my dudes. I am a cereal fiend, though, so I didn't mind. It was creamy and cool, and neither the custard nor the corn flakes are exceptionally sweet, so it was a subtle dessert, and served in a perfectly portioned little cup. I enjoyed it. I have no regrets about the experience.
I was not blown away though. Last time Rebecca visited, we intended to go to a Milk Bar location when we accidentally wound up at Milk & Cream. The happiest accident of my life, I will go back to Milk & Cream again and again. I am happy I tried Milk Bar, but there is no real draw for me to go back. I did the thing. Cool. Done. There are some cookie, shake, and cake options too, and maybe I would try those in a given scenario, but I don't feel compelled to. The custard was good, but next time, I'd rather just get real ice cream.
Rebecca and I laughed at ourselves for the whole thing. While not proven, I am very likely lactose intolerant. I still eat cheese and ice cream and yogurt because, like, duh. How could I live without cheese? I make a conscious choice, though, each time I dabble in dairy. It is a sacrifice for the greater good. So when I drink milk, it is almond, or soy in a pinch, but never cow milk. Yet there I was, eating the stuff frozen with a spoon. Oops. Meanwhile, halfway through her cup, Rebecca turned to me and reminded me that she does not like milk, period. Now here she was eating it whipped, pure milk flavor. While she did like it, she was honestly confused as to why, given her background.
I don't know guys, it was good, but it wasn't great, unless you are a cow milk aficionado and go wild for that flavor. Then get to Milk Bar as fast as you can.
I, for one, don't even know what to say for myself here.
And I am a fool in man's shoes for not fully realizing that beforehand.
Oops.
XX,
MK
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