“Heading to t lofts- 11491 west Olympic and butler ave...there with kogi!!!” Reads the first tweet from Cool Haus at 12:00 pm on Thursday.
“Eta 10 minutes… there till 2:30!!” Reads the second.
I look at the remains of my sad sack turkey sandwich lunch made with stale whole wheat bread and sigh. My mouth is tainted with the sour aftertaste of mediocrity. I know I will not be able to rest (or, more accurately, work) until it has been cleansed with the appropriate mouth wash for such instances of dissatisfaction.
I need ice cream.
A quick glance at my watch assures me that I have plenty of time to make the six minute drive to the T Lofts before the Cool Haus gourmet ice cream sandwich truck abandons its post for other LA pastures that are not within striking distance of my office building. I get into my vehicle (the one and only Tiffany Toyota) and minutes later my Silver Corolla is parked at a meter on Butler Avenue.
Ignoring the 20 person long line in front of Kogi, I prance confidently over to the object of my sugar-crazed affection.
I don’t need no stinkin’ tacos, I think, mentally chuckling at my very inside joke (courtesy of Troop Beverly Hills), as I approach the Cool Haus truck.
There’s only one girl in line in front of me, but the short wait time is no concern for my inner indecisive today. For once I already know what I’m ordering.
“Mint chip with chocolate chip cookies.” I say with confidence.
“Mint chip with chocolate chip cookies!” The kind-of- hunky man in the window yells back to someone (the ice cream fairy?) behind him.
I hand over my $3.50 and stand to the side of the truck. Seconds later, my sandwich emerges with its edible wrapper, which turns out to be not very edible at all. (Unless one enjoys the taste of paper.)
With my very caloric form of mouthwash in hand, my eyes scour the dirt-crusted lot for a place to sit. I veto the curb since I am wearing a newly laundered skirt and decide that the driver’s seat of my car will have to suffice.
By the time I’m settled inside, the lush gourmet ice cream has already begun to melt, and I frantically attempt to photograph the sandwich with one hand. Mid-shot, a sea of mint cream dribbles down my forearm. I watch in horror as it drips down onto my skirt – the skirt that took three days to line dry on my shower rod earlier in the week. A four letter word escapes from my normally prudish mouth, and I instinctively begin attacking the sandwich with my teeth before it does any further damage to my wardrobe.
The mint ice cream is the first thing I notice. It is well-balanced, not overly studded with mini semi-sweet chocolate chips, and is refreshing on the hot day. The fresh chocolate chip cookies pair nicely with it, but aren’t anything remarkable to my palate.
As the ice cream continues on its mission to make my brown skirt a brown skit with sea foam green polka-dots, the cookies become more of an obstacle than a delicious treat. Biting through them has the unfortunate effect of pushing the ice cream out the sides, and after several moments of unsuccessful attempts to eat the darn thing, I give up and take the sandwich a part like an Oreo cookie. I consume each side by itself, which seems to defeat the whole purpose of the ice cream sandwich altogether.
By the time I finish my decadent mid-day dessert, I feel stressed and irritated – exactly how I felt when I’d finished my turkey sandwich thirty minutes earlier. Except now I’m wearing a dirty skirt.
My whole Cool Haus experience is over incredibly fast. Too fast. My tongue hardly had time to register the flavors or savor the high-quality ice cream like I normally do when eating something that is bad for my heart and butt and bank account. It’s a nice afternoon treat to break up a day of working for “the man,” but as I drive back to the office with my sticky ice cream hands, I decide that once is enough.
I like my ice cream in a cup. With my cookies on the side.