Word: gelato
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...capita per annum), are only now beginning to make that luscious discovery en masse. In the heat-racked summer of '83, people are screaming for all kinds of ice cream, including one innovation that isn't ice cream at all. But the loudest, longest cries are for gelato...
Jell-ah-toe! It even sounds like a minor Italian poet. Actually, the Italian word for ice cream means nothing more lyrical than "frozen." But at its subtle, supercreamy best, it is as different from the standard American variety as Soave is from 7Up. The best gelato, as adapted to American tastes, is much richer in butterfat, the soul of ice cream, than the familiar commercial American brands. Little or no air is pumped into it, making for a deep, intensified taste. And the flavors, natural and innocent of chemicals, can seem, singly or in combination, as impassioned...
...with many American innovations, gelato has swirled out from California. In the past year, several scoopfuls of competing companies have opened retail shops in Beverly Hills, Marina del Rey, Studio City and other communities. Some of the stores, notably the dozen or so high-tech outlets owned by the San Francisco-based Gelato Classico chain, cannot meet the demand. Some, like A1 Gelato in Elmwood Park outside Chicago and the art deco Gelati per Tutti on Hollywood's trendy Melrose Avenue, have become landmarks, packing in the pilgrims as thick as the product. In hundreds of supermarkets, brightly colored...
There is yet another newcomer to the frozen scene: tofutti. As its ungainly name suggests, it has a powdered soy base, no lactose, butterfat or cholesterol, and contains only 128 calories per 4-oz. scoop, vs. as much as 325 for a premium dairy ice cream and 280 for gelato. A sellout among celebs and fast-trackers from Manhattan to Honolulu, this noncream ice cream, which comes in five flavors, actually tastes good. Best of the batch: banana pecan...
...border. So will thousands of other tourists. A few kilometers before customs I stop and buy a large ice-cream cone for the child. By the time I have reached the crowded border and the smartly dressed, white-gloved and harried customs officers, the child has smeared the gelato all over his face. The customs man always recoils in horror and orders me to drive through...