The schism still has an impact today: I still buy my butterscotch stracciatella waffle in De Haan from the “Känguru”, which is actually called “Australian Home Made Ice Cream” and is part of a chain that has a presence throughout Belgium. Quite different from “René”: He actually makes his own ice cream. Maybe the Müllers were right back then? toms.
Stop telling me “handmade”, “manufactured”, “organic” and all that nonsense! I’ve tried everything, but nothing leaves me cold. Only Italians make real ice cream, and they don’t need such hip labels. So off to one of the best ice cream parlors in Germany! Luckily, it’s just around the corner from me: the “Olimpio” on Oeder Weg in Frankfurt. The ice cream is wonderfully creamy, not too sweet, not too greasy, and the atmosphere under the trees is wonderful – the only thing that could stop you is an allergy to plane tree pollen. Maurizio, the boss, is not the type for frills: here you can find the classics from stracciatella to Malaga, sensibly supplemented with new products such as yogurt-fig and roasted almonds. No experiments! He doesn’t need to. You’ll hardly find better ice cream anywhere in Germany, perhaps only at “Dario Fontanella” in Mannheim. I’ve given them all a chance: “Venezia” in Munich, “Breda” in Cologne, “Luicella” in Hamburg… But the “Olimpio” is waiting alone on Mount Olympus. kai.
Spaghetti ice cream is prepared in the ice cream parlor “Olimpia” in Frankfurt.Jasper Hill
While many people feel happiness when they see an ice cream parlor, I only feel one thing: longing. The crime was committed by the “Eiscafé Venezia” on Kurfürstenplatz in Munich. It is a small shop on a busy street with a blue awning, old decor and even older customers. The “Venezia” is nothing special. It is an ice cream parlor like hundreds of others – if it weren’t for the fact that it was right in the middle of the road between me and my girlfriend when we both lived in Munich. For one summer we met here several times a week when we were so busy that we only had time for a scoop of ice cream and a dozen kisses. Then my girlfriend moved to Hamburg and I stayed in Munich, just like the “Venezia”. That was four years ago. I am still together with my girlfriend, only now we are 612 kilometers apart as the crow flies and no longer four. The “Venezia” is still there too. But I never had ice cream here again. Otherwise the longing to live in the same city with my girlfriend would be too great. laurel
If you want to find out whether an ice cream parlor knows its craft, the best thing to do is try the pistachio ice creamMy love for this flavor had a difficult start; our first encounter was on a German beach. Bright green color smiled at me from the ice cream van, as if frogs had been thrown into the blender. What I then found in the waffle was a great disappointment. It tasted neither green nor of pistachio (even though I only had a vague idea of what a pistachio was, mainly because it sounded exotic and should taste like that). I discovered real pistachios for the first time in Italy, and that’s where I reconciled myself with the ice cream flavor. Somewhere on a Calabrian beach promenade, an old ice cream seller let me in on the secret of how to recognize good pistachio ice cream: the more mud-colored the iceberg, the better the quality. So I bought his khaki-colored pistachio, sat down under a palm tree and tried to eat the ice cream faster than it could run over my fingers in the midday heat. It was pure happiness in the waffle. Since then, pistachio ice cream has served as the ultimate ice cream parlor test for me. And sometimes, when I get a really good one and spoon the muddy-colored pistachio, I am back on the beach promenade for a brief moment, and the salty wind blows the smell of Sicily across the strait. die
My favorite ice cream parlor? It doesn’t exist! I’m a fan of ice cream parlor hopping. How does it work? For example, like this: I walk home from work – and get a scoop from every ice cream parlor on the way. Chocolate at “La Dolce Vita”, stracciatella at “La Luna”, tiramisu at “L’Unico Gelato” and more chocolate at the “Tre Stelle Gelateria”. After about an hour, I arrive, extremely satisfied. And no longer need dinner. Efer
Some tastes disappear from life. You only realise that you miss it years later. For me, it’s the cinnamon ice cream of my childhood in Berlin. After long days at the playground in the park, I would run to the little ice cream parlour on the corner at Innsbrucker Platz. The selection was simple, the prices low. For a few pfennigs you could choose between flavours such as vanilla, strawberry, chocolate and cinnamon. It must have been the last few weeks before I started school that sweet cinnamon ice cream became the taste of that carefree summer. For decades I didn’t waste a thought on it. Now, at 30, I’m desperately looking for simple cinnamon ice cream. Since spring has started, I’ve been wandering like a driven man from ice cream parlour to ice cream parlour, from disappointment to disappointment. The simple taste of those July weeks will probably be lost forever. direction.
