MESSINA MESS
It was a hot summer night in Milan, back in the days. We were holding hands and strolling around like we had all the time in the world. We stopped for a gelato in Piazza Cadorna. I got a two scoops cone: hazelnut and chocolate. (The same ice cream since I was 3.)
We were in love.
As we walked home we started having an argument about soccer teams. He kept getting on my nerves. We were about to cross the road at a traffic light and I suddenly stopped, turned towards him and punched his face with my big, fat gelato.
He turned to me and placed his vanilla cone on my t-shirt.
Before I knew it, we were gelato fighting in the middle of the street.
The gelato euphoria spread all across the city. People were throwing scoops at each other. Faces turned into chocolate masks, bodies dripped with pistachio icecream, haute cuture dresses were restyled with whipped cream patterns.
Yesterday I got a two scoops cone at Gelato Messina, same old flavours. Nocciola and Cioccolato.
It was a hot summer day in Sydney. My children and I were holding hands and strolling around like we had all the time in the world. We were in love.
Then the gelato fight started and we turned into human desserts.
I don’t know if Gelato Messina is good or bad, but let me tell you something: it does not come off easily from your body.
It’s a very bad sign. Too sticky, too creamy, too heavy, too sugary.
The best gelatos go away with a kiss, a caress or a motherly wet wipe. Italian Style.
The best gelatos have to be good for war, and have to be good for love.