As the temperature has been steadily rising I have steadily been turning into more and more of an ice cream fiend.
Not just any ice cream either. Proper, home grown, Palestinian to the core ice cream.
Al Arz ice cream (despite the cedar tree reference, there is no actual link to Lebanon).
It’s becoming problematic. Yesterday I bought an ice cream cone to sustain me on my way home to eat caramel vanilla ice cream from a tub.
It’s a slippery slope. It started a few months ago with the discovery of cookies and cream tub ice cream and now it’s extended to a whole range of delectable yummies.
The thing is it’s really satisfyingly creamy. Not too much – not enough to make you feel ill after polishing off a tub (I’m GUESSING) – and it’s got just a little taste of mastic, that gum like ingredient which gives Arabic ice cream its distinctive taste and texture.
So desperate were we for our fix that we ended up making our way to the actual factory once we had sucked Nablus dry of our favorite flavor.
It. Was. Awesome.
What started off in 1950 as a tiny ice supply story has slowly expanded and grown into a small, industrialized yet somehow Willy Wonka-esque warehouse with staircases tucked into corners, old school ice cream machines, huge vats and people with plastic head coverings overseeing the production of mind boggling amounts of ice cream.
Unfortunately we weren’t allowed to take any pictures but here’s a little glimpse into my year in ice cream.