I know Dr. Oz probably wags his finger at emotional eating, but I can’t help it. One large bowl, a spoon and a generous helping of Blue Bell’s Tiramisu ice cream is my idea of bliss. That, or their Blackberry Cobbler ice cream, or their Moolenium Crunch ice cream, or… let’s just say I’m open to many options.

Sadly, ice cream has had to watch its back lately. The fro-yo craze has been taking America by storm for the past few years, so much so that it has its own trendy abbreviation. It is admittedly nice to pretend to be healthy by boasting of your “only 100 calories per serving” dessert while completely forgetting about the concept of serving size and topping your mountain of cookie-dough-and-cake-batter swirl with chocolate candies and sugary cereal. (I could have sworn I threw in a strawberry slice in there for good measure somewhere).

But let’s be real: ice cream was our frozen treat of choice for decades before this health-conscious imposter came along. And to ice cream my heart will forever belong.

I don’t know when it started exactly, but ice cream has been my faithful companion for many of the sweeter moments in life (pun fully intended). I have fond memories of my dad churning away at homemade peach ice cream on warm summer nights. It never turned out quite the right consistency because we were too impatient but tasted divine nonetheless.

The summer after seventh grade, when I thought my life was over because I was forcibly removed from my comfortable situation in Maryland to a new friend-less residence in Florida, my mom was able to withdraw me from my Harry Potter-induced seclusion with walks to the nearby gas station for a little Nestle cookie ice cream sandwich pick-me-up. I’m so glad I enjoyed those triple-dessert sandwiches when I did because a glance at the calorie count today fills me with a sudden impulse to munch on celery and cucumbers.

As fate would have it, my first real job was at Marble Slab, where my 17-year-old, size 00 self guiltlessly indulged on free samples of the most imaginative concoctions. Sprite with orange sorbet? Don’t mind if I do! Gummy bears and marshmallows in cotton candy ice cream? Why not?!? Even better, sometimes my co-workers and I went to Whataburger after a closing shift to refuel before bedtime on milkshakes.

While I’m confessing shameful moments: once a high school friend called and convinced me to help her vacuum and clean her family’s van with the promise of a scoop from Hershey’s afterward. I think I was in the car with the key in the ignition before she even hung up.

Some of my favorite college memories occurred over a pint of Blue Bell, a Texas staple, purchased from the on-campus convenience store and shared (or maybe not) with good friends. With more than 1,000 glorious calories downed in a single sitting, who needs the all-you-can-eat buffet at the dining hall? Unless, of course, they were having their “make your own ice cream sundae” night.

Blue Bell, the making of dreams and happy memories

During lonely summers back in the Sunshine State, weekly get-togethers at the local Dairy Queen with my college roommate and fellow out-of-stater were a highly anticipated event. Because of the heart-warming conversations – and that perfect little swirl on the top of my strawberry sundae.

Naturally, I knew I truly loved my then-boyfriend (now fiancé) when I first sampled one of his chocolate fudge sundaes, complete with his nirvana-inducing homemade brownies and what else? Blue Bell’s Homemade Vanilla.

One of my most pathetic college moments? The time I almost cried when a group of girlfriends and I drove nearly an hour to Brenham, home of Blue Bell itself, only to shockingly discover they don’t offer factory tours (and free samples) on Saturdays. We took silly photos with a statue of Belle, the ice creamery’s iconic dairy cow, to compensate.

In short, I love ice cream sundaes, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays – you get the point. I can’t wait to take my own kids, fellow little league team members in tow, to the local ice cream place after the big game. Heck, I can’t even wait to try out Blue Bell’s seasonal Christmas Cookies flavor. (Sorry for being a little obsessed. It’s true what the radio jingle says: “One taste and you can’t help but wonder how Blue Bell gets so many good things in a carton that size.”

They say the secret to a man’s heart is through his stomach. It think ice cream is more of an equal opportunity food. I’m not as glutinous of an eater as I’ve probably just made myself out to be, but let me tell you, if you treat this girl to Cold Stone, she’ll devotedly follow you all the way to King Kandy’s waffle cone castle and beyond.

Something tells me King Kandy and I could get along just fine.

By Rebecca Bennett

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