Today is my dad's birthday. I always think of him on this day. If he were still alive, he would be 93, having been born in 1920. He was an ice-cream loving guy. So every year, leading up to the last of May, my brother and I exchange some variety of gift cards that are good for a place that serves icecream. Usually chic-fil-a or cold slab, or maybe dairy queen. This year, the one I sent was for Wendy's and I hope he will go today and enjoy licking a frosty in his preferred flavor. My brother is a vanilla kind of guy, but might go out on a dangerous limb and request chocolate.
Sonny did love to churn and eat frozen treats. I can't say if his most best taste tempting preference was peach or strawberry, as it probably would be dependent on what was in season at any given time. I know what a fool he was for fresh strawberries, and would go to great lengths to get them as newly picked and perfectly ripe as possible. This is the man who drove to central Florida to get/eat/pick/buy strawberries before they were getting ripe and ready in south Georgia.
The time I took two little girls, and met my folks at the park for a picnic, with fresh strawberries, homemade (grandmother's treasured recipe) shortcake, and Horrors: whipped topping from the frozen foods section, I thought he would cry. I've been clearly instructed/corrected, so now I know better. If you go to all the trouble to get the perfect berries, and bake the perfect cake, I now know: you also need to put the effort into whipping the cream, adding sugar at just the right instant, and hope it keeps together long enough to put on top of your dessert, before separating into nearly-butter and sweetened water on the bottom.
But also know that he was hyper-fond of fresh south Georgia grown peaches when they were at the peak of perfection. I'm thinking that he was likely to stockpile what ever he could, putting blender-ed up slush of fresh peaches in the freezer in anticipation of the slow, dragging end of the 'get 'em fresh from the tree' season in northern edge of the county. And equally liable to hoard a couple of freezer containers of perfectly sun-ripened strawberries when he could get them on the day of most excellent taste.
So - go someplace and have a few licks today, and every May 31,think of the man who loved every flavor ever invented. If it was no his personal most preferred fresh,home-churned in the sink by the back door, and he was reduced to going into the B.R. (or now free-standing Brewster's that have popped up in parking lots overnight), you could rest assured he would ponder between butter pecan and maybe, possibly pistachio, and maybe ask for a little taste test. But would invariably settle on a big scoop, in a cone, of butter pecan.
(On the back of the photo, it says that it was taken in England on Feb. 29, 1996. They went over to 'stand up'/witness the wedding of a cousin, who was the youngest daughter of my mom's older sister. Don't they look like happy people? I'm pretty sure she had a walking cast on one leg due to a broken foot - but when she wanted to go someplace/do something, even having to hop to get there could not stop her!)
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