That evening, he returned with a light aroma of cognac and expensive cigarettes absorbed by his hair. He took a seat in a comfortable armchair, led us round by his slightly drowsy eyes, and began a story. It began without prefaces, or false requests “to allow” and other. It was just as if all of us had been waiting for it for a long time (that, actually, was the truth); and he, at last, decided to tell.
Since his early childhood, the ice-cream man adored sweets. His family was poor; and the “family” itself was his mother, who worked two jobs, and him.
Unlike other mothers, his mother did not limit the little boy in sweets. Certainly, when she could afford it, the kid received candies, chocolate and, of course, ice cream. He got them not only on big holidays, although not every day, either.
In those days, the future ice-cream man decided what he wanted to be. His choice was difficult: to become a confectioner, or create frozen delicacies? The complexity of such a choice probably pulled him away from his agemates, who sincerely dreamed of becoming firefighters, astronauts or cool special agents. At the age of eight, his dream of creating ice cream was not just “uncool”; it was “a slam”, as the boys in his neighborhood said in disgust.
Time went on. The kid grew up and understood that in order to fulfill his lifelong dream, which could seem so simple in comparison to the dreams of others, he needed to take action. Having assumed as a basis of his life that theory without practice was dead, the future ice-cream man decided to begin with practice. He got a part-time job at the nearest café. I won’t tell you the details of his growth. Within half a year, the guy grew from the washerman of floors to the assistant chef. And desserts were his peculiarity. In just a few months, a simple and small café in a rather poor Parisian quarter became incredibly popular, and the prices for desserts were shamefully high.
After a while, the ice-cream man was lured away to a decent restaurant, and everything was smooth sailing. By 35, he was the owner of a café that served exquisite coffee, elite tea and delightful desserts.
Our ice-cream man was at his best. He was creating with all his heart and with ecstasy, mixing berries, fruits, and chocolate; and combining ice cream with whipped cream and even hot pepper.
Finally, a big number of Parisians were ready to go to him from all throughout the city to enjoy his marvelous desserts. The ice-cream man became extremely popular; and thanks to his surprising physical similarity to Santa Claus, he was just as well-known a figure in the sphere of desserts and dainty delicacies.
His mother was absolutely happy, but she was worried that the only love of her son’s life was ice cream. He did not burden himself with the search for his second half, completely dipping into his main passion that answered with the same reciprocity. Each new portion of ice cream, each new sort and taste became the season’s hits, the real masterpieces. In his café, there were one hundred seventy-five types of ice cream and uncountable variations of tastes combined with various fillers: syrups, creams, fruits, nuts, cookies and chocolates. The cost of some portions reached impressive sums. Of course, it didn’t go as high as in Dubai, where the ice-cream balls are served in Versace bowls that the visitor can take with him. Nevertheless, it was rather high, and it was treated as an astonishing dessert ordered only on special occasions.
