I love Cookiepuss. Look at his stupid face; how can you not? This way-too-happy, ridiculous looking ice cream cake from Carvel, an eastern U.S. chain of ice cream shops, is one of my favorite foods to eat. Not because it tastes good - because it doesn't really - it's just one of those longstanding nostalgic traditions that I am compelled to follow, until either I or Cookiepuss dies.
Most foodies tend to care about the palette of flavors and the quality of ingredients making up their dishes, and usually I do, too. But there is a tower in the mansion of my love of edibles, stuffed with food that looks gorgeous, weird, horrifying, or amazing. It could taste good, but there is no guarantee. In fact it'll probably be pretty bland or awful, but you have to try it just once before you die, just to know.
Unlike a pint of Ben and Jerry's, Cookiepuss is one of those things you usually have to share unless you want to feel like you destroyed your body for practically no benefit. So after recently heading back to Connecticut, I was feeling pretty lucky when I was surrounded by 4 other people who were willing to join me on a late-night quest for Cookiepuss.
It wasn't much of a quest, mind you, because despite at least 100 other folks in town thinking tonight was the night for ice cream, no one else was buying a Cookiepuss. These awesome ladies below were ice cream sundae wizards and got all the customers in and out with as little meltage as possible. I paid my $23 or whatever, and we all got back in the car and headed home.
I ate his hands, just because they were blue, and half of one of his cookie eyeballs. And then I went back for seconds. I didn't look too hard at the ingredients label and neither should you. This is the sort of thing you just have to do and not think too deeply about. You are eating a majestic space alien (according to my email correspondence about 10 years ago with one of Carvel's execs) who brought his ice creamy self down to earth for you to enjoy and that's really all you need to know.