You’d think lavender ice cream would be gossamer purple and smell of wild spring-summer.
Instead the one served on Friday afternoon at a cafe down the road looked plainly like ordinary vanilla. It tasted ordinary at first (if home made ice-cream can taste ordinary) but like a second wave, the powdery floral notes crested in.
I wondered that the smell of lavender could be distilled into creamy slops of ice.
In between sips of a frothy flat white, I let the ice cream puddle on my tongue, and imagined stepping into my grandmother’s closet and biting into a mothball.