Everyone has a place that screams the ice cream they screamed for as a kid. This here is the place. In truth, it’s not the best cone in the world. But I still love the sound of saying Mister Cone Mister Cone, over and over, like plunking on some string bass instrument, and until it sounds like some other performance piece. So, once a year each summer, the tradition continues. Typically I bring the little ones—obey the poodles!—and someday I’ll bring some two legged little ones too. Oh the screaming racket that will be. . .

Salut to the Nick and the G(r)amma-ray..