If you haven't picked up Shel Silverstein's poetry collection Where the Sidewalk Ends recently, you're in for a treat: it's just as absurd and scary and adorable as you remember. Today, though, we're concerned with just one poem: "Eighteen Flavors," which is a short tragedy about an ice cream cone. Without further ado:
Eighteen luscious, scrumptious flavors Chocolate, lime and cherry, Coffee, pumpkin, fudge banana Caramel cream and boysenberry. Rocky road and toasted almond, Butterscotch, vanilla dip, Butter brickle, apple ripple, Coconut and mocha chip, Brandy peach and lemon custard, Each scoop lovely, smooth and round, Tallest ice cream cone in town, Lying there (sniff) on the ground.
I really recommend reading this one aloud. While holding an ice cream cone.
I'm Nozlee Samadzadeh, a writer, editor, farmer, developer, and passionate home cook. Growing up Iranian in Oklahoma, working on a small-scale organic farm, and cooking on a budget all influence the way I cook -- herbed rice dishes, chicken fried steak, heirloom tomato salad, and simple poached eggs all make appearances on my bright blue kitchen table. I love to eat kimchi (homemade!) straight from the jar and I eat cake for breakfast.