We went with friends to Carolina Beach for spring break this year, and one of the stops we made (twice? maybe three times?) was at a little ice cream shop called Boombalatti’s. Not only was the ice cream so good we went back twice or maybe three times, but they make waffle cones in-house.
You know the waffle cones are made in-house when that warm, sweet aroma wafts out the door and around the corner as you approach the ice cream stand. That aroma takes me to Carolina Beach and also St. Augustine, to that one ice cream shop in Old Town, to vacation destinations, to time with friends and family, to laughter and delicious, sticky indulgences.
I decided, with my friend Becca, that any time a place makes their own waffle cones, one must order them. I’m 40 now; I have lived too long abstaining from this delight because I think it might save me a couple of calories. Why should we deny ourselves this great and rare pleasure? What is living if you do not order the house-made waffle cone?!
The years are too short to pass on waffle cones.