Living: An Eternal Verity

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Vanilla. I always knew that chocolate was the only flavor worth losing my teeth over.

I loved Good Humors because they had chocolate shells. And I loved it when, on a summer night, my grandmother would give me 35¢ (I think it was 35¢, my memory is as fragile as my teeth) and send me to the store where the druggist would personally pack a half-pint container with Breyers' best. Two flavors. Whatever my grandmother fancied, plus chocolate.

As I grew older, I dared more (chocolate was still best for a broken heart, but Rocky Road—chocolate with nuts and marshmallows—was good too) and I began to make brand distinctions. I didn't go by butterfat, I let my taste buds do the walking. Howard Johnson's got my vote. So did Schrafft's.

Then, on a trip to California a few years back, I discovered Swensen's. I still remember the first cone, a scoop of coconut and a scoop of Swiss chocolate with almonds and oranges. Later, Swensen's came to New York, but there are thrills you can't recapture.

In Italian restaurants, I like spumoni (it has chocolate in it). I also like the vanilla-chocolate-strawberry brick ice cream that used to be a staple of children's birthday parties. I still eat around the chocolate, saving it for last.

Lately, I have a new habit. Baskin-Robbins' 31 Karat Bars.

They come in two flavors, Pralines 'N Cream, with a kind of butterscotch overcoat, and Jamoca Almond Fudge, sheathed in chocolate. Sometimes, I buy a six-pack of Jamoca Almond Fudge bars, eat two of them on my way home from work, and finish the rest before the 11 o'clock news. I know it's disgusting, but I don't care any more. And besides, it's a lot cheaper than whisky or cocaine.