We complete the trifecta of El Bolson’s wares, ice cream the last leg of the brew and crafts tripod, and damn, this artesenal helado is muy bueno.
Graham and I appease our inner gluttons, he opting for a raspberry sorbet and chocolate amarga duo, me diving into a pairing of red fruit cream and chocolate-dulce de leche combo.
Unlike its North American counterpart, the South American stuff falls somewhere between gelato and ice cream, tuffets of whipped, flavored air, spongy, bouncy deliciousness. Flavor for flavor, it’s equally good, just less dense, lighter, almost impossible to lick down due to its natural spring and resilience.
It’s like frozen creamed mousse.
We enjoy every lick, down to the final drop, finally understanding that here, ice cream is literally that, iced cream, whipping cream, hence why not every flavor is as creamy as its northern corollary, for if it’s not crema, it’s different, our chocolate helados less milk than cacao.
Goodness gracious, and now, more in the know with helado lingo, up to speed on the crema lexicon, we sneak peek flavors at other heladerías, curious as to how they marry perfume and cream, if at all, and then, we find precisely what we’ve been missing in our ice cream experience–
Calafate con leche de oveja.
Absolutely amazing, I regret today’s earlier forays into sweetness, too stuffed from dinner to even contemplate a second cone of the day. This sample spoonful of this–and the crema de chantilly and the frutas del bosque–sends us dreaming, though, of the tart tangy blue berry mixed with sheep’s milk, perfect medium for the region’s Calafate, wishing the child’s tale of ribs being shelves upon which to store food groups, the last one–dessert–the most ample, veritable and applicable.
But, alas, we’ll just have to come back.