One of my favorite accidental traditions is being surprised by affogatos at the sweetest and happiest moments. An affogato is an espresso shot poured over ice cream. The first time I had one, I’d just finished swimming over stingrays in a New Zealand bay. We pulled into a vineyard that happened to be serving ice cream and espresso at 9am and enjoyed them on seats among the vines.
The next time, I was walking around downtown St. Pete on a warm, humid-yet-breezy April evening, and we ducked in one of the many ice cream shops to find one that also served espresso.
This time, I was in Bigfork on a quiet day, right before closing at the ice cream coffee shop, and we asked very nicely if we could have a scoop of moose tracks and an espresso shot each. Up till now, I’d only had vanilla ice cream in an affogato, and someone in Italy is probably crying to imagine this very American combination, but I regret it not at all.
I love them, simply, but also technically, because whatever time you’re eating an affogato, one of the ingredients is inappropriate. You’re either having ice cream in the morning or espresso at night. I guess 11am would be the technically-perfect time, but how much fun have you ever had at 11am?
I never look for affogatos, they find me, and that’s the thing I love about them the most. I’ve never planned to have one. It will happen to be a perfect moment, and then suddenly, an affogato is in my hand, and it’s beyond perfection, into happiness.