Lying on the soft, maroon duvet cover, I got up and walked to the granite kitchen counter. "Okay darling. Here's your ice cream." She used her ice cream spoon to pick up the frozen treat sitting on the metal bowl. She scooped one and gave it to me. It was now mine. I walked back to the brown leather sofa and opened my mouth, ready for the ice cream, which was half reddish-pink in colour, and half was cream-coloured and smelled like vanilla. I assumed it was vanilla. I ate the ice cream slowly, to get the taste of the two fresh homemade ice creams. Taking a bite, I can taste the sweet, soft smell of fresh vanilla picked from the garden. It melted in my mouth, and I can no longer focus on the TV show. It melted in my mouth, and the sweet, sugary, milky ice disappeared within the bite. I can taste the fresh cream on the spoon, skimmed with milk and sweet, sweet sugar. Anticipating, I then took a bite on the reddish-pink frozen ice. I didn't know what it was, but all I know is that the sweet taste of the ice cream was more than tempting. The sweet syrup, mixed well with the what was now - sorbet, melted on my tongue along with the sweet-and-sour red ice. Is this raspberry? It feels as if I can almost smell the raspberry, carefully mixed in with the vanilla and the syrup.
No, I did not devour a delicacy, nor an expensive treat, but my aunt's all-american homemade vanilla and raspberry ice cream sorbet.
I really like how you use the descriptive details but how ever You should write how your aunt made those ice cream .. I want to know how she make them.
ReplyDelete