Some relationships lasted a few years—perhaps I’d move to a new place and we’d lose contact
somehow.
Some lasted as long as one hot summer—just a fling that started without much thought in the frozen aisle of a grocery store.
Some lasted only a few scoops before the thumb-spring-loaded release thingy jammed one too many times and I frustratedly banished it to a dark corner of my silverware drawer, never to be fiddled with again.
I speak, of course, about my long, tumultuous love story with ice cream scoops. You could call it a rocky road, but... should you?
Either way, and luckily for me, this particular story has a happy ending.
It all began innocently enough. After my latest move, I found myself without a scoop. It’s not the sort of thing I’ve ever worried about much, and you really don’t notice such gaping voids in your life until you need them most. Like when summer’s first pint is in the freezer and suddenly all you’re left with is a soup spoon running under hot water.
But this time I knew it would be different. I wasn’t going to waste another minute on subpar ice cream tools. It was time to find my scoopmate for life. So, off I went searching for love the way everyone does now: on the Internet. After a few minutes of research, I spent another hour or two searching for the soul mate of ice cream scoops. One I could spend the rest of my life with. Ergonomic ones, silicone ones, European ones, none with that damn thumb-spring-loaded release thingy (I’d learned my lesson there). Until, finally, I found it—and it had been sitting right under my nose the whole time.
Just look behind the counter at any local ice cream parlor worth its salted caramel and you’ll probably find they’re using a Zeroll. Unibody aluminum construction without any superfluous parts to jam up. Heat-conducting handle that uses your own hand’s warmth to help the scoop glide effortlessly through the iciest of ice creams. A scoop rounded just so—creating perfectly glossy orbs for your sugar cones.
Spending 20 bucks on an ice cream scoop might sound absurd for the casual at-home scooper not planning on going pro, but less than a year in and I’m already convinced this is the only scoop I’ll ever need. The Zeroll company has been slinging their wares out of Toledo, Ohio, since 1935, and most scoops from way back then are still around today. So this ice cream scoop might even outlive me (presumed cause of death: brain freeze).
The handles are dotted with different colors denoting the size of scoop you’ll get from each. Since I’m the kind of guy who sometimes likes a medley of scoops in my bowl and will serve up cones on special occasions, I went with the two-ounce option. Consider it the utility infielder of ice cream scoops. But depending on your own frozen treat proclivities, you can go larger or smaller.
I won’t tell you how to enjoy your ice cream—just how to scoop it.
Some lasted as long as one hot summer—just a fling that started without much thought in the frozen aisle of a grocery store.
Some lasted only a few scoops before the thumb-spring-loaded release thingy jammed one too many times and I frustratedly banished it to a dark corner of my silverware drawer, never to be fiddled with again.
I speak, of course, about my long, tumultuous love story with ice cream scoops. You could call it a rocky road, but... should you?
Either way, and luckily for me, this particular story has a happy ending.
It all began innocently enough. After my latest move, I found myself without a scoop. It’s not the sort of thing I’ve ever worried about much, and you really don’t notice such gaping voids in your life until you need them most. Like when summer’s first pint is in the freezer and suddenly all you’re left with is a soup spoon running under hot water.
But this time I knew it would be different. I wasn’t going to waste another minute on subpar ice cream tools. It was time to find my scoopmate for life. So, off I went searching for love the way everyone does now: on the Internet. After a few minutes of research, I spent another hour or two searching for the soul mate of ice cream scoops. One I could spend the rest of my life with. Ergonomic ones, silicone ones, European ones, none with that damn thumb-spring-loaded release thingy (I’d learned my lesson there). Until, finally, I found it—and it had been sitting right under my nose the whole time.
Just look behind the counter at any local ice cream parlor worth its salted caramel and you’ll probably find they’re using a Zeroll. Unibody aluminum construction without any superfluous parts to jam up. Heat-conducting handle that uses your own hand’s warmth to help the scoop glide effortlessly through the iciest of ice creams. A scoop rounded just so—creating perfectly glossy orbs for your sugar cones.
Spending 20 bucks on an ice cream scoop might sound absurd for the casual at-home scooper not planning on going pro, but less than a year in and I’m already convinced this is the only scoop I’ll ever need. The Zeroll company has been slinging their wares out of Toledo, Ohio, since 1935, and most scoops from way back then are still around today. So this ice cream scoop might even outlive me (presumed cause of death: brain freeze).
The handles are dotted with different colors denoting the size of scoop you’ll get from each. Since I’m the kind of guy who sometimes likes a medley of scoops in my bowl and will serve up cones on special occasions, I went with the two-ounce option. Consider it the utility infielder of ice cream scoops. But depending on your own frozen treat proclivities, you can go larger or smaller.
I won’t tell you how to enjoy your ice cream—just how to scoop it.
