Rewind.
My journey to discover this phenomenon of vanilla ice cream on apple pie begins on a Monday. Monday November 21st. I’m asked to volunteer at a bake sale for the medical organization Global Medical Brigades. I agree to be there at 12 pm. The way these things go, is I sit at a table with baked goods attempting to sell them to people passing through. We are located in front of the student union at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. About an hour after I arrived, we hadn’t sold anything. I, in fact, ate a slice of delicious banana bread, which I was supposed to be selling. Like most things in life, I didn’t care about it.
As I’m conversing with a girl I had just met, I look over across the street and see my homie Sebastian crossing the road. I haven’t seen him in a while, so I got up and approached him. I told him the previous week I could film his mannequin challenge when he asked me, which was supposed to be today, but I had to get my car fixed. This was the perfect time to tell him, 5 hours before I said I could film it. I tell him I can’t and he rags on me a bit. We get to talking and he invites me to this Thanksgiving. I tell him “hellllllllllll no.” Reason being, was my ex showed up to his Thanksgiving last year randomly, in the strangest circumstances. I do not want to see her so I decline. Sebastian says his Thanksgiving this year will be at his place and she isn’t invited. He also mentions how her and her family are strangers to him, which is further convincing of why I should go. I tell him I’ll let him know.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving Day. I am watching football in the afternoon. The Vikings vs. the Lions. It’s a pretty decent game. I have the Vikings defense on my fantasy football team, and they’re doing okay. Not as good as they were during the beginning of the season, but things happen. I go up to my room during one of my commercial breaks and check my phone. Sebastian had hit me up, so I called him back. He tells me to go over around 6 pm. I asked him about she who will not be named and he told me she will not be there. It’s a go. I shower and head over around 6 pm.
Fast forward past the ping pong games, the campfire talks, the great Hispanic food, the conversations, and everything else to around 10:30 pm. There is a carton of vanilla ice cream on the counter next to the pie. A conversation begins.
I ask him, “Which are you getting family?”
“What you mean?”
“Ice cream or pie.”
“Bruh, you put the ice cream on the apple pie.”
“Stop playing, for real?”
“Yea fam, no joke.”
“Yo, y’all Hispanics CRAZY bruh.”
“You’ve never had vanilla ice cream on apple pie?! It’s not Hispanic thing, it’s a general thing.”
I look around the room, and sure enough, this dude was right. There were whites, blacks, and Hispanics eating apple pie with vanilla ice cream on top. I thought to myself, what a unique conjuncture. This must be one of those everybody but Asians do type of things, sort of like putting cheese on everything. I warm up a slice of apple pie, followed suit by putting a scoop of ice cream on top. As soon as (AS SOON AS) I take my first bite, it felt like I was falling in love for the first time again. Probably because I was falling in love, for the first time, with vanilla ice cream on apple pie. The ice cream was cool enough to keep from completely melting onto the pie. Cinnamon blended with vanilla. Cold mixed with hot. Everything was in juxtaposition with each other, yet all aspects were so complimentary.
I would describe it in more detail, but I’m sleepy. GOODNIGHT.
