Eataly Gelato
Rating: 8/10 | #bringdairysubsidiesback
They say that dessert comes after dinner, but sometimes—in times like these—you wish it was dinner.
That sounds like pretty high praise for a cup of gelato, and let me reiterate—it is. I’m not that big of an ice cream guy, but sometimes the craving strikes and you wind up wandering a mega labyrinth of Italian specialty goods in search of that cold, creamy salvation.
Prior to sitting down with some friends and grabbing a few scoops from Eataly, I noted that I hadn’t yet experienced gelato in my life. That was not a fib, but an accidental fabrication of memory. I had, in fact, eaten gelato once in my life before, except it was from a (rather touristy-looking) shop in Brighton, the UK. And as we know, the UK sours almost all culinary delights it lays its grubby little sausage fingers on. So, sorry Brighton, but that doesn’t count. (The real reason it didn’t count as a true gelato experience, perhaps, was that I had picked up a scoop of sorbet rather than gelato. Sorry again, Brighton.)
The gelato from Eataly, however, was indubitably authentic across all spheres of taste, presentation, and texture. I ordered a scoop each of pistachio and raspberry almond biscotti (pictured left), and Will ordered the former as well as a scoop of passion fruit (pictured right).
Holy moly. We agreed that the gelato conveyed each flavour extraordinarily well with none of the usual “dairy” taste that regular ice cream smacks of. The gelato didn’t just taste like flavoured gelato, it tasted exactly of each thing it claimed to derive flavour from in a very cold, sweet, and creamy medium. Perhaps more crucial to mention was the texture: yes, good quality ice cream (as opposed to freezer tub fare) probably will not hit you with unexpected ice crystals often, but the gelato felt as texturally divorced from any kind of ice cream as it could possibly be. While I am well aware of the compositional differences between ice cream and gelato, I feel that comparison is the only vehicle through which I can truthfully describe my experience eating this gelato. After all, if you’ve somehow managed to live 19 years without experiencing one of the most delightful Italian gifts to grace the global free market, I think you’re justified in comparing gelato to its less distinguished and more commonplace cousin. That is to say—gelato’s the 45/45 diploma kid. Ice cream has yet to present me with more creativity, activity, and service.
