Ice Cream and the American Dream

I was only four years old when my family arrived in Brooklyn, New York. My parents had left everything and everyone in Taiwan to pursue the American dream. It was winter, and though I trusted that my family loved me and would protect me, there was great uncertainty as we faced our new life in an expansive new land. The faces were all new – different hair and eyes, new languages, smells and sounds. The landscape was also new – tall buildings and new neighborhoods. It was so very different and exciting, yet uncertain for a four year old. Uncertain – for sure. Where was I? 

Then I had the experience that would make sense of it all...and seal the deal. It was during that winter during my first weeks in American that I had ice cream for the first time – The American kind, the good stuff, the really good stuff. I had never had anything like this before. What was this hypnotic combination of sugar and crème that transfixed me? 

After my first spoonful, I decided right then and there that wherever I was, with so many unique faces, smells, and sounds, I was staying, because nothing could be greater than a country that served this beautiful thing called ice cream. Can it get any better? But it does! The many flavors…the toppings…the dripping sauces. The possibilities and pleasures were endless. 

My first truly American experience was a spoonful of ice cream on an ice cream cone. I knew it was true love when on my second cone, I was a bit too ambitious with my approach and the scoop on top of the cone fell to the ground. I broke into tears. This was my first heartbreak. And all these years later, that memory endures and to this day, I eat my ice cream with great care and it’s one thing I will not share. 

I will admit, however, that sometimes my devotion to this sweet and satisfying dessert seems a bit trivial. Surely America has produced so many other great discoveries and obsessions — Halloween, The Tooth Fairy, Barbie dolls, Elvis, Madonna and Beyonce, sports teams like the Miami Dolphins and Los Angeles Lakers, beach volleyball, movies like ET and Forest Gump, In and Out Burger… 

Yet when I realize how universal my urge to indulge is, I don’t feel so silly. When savoring my favorite flavors I feel closer to the American populous, not set apart. Ice cream is a thing so luscious that it can be enjoyed in silence and solitude or with friends and family. No one has to legislate thou shall enjoy ice cream. It just happens. Naturally. To anyone and most everyone who will try it. And it should be said that through the years my dessert of choice has always been there for me, in times of delight and utter defeat. It hits my taste buds, my stomach, and my heart…reminding me of how much I love my country. 

Ice Cream also blends well and you can make it completely unique to you. Different flavors squeeze nicely into one bowl and, much like a hyphenated cultural identity, compliment one another. Top it off with fruit and nuts and new dimensions of texture and fulfillment emerge. Or mash various American sweets — Snickers, M & Ms, Reese’s Pieces, or whatever you like — into a couple of scoops and excite your taste buds in your own personal, revolutionary way. 
Ice cream is so shameless and accommodating that everyone is welcome to shape their lush dessert into their own image, so to speak, and that says a lot about another American tradition —transformation. 

My family, like so many other families, came to this great nation and succeeded. It wasn’t easy. Not every moment was ideal. But by passionately contributing to an idea, a notion that all men and women are created equal, we arrived with nearly nothing and yet gained everything. With pride and distinction we could embrace our hyphenated identity, our unique mixture and call ourselves Taiwanese-American. We could stand beside other peoples who identified themselves as Japanese-American, Korean-American, Mexican-American, Persian-American, Irish-American and so on. We could do so and still feel like there was plenty of room for all of us. 

Much has been written about America the melting pot of culture. By now it should not surprise you that I see America as an ice cream bowl, the good stuff, the American kind.