Ice Cream Sundays
On pandan, pattern completion and spontaneous combustion 🍨 🌶️
I.
It’s the end of December and Upstate New York is covered in white. It’s magical. I’m sitting next to the fire on a Sunday, rooibos in hand, trying to get still-wet wood to burn while replaying a memory alongside Miles Davis’ It Never Entered My Mind. The trumpet — muted, melancholy — but swinging, somehow. Only jazz can make melancholy move.
The wood h…
