Ever since I heard that pleasant jingle-jangle of the ice cream van on hot, lazy days in my childhood, there has always been a special place in my heart for Mr Whippy. On a day like this, with record temperatures soaring, the 99 Flake deserves honouring.
It's just glorious. Sure, it's no haut cuisine, no specialist gelato or Cornish cream. It has no pretentions to be: it is a basic, down at heal, British summer treat. In this day and age, every food blogger worth their salt will be prepared to admit that some days you want a Kobe beef burger with foie gras on, and others you just want a big dirty patty covered in American cheese. We should all accept the same for this faithful, honest whipped ice.
On a related note, so many of the myths of this honest scoop are just that: myths. They were not invented by Mrs Thatcher (thus giving rise to the perfectly valid question of what did she do for her country), nor were they named 'the 99 Flake' for their price, having been around a lot longer than anyone would dare charge 99p for them.
- GrubsterBoy -