They were out of raspberry sorbet. That’s what I wanted. I must not have hid my disappointment well because the waiter jumped quickly to tell me they have strawberry sorbet too.
“It’s just as good,” she gives me a smile.
With my plans disrupted, I decide I must settle.
“I’ll take the strawberry sorbet,” I hand the waiter the menu and smile, albeit a little forced.
My strawberry arrives. Two scoops. A leaf of mint. It’s dainty. The color is a perfect salmon pink.
I open my mind and take a bite. It’s phenomenal. The consistency is a perfect blend. Not too creamy, but just enough. It’s more elegant than flavored ice. I taste the genuine strawberry tang on each part of my tongue and in each crevice of my mouth, I don’t want the taste to leave.
It’s far from artificial. Each bite takes me a step closer to a strawberry field in the summertime.
The bowl is empty and my tastebuds are happy.
I’m glad they were out of raspberry. I would have never tried the strawberry, otherwise.
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