It was a Pavlovian response. Not just the salivating and the excitement, but the begging my mother for coins, the heart- pounding fear I’d miss it, then the shrieking, running out to the street to see the white truck with the painting of the ice cream bar on the side cruising slowly down the hill.
Fat chance I’d miss the Good Humor man—he had a vested interest in not being missed. He thoroughly enjoyed selling his wares and making kids happy in our stultifyingly hot, humid summer suburbs. But the happy memory of that children’s song’s tinkle can still make me drool, (much like a fountain’s trickle can still make me tinkle).
We've got a few ice cream machines in our house. Two of them we've had for years. They're identical with their big plastic tub that holds a can with a paddle inside of it, with plenty of room between the can and the sides of the tub to pack in lots of ice and salt.
A group of good friends, connected by a love of politics and good food, always used to get together every August in Santa Barbara. Life slowed down; we’d cook together using all local produce – sweet corn, plum tomatoes, Armenian cucumbers, peppers, tomatillos, Blenheim apricots, avocadoes, Santa Rosa plums – and then feast as the sun went down behind rolling hills planted with avocadoes and lemons. 
"We all scream for Ice Cream..." but what flavor and from what shop and why? National Ice Cream Month begs the eternal question, "What's YOUR favorite kind?" One for the Table asked some of our favorite scoop fans to reveal their guilty pleasures....
