Being an ice cream scientist sounds like a dream job

I just found out ice cream scientist is an actual job, and now I can’t dislodge a certain corrosive idea from my brain. It’s like a pebble in the shoe, an itch between shoulder blades: bothersome but convincing. I feel I’ve missed out on a great opportunity.

Can you imagine spending your 40-hour workweek coming up with flavors? Sampling your inventions? And…and actually getting paid to do it?

I would’ve been sooooo good at that. I would’ve transformed the industry. Dang! Wonder if there’s still time for a career change?

As a result of listening to an NPR story on a process called dynamic freezing, I’ve arrived at a difficult acceptance of roads mistakenly taken. At this point in my life, it occurs to me that I’ve spent more than four decades in the wrong line of work. All these years I could’ve parlayed a degree in chemistry or food science into work that brings joy to others. Believe me, journalism rarely does that.

Ice cream, on the other hand, elicits happy memories and big smiles. Of all the dishes I can conjure up, few others lift my spirits so readily. It’s the very definition of a treat, all indulgence and extravagance. I consume it not because I need to fulfill a dietary requirement, yet the mere thought of it makes my mouth water. (Be still, taste buds.)

Ice cream is a food you savor and sigh over. You don’t hurry. You don’t shovel it down your gullet, in a rush to quiet a gurgling stomach on your way to the next task on your to-do list. Eating ice cream, whether at home or at the pastel-striped parlor in a strip mall, requires a delicious kind of focus that pushes away the many reasons why you should be eating carrot sticks instead.

I read somewhere that the average American eats about 23 pounds of ice cream and frozen treats a year. I don’t believe that figure for a minute. If my friends and family are a reliable measure, that’s a gross underestimate. Everyone I know rushes to Publix every time the grocery chain advertises a BOGO on Ben & Jerry’s. And my garage freezer is stacked with boxes of creamsicles, ice cream sandwiches and crunchy-topped Lil’ Drums, all bought on sale because we’re conscientious consumers that way.

Ice cream has come a long way since my childhood. Back then basic flavors made up the usual offerings — at least they did in my house. I didn’t discover mint chocolate chip until high school, though I do vaguely remember my mother splurging on butter pecan from the Farm Store drive-thru for my father.

On the very rare occasions we went out for a cone, we searched for the tropical flavors of mango, mamey and coconut. They reminded my parents of their youth in Cuba. But even then, I wasn’t much of an ice cream explorer. I stuck to chocolate faithfully. Still do, in most cases.

Of course, chocolate ice cream now comes in dizzying varieties. Belgian chocolate. Chocolate chocolate chip. Hot chocolate malt. Chocolate fudge brownie. (My mouth waters as I write, but there’s still two hours and 23 minutes until lunch time. Yikes!)

In the past few years, the artisanal movement has come for ice cream. Flavors and toppings are super imaginative. And I’m not referring to rum raisin, pistachio or chocolate chip cookie dough. Just the other day, mac n cheese ice cream made headlines when the Kraft/Van Leuwen’s limited edition product sold out in about a day. I’ve also heard of avocado, corn on the cob, and cooked lobster flavors.

This has translated into two sure things. More jobs for ice cream scientists — a hopeful sign in case I decide on a career change — and a whopping spike in the price of an ice cream cone. These days, a single scoop costs as much as a meal and a waffle cone might buy two days of groceries.

Still well worth it.

Ana Veciana-Suarez writes about family and social issues. Email her at avecianasuarez@gmail.com or visit her website anavecianasuarez.com. Follow @AnaVeciana.