Sundae Toppings
by Lore Sjöberg

Pineapple
I feel bad for pineapple topping. It's the Zeppo Marx of ice cream toppings. Nobody ever says "Wow! We ran out of pineapple topping in a hurry," and if they did nobody would say "Darn!" I've had the stuff maybe twice in my life, and that much is only from when I've had a three-scoop sundae and a twisted need for variety. D+

Hot Fudge
The hot here is very important, and not just for viscosity purposes. The differences in temperature, texture and intensity combine to create a fleeting work of dairy art that engages the palate like dirty words at the moment of orgasm which fades into a gooey bowl of missed chances if not seized. Luckily I eat fast. A

Cherry
I like maraschino cherries. Seeing one atop my sundae reassures me that I live in luxury. Making a sundae without one is like singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and stopping right before "dream." No amount of mastery can make up for what's not there. When I became an adult I tried putting extra cherries on my sundaes, but no, that's not right either. A+

Chocolate Jimmies
I would like these if they tasted a damn thing like chocolate. Every chocolate jimmy I've eaten has tasted like the non-chocolate jimmies, which is to say crunchy sugar. I can see why crushed Oreos have made such headway in the past two decades. D

Whipped Cream
Call me a spoiled asshole, but it's the rare ice cream shop that makes whipped cream with a whisk that gets my business. Aerosol whipped cream is fine and dandy but it's essentially the parsley of dessert -- more there for appearances than for flavor. Hand-whipped cream is almost like mousse, thick and textured enough to smother mice, a perfect transition from the ice cream as long as you don't think about the mouse thing too much. D