Il Gelatiere
647 Mount Pleasant Road
416-488-2663
Small cup with one or two flavours: $3.90

I pride myself on being a one-man kind of woman. Yes, there was that one summer in Florence when I had to have it every day, sometimes twice; when I’d slyly frequent three or four places so that I wouldn’t be recognized, so that the locals wouldn’t fare le corna at me. I admit it. Then, I was a promiscuous tramp who was after all the gelato I could stomach.

But, since then, I’ve mellowed out. I’ve left my sweet indecisiveness behind me. Gone are the days of desperate dashes to the supermarket for pints of cream-laden concoctions, trying to distinguish the Mocha Almond Vanilla Explosions from the Triple Cherry Blossom Overloads. I thought I had found a home at Dolce Gelato on College Street. We had a mutually inclusive relationship, one devoid of the usual marital tiffs and woes. I gave them a few dollars and in return, I would receive a cup of airy and not-too-sweet gelato. I wasn’t looking for greener pastures, I didn’t want to have my cake and eat it, too. Really, I was happy… or, so I thought.

I made the trek up to Bayview Avenue and Mount Pleasant Road with the intention of getting a manicure and lunching with my stepmother, and it was she who steered my life off-course. She casually mentioned that they had tried the new gelateria in their neighbourhood but still preferred another well-known establishment - something about the lemon being too puckery. They’re not one for second food chances, so it was up to me to unearth the answers.

To my great pleasure, the owner and gelatiere (Italian for “maker of gelato”), with his clear shower cap taming locks of dark, curly hair, greets me in Italian. Gelato is the Italian counterpart to our North American ice cream. Made with milk, gelato generally has 35% air, the outcome being a dense and flavourful delight. A deft hand can produce something altogether ethereal, showcasing bursts of intense flavour and silky mouth feel, rolling on the tongue like the Italian ‘r’. Alessandro Buccianti, hailing from Rome, does just that. His Gianduiotto, evocative of the Italian staple Nutella, is a nuttier version with hints of cocoa and a layer of sweetness that runs seamlessly through it. Pesca is vivacious peaches and vaniglia doesn’t disappoint either; while it usually smacks of vanilla extract, this one suggests a creaminess that belies its weight. As for limone, the instigator? It puckers alright, but who I am to fault a man who imports his cups and cones straight from the motherland? A double-scoop of the stuff with say, the delectable pistacchio, could be said to perform miracles.

I hear you, shame on me for cheating. But for a glimpse of Italy, for an evening when I can pretend that I’ve travelled to Rome for a stroll at dusk and a chat with the locals, I will dole out public transportation fare and tirelessly flirt with the idea that because it’s made with milk, it must be good for me.