Which Way's Up

Am I about to single-handedly bring Baskin Robbins back to life?

I hope so. The joy that good old Baskin Robbins brought me this year–this Thanksgiving–can only be rewarded with a surge in profits. Sure, those profits may not be tallied until next Thanksgiving, but a nickel is a nickel, right?

Note to self: Schedule this writing to run on repeat every year during the run-up to the holiday season forever and ever.

How will I single-handedly bring Baskin Robbins back to life?

Exhibit A:

This ice cream turkey cake was worth every penny and, my God, I was (admittedly) a bit unnaturally excited to present it to guests. Not my guests, of course. I don’t cook on Thanksgiving. That job is either left to my husband or whoever invites us into their home.

Does that sound weird? Or does it sound glorious?

Look, if you are a person who loves cooking for a gajillion people while doing higher math on food timing, bless you. I am not that person. For years, upon my arrival to wifehood, I delightfully attended Thanksgivings hosted by my husband’s extended family. There was no need for me to get involved with shopping lists or the oven or the potato masher. Then one year, to my surprise, I heard my beloved offering to host Thanksgiving at our house the following year.

Wait now, what?

After what was probably a minor tantrum, we came to the compromise of “Fine, we’ll host. But I’m not cooking.” I did not expect my husband to enthusiastically agree to handle everything, but there we were. It was the best new tradition ever started…until this year and the birth of the Ice Cream Turkey Cake.

We knew heading into the holidays that this year was going to be strange and, likely, full of new feelings. My mother had gone into full-time nursing care in April. Rich’s mother died, unexpectedly, in August. The kids would be celebrating two states away at their maternal grandparents’ home. I hadn’t even managed to dig out the fall decorations as we continued to adjust to our changing world. Heck, we even debated simply locking the doors and closing the blinds while wondering if our Christmas Tree would also skip the remainder of 2024.

Then, rescue arrived in the form of an invite to our closest friends’ holiday table. Their holiday table is huge–the idea of adding a few more chairs was probably a no-brainer for my host-astic friend, but for us? The invite was a lifeline to Everything-Will-Be-Okay-Ville. All we had to do was show up with a favorite side. Rich immediately started researching recipes for green bean casserole–the dish his mother made each year, especially for him.

Me? Right. I don’t cook on Thanksgiving. I get enough of the kitchen the rest of the year.

But then my Facebook algorithm started sprinkling in the occasional Baskin Robbins’ ad for…what the eff was that? Admittedly, the first few times I saw this ad, I scrolled right by because surely…Is that a…what is that? Finally, I paused to really digest what I was seeing…Is that an Ice Cream Turkey Cake? I resisted the urge to click the link for days before I caved and zipped over to the Baskin Robbins’ website to confirm my belief that this was all a farce but OH MY EFFING LORD THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

When I say I pulled a finger muscle in my speed to get this thing in my cart, I am not exaggerating. When I say that this Ice Cream Turkey Cake brought joy back into our home at the perfect moment, I am not exaggerating. When I say that my husband quickly grew tired of hearing the words “Ice Cream Turkey Cake,” I suspect I am not exaggerating. When I say that, in person, the Ice Cream Turkey Cake was a bajillion times better than I imagined, I know I am not exaggerating.

I am not a good secret keeper. Keeping this secret from our host took a great deal of self-control and a little bit of duct tape. I came close to crumbling multiple times–especially when our host sent me a note listing the desserts that others would be bringing. OMG, does she suspect something? Did I tell her I would be bringing dessert? What should I do? I casually responded, “Oh, sounds great. I’ll get my life together at the supermarket. LOL!”

When I get overly excited about something, no matter how big or small, I stop sleeping at night. Instead, I lay in bed just wondering how that something, no matter how big or small, would pan out. This often flows into dreams, once my eyelids can stand it no longer. Two days before Thanksgiving, I woke up and reported to my husband: I had a dream that we went to get the Ice Cream Turkey Cake and there was an entire truck backed into the Baskin Robbins’ parking lot unloading thousands of Ice Cream Turkey Cakes. It was so exciting!

His squint of confusion told me that I may have developed an unhealthy relationship with my future Ice Cream Turkey Cake. Still, he pseudo-enthusiastically joined me on pick-up day. When we got that first peek of the Ice Cream Turkey Cake, we both knew instantly that this was an exactly perfect decision. We also realized that we had nowhere to house our feathered friend until the following day so we zipped to the supermarket to grab some dry ice.

How, after all, do you hint at needing a rather large space in someone else’s freezer without letting the turkey out of the bag?

As we were eating an amazing spread of sweet potatoes, stuffing, cornbread casserole, and non-ice cream turkey, my thoughts kept going to the garage where I’d tucked away my surprise. I wonder when we’re having dessert? Is there a break between the feast and round two? When should I set out the Ice Cream Turkey Cake to soften just a smidge? Apologies to those at my table – yes, I was a bit distracted. Even my husband noticed as he asked multiple times if I was okay.

Yes! I’m fine! I just can’t stop thinking about my Ice Cream Turkey Cake!

When the moment finally arrived? It was glorious.

If a picture says a thousand words, then let me insert one here lest I continue on.