I Found Out What Yeezus Tastes Like

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Food

I Found Out What Yeezus Tastes Like

More than most celebrities in such a public light, Kanye West symbolizes the complexities of being black in America. I recently tasted Kanye-inspired ice cream and wondered: Can frozen dessert do the exact same thing?

It's late afternoon and you're on Bowery Street in Manhattan. As an adult, you have two options: Waste away at one of the nearest bars' happy hours, or stop in to Morgenstern's Finest Ice Cream. About seven times out of ten, you'll likely pick the former. This week is different, though, because it's the only time you get the Kanye's Beautiful But Darkly Lit Soft-Serve Ice Cream Parlor.

The occasion commemorates two things: that West turned 38 on Monday, and that he has a good relationship with the dessert. It's not like he automatically smiles every time he sees ice scream, but he does have a solemn respect for it. Look at his face in that now-famous picture. It says, "I may not like that I'm in this vehicle by myself, but I respect the shit out of you, vanilla ice cream cone."

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Sign outside of Morgenstern's Finest Ice Cream. All photos by the author.

Nick Morgenstern, the owner of the parlor, says he's been selling out of the West-inspired treats every day this week. And he should be.

Kanye West Ice Cream Week is a sure success because of three facts: 1) Kanye West and Kim Kardashian equal pageviews and dollar signs; 2) Psychology 101 teaches you that people don't like to feel left out; 3) It's ice cream in the summer—classic.

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Before stopping in, I doubted I'd like it: I've had a turbulent relationship with frozen, dairy-based desserts. The summer of 2010 was spent in Cold Stone Creamery singing and dancing with a predominantly black staff for tips in front of white Californian tourists. The following summer at Pinkberry, I somehow ended up with a female coworker waving a knife in my face as I was doing dishes.

But I do like Kanye West. His verse for "Jukebox Joints" sucks, and he's spoken ill of Beck (who I'd catch a charge for), but he made My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, and—arguably more so than most celebrities in such a public light—he symbolizes the contradictions and complexities of being black in America. Can a frozen dessert do the exact same thing?

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Probably not—it's frozen dessert. But I also like Morgenstern's. Its slightly retro setup is welcoming despite intimidating flavor names like "Angel Food" and the words "CASH ONLY" blaring at the register. It's a chill, small space with well-kept white surfaces. When I visit, there is this dude with a heart of gold and a Swaghili accent (which I assume switches back to European any other week). You enter and turn to your right to see the main event: above the selfie-ready mirror wall is the Darkly Lit menu. The upper left half features the uniquely named sizes, which are less likely to fill your heart with hate than Starbucks' antagonizing "talls" and "ventis." The right side of the sign lists the "New Flavs!", and there are four with the knotty, referential names. For just seven days, a Kim K. Thirst Trap Sundae is a real thing you can eat.

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The names aren't simply gimmicks, though; there's plenty distinguishing these treats from the stuff at competitors' shops. First there's the All Day Vanilla Ice Cream Cake. It's admittedly very hard to fuck up a vanilla ice cream cake, but this cake isn't simply great by default—it's smoother and perhaps less sweet for extra indelibleness over others like it. I came for the cake but stayed for the toppings: the Yeezus Chips and the Maraschino Cherry by Maison Margiela. The chips and chocolate shavings aren't shy with their richness. Lesser cherries are often edible accoutrements, but these sinful morsels are a joy of their own.

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Instead of possibly onsetting a clinical addiction to Red October Red Velvet, Red October Raspberry sorbet ended up being on the menu. It's also the nadir. Raspberries are the Jeremy Lin of fruits—they had one moment and somehow have managed to become a mainstay despite their flagrant averageness.

West is extravagant and has a red sneaker. Raspberry is red, but definitively unextravagant. It's the sixth man on an already small menu. Because we have to do things to Westian extremes, the Red October Raspberry must follow suit. This sorbet is unpleasantly sweet. Audaciously sweet, and somehow prideful in its audacity. Although I don't like it, I respect it.

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The I Am A God Ice Cream Croissantwich—much like the line that inspired its name—takes some getting used to because of its extremes. You're biting into a crispy Arcade Bakery croissant and seeping your teeth into vanilla-flavored potential frostbite. There's no in-between. But once you get past the initial awkwardness, there's an amazing aftertaste that makes the gustatory confusion worthwhile.

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As billed on the menu, the Kim K Thirst Trap Sundae is the main event. Some reacted as such. One gentleman who was sitting next to me raised the dairy concoction as if it was some singular prize while he took a cellphone pic. Another exclaimed, "It tastes like Kim K." I'd imagine the Kardashian-colored sundae comes close: The sundae is a mess, albeit a compelling and well-thought out one. Look at the ingredients: Champagne caramel sauce, Miracle Whip(ped) Cream (an unfluffy version of Miracle Whip; still tasty, but somehow not as miraculous), and sesame-seed caramel ice cream. It's smooth once you get past the caramel's off-putting decadence.

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So the whole experience will put you $30 in the hole. Not just an ice cream experience, but a Kanye ice cream experience. And I guess that what makes it such a thing, beyond names alone, is the sense of indulgence in each menu item with the cumulative gratification it all brings—lame fruits and all. Your ice cream-averse bias subsides, and despite all those calories, you're temporarily made anew. It's arguably an edible piece of November 2010.