I like my ice cream like I like my men: sweet, satisfying, and firm.
It always stumps me when folks take ice cream out to soften before serving. So you might sprain your wrist scooping out some rock-hard Rocky Road. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And the reward is a bowl or cone of delicious, headache-inducing ice cream.
When it starts melting as soon as it hits the bowl or dripping down the cone, it’s dead to me. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I’ll still suck it down through a straw, but I won’t be happy about it. If I wanted a milkshake, I would have gotten the blender out. If I wanted soft-serve, I would beeline to the closest DQ. Ice cream is supposed to be hard and cold—after all, it’s called ICE cream. The harder it is to begin with, the slower I can eat it. If it's already at a mushy stage when it hits the bowl, it's just going to dissolve into a puddle of dairy unless I shovel it into my piehole stat.