For whom the Blue Bell tolls

In Tuesday’s blog, I wrote about the last meals requested by inmates on death row. I compiled my own list, which included chocolate cake for dessert.

I’ll admit that’s a tough call. I’m not a big dessert eater anyway. I have a flexible sweet tooth. I could have put apple pie or banana pudding on the list and been just as happy before they pulled the switch.

I could give new meaning to the recipe called “death by chocolate.’’

A reader challenged my list and posted this comment: “Did you forget Blue Bell vanilla????’’

I don’t know how I could have left Blue Bell off the list. I guess my mind isn’t fully functioning at 5:26 a.m.

This reader posted the name “Anonymous,’’ so I don’t know he/she is. I just know Anonymous must be a popular name for both boys and girls.

I do have my suspicions, though, that my friend Harriet’s fingerprints are on this one. We both have a long and abiding love for Blue Bell ice cream going back eight years.

I was the one who introduced Harriet to the world’s best ice cream. Not only that, I got her hooked. A few years ago, she was in Texas visiting her son and toured the Blue Bell headquarters in Brenham. She brought me back a souvenir tie – green and yellow with the little cows on it.

For the longest time, Blue Bell was only sold in a limited area in the Midwest. It claimed its ice cream was the best because of the sweet grass the cows ate around Brenham.

When its distribution area extended to the Florida panhandle, we used to go crazy over it whenever we went to Destin for our family beach vacation.

Back home, I would rave about Blue Bell to the folks in Macon. “It’s better than homemade,’’ I would tell them. “Yeah, right,’’ they would say.

Then Blue Bell started inching closer to Georgia. When our friend, Christie, lived in LaGrange, she called to tell us Blue Bell had crossed the state line and was being sold in grocery stores in LaGrange.

“Christie,’’ I said over the phone. “We really need to come visit you. We miss you.’’

I reckon Christie didn’t notice the back of our van was loaded down with coolers. We stopped on the way out of LaGrange and filled every available square inch with ice cream. I think we bought about $50 worth of ice cream and seven bags of ice.

We felt like a family of bootleggers. We stopped in Barnesville to check on the rocky road. It was starting to melt. “Hurry!” Delinda screamed. I’m lucky I didn’t get pulled over for speeding. We could have been busted for butterfat.

Eventually Blue Bell came to the Ingles in Forsyth, and we used to drive up there to get it, too. Then, alas, it did come to Macon.

Now our grocery trips are planned around whichever store has Blue Bell on sale.

Yes, it should have been on my last meal list.

We scream for ice cream. Pull the switch.

At least you can die with a grin on your face.