Scoop: politicians like ice cream
In vino, veritas; but equality is in ice cream
In 1984, President Ronald Reagan signed Presidential Proclamation 5219, which designated July that year as National Ice Cream Month and July 15 as National Ice Cream Day. The proclamation was spurred by two bipartisan resolutions, one originating in the Senate and the other in the House, celebrating ice cream as a “nutritious and wholesome food” enjoyed by almost all Americans.
Yes, there were votes in it. The senator and House representative sponsoring the resolutions were both from dairy-producing states. The milk lobby promoted the resolution. Farmers, family-run ice cream parlours and Big Food benefited alike. It was such a success that July has been ice cream month ever since.
It suited Reagan, too. July, the hottest month, coincided with peak ice cream sales and celebrations of US Independence. Even in those pre-obesity times, Americans consumed 10.5 kg of ice cream per person a year. Reagan was paving the way for his feel-good, nostalgic, all-American re-election campaign. Later that year, in September, he unveiled his “Morning in America” message and, in November, trounced his opponent, Walter Mondale.
Fast forward to our day. Ice cream Month is still eloquent about politics. Want to show what’s so cruel about Donald Trump’s immigration policies? Then rally to the cause of Ambrocio Lozano, a beloved ice cream vendor, arrested in the street of Los Angeles by agents from (ahem) ICE (I’m not making that up – it’s the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency).
Lozano’s abandoned ice cream cart is now a symbol of community and solidarity.
But maybe you’re from Republican Florida, not Democratic California; in which case, the vendor’s cart becomes a symbol of community initiative without government interference.
Last week, Don Tomas, another beloved ice cream man, was seen pushing his cart in scorching heat. A viral video quickly collected $20,000 to buy him a van.
There’s something about ice cream. In memory and urban legend, all vendors are “beloved”. I’ve never heard of one who was despised. Hollywood has a gallery of icy villains but not one gelataio among them.
On the contrary, the villainous, the elitist and the aloof make sure they’re photographed enjoying the nectar of the gods. Ice cream is a symbol that politicians manipulate like the colour of their ties.
On the campaign trail, the fastidious, self-controlled Barack Obama, who ate arugula and avoided French fries, was shown opening his mouth wide to keep up with a melting cone. He shares our appetites.
Trump, equally conscious of image, knows the photographers will choose the worst angle if he opens his mouth wide to hoover up ice cream – he sticks to the daintier ice cream bar.
Hillary Clinton, knowing a woman eating a cone will be judged differently, always looks extremely wary, as though she’s trying it for the first time. She ends up confirming her chilly reputation, unlike her husband Bill, who dives in heartily and laughs off the specks of cream left on his nose.
Still, Hillary isn’t as bad as the Kim Jong-Il, the late dictator of North Korea. He wore mittens, a parka, fur hat and sunglasses while picking up a wrapped ice cream – as gingerly as he would a dead fish – during a factory visit in 2010.
The reason ice cream comes with political stakes is that it is the quintessential democratic food- Ranier Fsadni
Authoritarians and strongmen like to pair off ice cream with sunglasses. Vladimir Putin is fond of his ice cream, with a habit of buying directly from a vendor (though some Kremlin watchers say it’s always the same vendor following him around). If he’s without his sunglasses, he eats impassively. With sunglasses, he licks with an enigmatic smile.
In 2019, Putin showed Turkey’s strongman, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, around a Moscow aviation show. Then he stopped at an ice cream cart and ordered an ice cream for Erdogan.
In a game of one-upsmanship before the cameras, Putin chose the flavours for both men. Erdogan, keen to show the audience back home he knew how to turn the tables, asked for the world to hear: “Are you going to pay for me, too?” (It was a $3 ice cream.)
“Of course,” came the grand reply. “You’re my guest.” Subtext: Here, I’m the master of the home. With Putin, ice cream diplomacy is politics by other means.
The reason ice cream comes with political stakes is that it is the quintessential democratic food. The origins of ice cream lie in imperial courts and aristocratic households, back when ice was expensive. But those days are long past.
Today, artisanal ice cream is within reach of middle-class pockets. The affluent drink different water and eat sumptuous dishes; but they largely enjoy the same ice cream.
The homely image of ice cream goes back a long way. Thomas Jefferson, the third US president, popularised a recipe. At the beginning of the 20th century, after alcohol was prohibited on US warships, ice cream was provided instead.
Over a hundred years later, it’s not just politicians who use ice cream to display their humanity; so do the rest of us.
Vegan saints clamour for plant-based ice cream to demonstrate that they, too, are sweet-toothed sinners. Shanghai residents continue to fuse East and West by adding ginseng and jasmine to their treats. Pet owners treat their animals to their first goggle-eyed taste of ice cream and then watch the film go viral.
In vino, veritas; but equality is in ice cream. It has no white privilege. Few want vanilla – and then only if it’s from Madagascar.