Everything else was closed by the time I arrived at Frio Gelato in Wilmette on 1152 Central Avenue at 9:50, 10 minutes before they closed. I had nowhere to go, and by all means, I should have gone home. But like Forrest Gump, I kept running forward just to run. Frio Gelato remained open, the bright white lights of the store a lighthouse in a sea of muted colors, a beacon in an expanse of all-consuming darkness that seemed to beckon me over.

That night was defined by the fall haze. As I write this now, my memories seem to cloud over with a fog that permeated every single detail and thought in the nebulous existence of that Friday, 9/27. Maybe I just imagined it all, the figments of my hallucinations piecing together little shards of reality to create a mosaic of that autumnal night. 

I think I was just really tired.

It didn’t seem like a good time for gelato. It was 9:43 on a cool Friday night, one that was punctuated by a gargantuan dinner at Raising Cane’s. I didn’t think I had room in my stomach. I had planned to go to Frio Gelato sometime over the weekend, but I didn’t think it would be Friday night. The reason for my unexpected pilgrimage? 

I really, really wanted ice cream. I don’t know why. Maybe it was divine fate that put me on a crash course with Frio Gelato.

I walked into the restaurant, and the first thing I noticed was the minimalist decor and calming aura. It was clean, yes, but it wasn’t so pristine that it felt like a hospital. The menu board, which was marked up with various items and their prices in big blocky letters, giving a very nostalgic feel. With the rows and rows of gelato containers lined up, boasting a symphony of different flavors, the display windows beckoned me to observe, ponder and deliberate over each one. But it was late, and I felt bad for the workers, so I hastily chose chocolate. 

The tables themselves were clear and spacious, but they lacked napkins to mop up my melting gelato. That was another thing: the temperature in the restaurant was a little too hot, so much so that my gelato began to melt like plastic under the burning sun.

But how was the gelato? It was extremely creamy and rich, with a deep, bold flavor of chocolate, akin to diving into the jungles of South America, cracking open the cacao pod and tasting its bitter, invigorating flesh. However, the chocolate was a little heavy on the taste buds, perhaps a punishment from the Almighty for me not knowing you could get more than one flavor. Still, the deep richness lingered upon my tongue. It was satisfying, with an excellent cacao finish that nestled in my mouth.

I paid $5 for a cup the size of one fist. But, my server–shout out to that man–literally lathered it so high that it towered above my container like a great ziggurat of the Incas. Still, it was a bit pricey, more than I am usually willing to cough up for that amount of gelato.

You might ask me my opinion on whether you should go to Frio Gelato. I personally refuse to dictate what you should or shouldn’t do. I believe that human free will is an essential essence of our nature that represents the infinite possibilities of what all of us might become. 

Consider the possibilities of mango, raspberry, or other flavors at Frio Gelato. Perhaps consider the idea of going to Graeter’s, or even getting some soft-serve from McDonald’s. I am not the diviner of your fate, but your fellow man. I do not have the power of foresight, so the responsibility of another life–your own–would surely crush me under its sheer weight.

But, the gelato was really good. I give it a solid eight out of ten.