My grandmother used to grow ice cream in the garden. She lived in Russia, a few hours North of Moscow. We’d plant it in the autumn, just as the first frosts were beginning to grab. Katya and I would visit her every other weekend. We’d hop on the tram and sit in the hay. It was a two hour journey. Sometimes during growing season, from November to March, we’d go and sneak a bit out when she wasn’t looking. I liked it best before it was fully ripe, after a February snow, crystalline and slightly bitter.