I mostly think of icy poles like medicine. The only time I buy one is as a remedy. Without a minor level of heat stress, dehydration or nostalgia-related malaise, I would never even think of them. Unless there’s a problem, they don’t exist. I say “mostly” because in some very rare circumstances, a particularly great icy pole will go into a different category in my head: the appropriate-for-all-times category of pleasurable experiences which also includes hot chips and the chance to catch things that unexpectedly fall off nearby surfaces. The only time I wouldn’t want any of that is if I’ve already just had a lot of it. I have had few of those icy poles in my life – most of them, weirdly, in New Zealand – but I’d very much like to find more.
What I want is an icy pole that’s easy to eat. I don’t want to bite into a block of ice that feels as though it’s been chiselled from a quarry, nor do I want one that breaks like the top of a creme brulee. I also want it to have some semblance of acidity and not be overly sweet, like a well-balanced lemonade, but frozen.
