I’ve never been a fan of eating alone. I’ve always liked someone opposite me when I’m eating. That way I’m not just sitting behind a screen for about 20-30 minutes watching YouTube videos about Magic the Gathering or some video essay on the way rappers rhyme. I am also a firm believer that food is one of the best way to form or strengthen friendships. It brings people closer together. Those who know me from my Instagram know that I post what I like to call my “foodventures”, which are adventures to a restaurant in Miami I’ve never been to with a friend. I’d say about less than a handful of them feature me going alone, such as my first pilgrimage to Knausberry Farm. No one likes to go anywhere at 8 in the morning if they don’t have to, even if it means having some of the best food in town. Go figure. Luckily for today’s entry in Cafe Society, I had two buddies tag along.

The Story:

It was 12:30 in the afternoon. I was dead set on going to Ariete, a restaurant in Coconut Grove. I heard many things about it and even went to Chef/Owner Michael Beltran’s newest eatery, Chug’s. I got in my car, pulled out of my driveway, drove down 8th Street for at least thirty blocks before a friend of mine texted me saying Ariete doesn’t open until four. I may have saved a couple of bucks because they weren’t open, but that left me wondering where to go. I pull into an empty parking lot, pull up Google Maps on my phone and check out every restaurant I have saved under “Want To Go” or “Loved”. I’m not above driving far distances for a good plate of food. I looked at what was in the Biscayne area: Pinch Kitchen, Dogma Grill, Blue Collar, Moshi Moshi, Jimmy’s Eastside Diner, and- oh? Cream Parlor. It had been in my mind recently. Perhaps Pinch Kitchen for lunch and a scoop of ice cream afterwards at Cream Parlor? I then remembered my friends Aislinn and Karol went there for a bite to eat a few days prior. From the footage she put on her Instagram story, it looked really cute inside, and the ice cream looked even better. Karol even told me they served savory food in addition to the ice cream. That was it. No need to drive anywhere else. I’ll have my lunch and ice cream from the same place. I approached the Palmetto Expressway and drove for about ten seconds before I decided to make a detour and fill up on gas. The drive was going to be long, the traffic coming back was going to be longer, and my tank needed it.

I call up my buddy, Gio, to see if he’d want to join me. He’s not the type of person who spends more than fifteen dollars at most for a meal, but I’m sure he’d be down for some ice cream. He was, surprisingly, and I made my way to his house. He asked for a moment to take a shower before we left, which I had no qualms with. While alone in his living room, I got a call from my buddy, Garvin, who also wanted a bite to eat and offered to drive both of us. More company, to me, was always a good thing. I asked Gio if it’s okay that he joined us since they don’t know each other. He gave me the all-clear and we were off. By the time we were on our way, it was already 2 and we had a thirty eight minute drive ahead. This led to a conversation between Gio and Garvin that I can only describe as “lewd”, as most topics of conversation with Garvin inevitably become. While they spoke, my mind raced around what kinds of ice cream they’d have.

Driving down Biscayne Boulevard is always chaos. Everyone is fast at all times and no one stops for anyone. When we found where Cream Parlor was, we already passed it. We quickly turned right and parked in a lot across the street. Though, to be fair, a sign that signaled we’d be towed was nowhere to be found. I’m sure it was fine. We crossed the street, walked past the barber shop next door, and make our way inside. If I thought what I saw in Aislinn’s story was cute, seeing it in-person was something else.
Stepping into Cream Parlor for the first time is experience in of itself. The walls are mounted with all kinds of ornate teacups and their respective plates. Some of the tea cups were glued onto the plates, others were glued without them. You couldn’t find more porcelain in an antique shop and to begin to describe each one would be insanity. So many colors, so many shapes, so many designs, my mind was filled with questions. Where did they come from? Were they donated? Were they all bought by the same person? Did she own them all prior to opening this fascinating place? I wish I knew the answers, but I liked not knowing.
Above all the coffee equipment were the menus written on blackboards; all housed in pretty wooden framework painted in metallic colors like bronze or gold. The water dispenser had a tag that hung around the top and read “City Juice”. Next to a few of the tables were large mirrors mounted to the wall. I’m sure they greeted many people before me. All of the tables were ordained with an odd lamp; the one that Gio and Garvin sat at had one with the top half of a gumball dispenser filled with (what I can assume because they didn’t look old) not-expired gumballs. Some of the chairs had interesting seat cushions. One of them was of a pin-up model in a tight leather police uniform.
Look to your left, adjacent to the counter, and there’s a record player with records to play on. Most of them were good, too. Dreamboat Annie by Heart, Business as Usual by Men At Work, Led Zeppelin II and III and Physical Graffiti by Led Zeppelin, Ghost in the Machine and Synchronicity by The Police, Thriller by Michael Jackson, 1999 by Prince, the selection was excellent. The condition was questionable, but the selection was, indeed, excellent. It made me feel like they wanted people to play the records instead of having a selection of bargain bin garbage they found at someone’s garage sale. (Yeah, I know you can strike gold at some of those. I can hear you through the computer screen.)
The most notable aspect of this restaurant, by far, were the sheer amount of trinkets and toys that encompass you. Close your eyes, spin around, open them again and you’ll find something new you didn’t notice before. When I reached the counter, there was a name display that read “Girl Boss”. Just before the coffee equipment hung a kitchen pan with a display on the cooking surface that advertised their homemade cold brew coffee; a Thor action figure stood on one side of the base. Look toward the ceiling and you’ll see things like an LP of Ernie’s Hits from Sesame Street or a picture of Cure lead singer Robert Smith drawn in the likeness of the X-Men’s Nightcrawler. Look elsewhere, you’ll see an Ontario license plate, a chromed out statuette of a camera, and a plushie of cereal icon Frankenberry. Though, of all the trinkets, there was one consistency among quite a few of them: Prince. Yes, Prince Rodger Nelson. That Prince, whose name was also legally an unpronounceable symbol you can type in Unicode as “Ƭ̵̬̊”. There’s the original first press of Purple Rain on vinyl. There’s the tiny framed little picture of Prince that’s near the counter. There’s a stuffed Prince doll mounted on a wall. Oh, and there’s the ice cream flavor Purple Rain, but we’ll get to that in a little bit.

After marveling at the interior of the space, I get the attention of the one person who wasn’t letting Garvin and Gio try every flavor of ice cream they had available. I told her this place was magical, that it felt like I walked into a child’s room, and I hadn’t even eaten yet because I was enamored by every nook and cranny of it. I’ll probably visit five times and see things I didn’t see the previous four. She said this was her hang-out spot before she started working there. She also said the best way to describe the interior was that everything I saw was an extension of the person who owns the place. Those words rang in my head for my entire meal. “Who owns this place?” That’s all I thought for about half an hour.
I asked her what she recommended and she responded with the Cream Cuban. I told her, being Cuban, that I was quite picky about my Cuban sandwiches. My favorite is done at Sarussi, a Cuban landmark here in Miami. It’s hard to top them. She said that it’s simply their take on a Cuban and it sells well among their sandwiches. After some deliberation to myself, I was sold. She also said that if I loved the place so much, that I had to go to the outside patio. By the time I run it by Gio and Garvin, they were both going off on their respective plates of ice cream. I couldn’t tell you what Gio had, but Garvin… He created this monstrosity of a sundae with an indistinguishable amount of flavors; topped off with whoppers and Swedish Fish. The absolute madman. They both declined to sit outside given how hot and humid it was, which was fair because Florida. My food was served to me and I decided to sit at the outside patio without them.

I walked outside and continued to be amazed by this place. It looked like I stepped into the wardrobe and into Narnia. The outside patio, surrounded by wooden planks and thin bamboo chutes, had tables lined along one side of the wall. Some of them draped with their own vintage tablecloths. A section of the wall next to the door I came from had an elaborately framed vintage mirror . The wall straight ahead of me had five vibrant colored cushions on a more elevated portion of the floor. Above my head were paper lanterns of assorted colors hung up via wires that crossed all over the area. Above the lanterns are a bunch of different colored and patterned bed sheets and/or curtains that make up an awning. Garvin and Gio were worried about the sun being uncomfortable, but this place has every possible inconvenience covered. I was also, in the end, all alone to myself, which I guess kind of defeated the purpose of them coming in the first place.

The first I noticed when I placed the Cream Cuban in front of me was the bread. It’s on sandwich bread, unlike the traditional Cuban Sandwich that uses Cuban bread. On appearance, it appeared to be a comfort food-inspired take on the classic. The next thing I noticed was the shape of the sandwich; the two halves make up a heart. A cute touch. I pulled it apart to examine the cross-section; thinly sliced pickles, mayo, yellow mustard, Swiss cheese, ham, and pork. Not a single trace of salami to be found. I took my first bite and, man, it was delicious. Everything was even and I didn’t get too much of one note. A lot of joints tend to overdo one aspect of the sandwich. Sometimes it’s too much cheese, sometimes it’s way too much mayo, sometimes the bread is so goddamn crispy that the entire sandwich fades away like the snap of Thanos’ fingers. The flavor of the ham and the pork were rich and tasty, the pickles were crisp and slightly vinegary, and the flavor of the mustard had a subtle lingering tang at the end. The flavor of the bread was probably my favorite part. It was toasted well, it had a great flavor, and it paired great with the mayonnaise. If I had to nitpick anything, it’d be when I am on the last two bites of each half of the sandwich and it begins to fall apart. Again, those are on the last one or two bites of the sandwich. Not much of a negative at all. The Cream Cuban is a damn good Cuban sandwich and an overall pleasant plate of food overall.

I bus my own table and go back inside. I then see the figure of a tall blonde woman with a Southern accent speaking to Gio and Garvin. I couldn’t give you exact details, but I wanna say she was wearing a red flannel shirt that day. Being the only pair of footsteps walking toward them, she looks at me and asks “Is he part of your party? Did you guys all come here together?” Garvin then goes “Yes! This is Julian! I’m his chauffeur for the evening.” I wanted to knock the shit out of him with the closest knick-knack I could get a hold of. She then asked me what I ended up eating. When I told her I had the Cream Cuban, she said, “Oh, honey, wasn’t it delicious? I always thought I could take that sandwich to a competition because it’s so good. Did you like it?”
“Yeah, I loved it! I mean, shoot, I’ll be honest with you: I bet it’d do well, too.”, I said.
“Thank you! That makes me so happy to hear, darling. Did you wanna try some ice cream now that you finished eating? I know your friends got a head start.”
It was in this moment, it clicked for me. I didn’t need an introduction. I knew she was the owner. She was cheery, she was vibrant, her outfit was youthful, and she took credit for the sandwich I just finished eating. She matched the atmosphere of the restaurant with her presence alone. I’m sure she’d give me her name eventually, but for now, I wanted to finally try the ice cream. It was what I came all this way for.
She introduced herself to me and said her name was Ainsley. She then went over to the other side of the counter and the first thing she asks me before I chose a flavor was “Tell me, honey, do you like Prince?” She handed me a sample spoon of the Purple Rain, a raspberry ice cream filled with raspberry-filled chocolate cups. The notes of raspberry were strong but not too strong due to the creaminess of the ice cream itself, and the dark chocolate cups were an excellent texture. I loved it. She then told me to try the Truffle Kerfluffle, which she described as the yin to Purple Rain’s yang. (Not to be confused with the flavor of the same name offered by Ben and Jerry’s, which has completely different ingredients) It is a vanilla bean ice cream that was swirled with dark raspberry and chocolate truffle filled cups. This one tickled my fancy a little more because it isn’t as overt in its raspberry flavor, and y’know what? It was even better than the Purple Rain. If anything, it’s even more raspberry forward due to the presence of actual raspberries in the ice cream instead of being a raspberry ice cream. I also tried her take on pumpkin ice cream and I swear on every fiber of my bones it tasted like pumpkin pie. Not straight pumpkin. Pumpkin pie. I also tried her chocolate ice cream, which was more on the softer side but still very rich and even fudgey. Any sample she let me try was delicious. Nothing was just okay. On top of that, this woman was an absolute joy to be around and talk to. She is caring and attentive and puts a lot of love into what she does. She even complimented my DIY dip-dyed Chuck Taylors. I’m sure she can brighten anyone’s day with purple no matter how blue they feel. I ended up going with a half scoop of the Purple Rain and the Truffle Kerfluffle. It was a no-brainer.
After I finished my ice cream, Ainsley said she was leaving to have a nice evening with her son. She thanked us for coming, wanted to see us back, and hoped we had a wonderful time. I walked up to the counter to pay and told the woman at the register that she was a sweetheart. She said, without hesitating, that Ainsley is the best person ever and an awesome boss. You don’t hear that a lot with that kind of enthusiasm. That warmed my heart. With that, I paid for my tab and thanked everyone present for my meal.

I could tell she put a lot of work into Cream Parlor. Every detail adds up. It makes it so unique. I would even say that Ainsley was such a presence before I met her and after she left. She couldn’t have been there for more than fourty minutes, but still, I was humbled.

Cream Parlor is a must go. It’s worth the drive. Everything I had was delicious. I wish I could bring everyone I could here. More than anything, the service was as enjoyable as the ice cream itself. If you find yourself with a day off, going to Cream Parlor is one of the best ideas you can make.

The Pairing:

It would be a huge disservice if I didn’t pair Cream Parlor with a Prince album. Cream Parlor’s owner, Ainsley Sheppard, is one of the biggest Prince fans I’ve ever met. There is all sorts of Prince memorabilia around the restaurant and even a Purple Rain ice cream flavor. The real question is which one? An album as vibrant as the store and it’s number one fan. I want to say Purple Rain, but my heart points to an album that people underrate very often. Moreso than 1999, my personal favorite of his. No, if I had to pick one album to pair with this restaurant that’s as vibrant in his performances and production as Cream Parlor’s entire vibe, it’d be Controversy. Prince’s vocal work here oozes desire, thrives off your attention, and dares to test your limits. Its sexual appetite is gripping. “Private Joy”, “Let’s Work”, “Do Me, Baby”, “Sexuality”, the title track, it’s criminal how often this album goes under people’s radar. I say: no more. Controversy is one of Prince’s best and it, like most of his 80s material demands your attention. Whichever song you fall in love with, make sure it’s played loud and up the Turnpike North to Cream Parlor.