Our History
The popsicle "Lo Stramondiale" has been produced since 1951: we are at the third generation.
The art of tasting a Conti popsicle
The Conti popsicle is a cold work of culinary art, the most humble, the most daring, which consume in the silence of a shade, a bench or an evening, summer or spring.
The popsicle is bought from those who sell it for less, not for arid economy but for symbolic
I remember when you counted the lire to buy it at the bar or dairy.
And there were always 5 lire missing.
The popsicle is not an ice cream and it is not a drink. It is an icy relief of solid liquid, sweetly colored.
Popsicles are not defined by taste. It is the color that represents its essence: green, for example , it is mint.
The popsicle is not eaten, it is savored sucking it is a crime, licking it is a delight.
You can give it a small bite, a kind of hard sip but then you have to melt it in your mouth, from there
there is no escape.
Let's try to choose one: one color each. Not a taste, but an idea of perfume.
Meanwhile, we learn to open it: a small tear at the bottom, near the wooden stick, then we blow into the bag so as not to leave it stuck to itself and tear it to shreds paper as if it were frozen meat. Inflate it a little and it will open like a pod,
showing itself from the most beautiful side: the new side, icy, a popsicle ready to stand out the
flight on the palate.
Once opened, we turn the stick 360 degrees and watch the cold migrate into the air in coils of cold smoke. Let's be careful not to suck the juice, it would be like stealing it
the soul, make it dry. Let's warm it up a little at the tip, to avoid breaking a tooth with the first...
Let's even the round top and turn it into a fenced parallelepiped and then gradually let's nibble it to the bone, the vertebral stick that animates it and supports it until, tear apart the crystal pulp, there remains a woody find to keep a little, looking at it as a sad epiphany, surrounded by nothingness that was previously animated water, not only frozen and in syrup, slip away into the amnesia basket.
We will resurrect it in our imagination and it will reappear with its fellows in some refrigerator of suburbs to give us some relief and savory joy.
We will understand only then that childhood has gone away but has given us in return, at least, a real and fresh regalia: the Conti popsicle, a real delicacy.
