Icebreaker: The Sweet Saga of a Dessert Bodybuilder
Strength in Sweetness — My imagined tale of what’s inside this artisan’s mind
Today, I found myself sinking into the rabbit hole of Facebook videos. I stumbled upon a street vendor crafting Kulfi and watched as he split a huge block of ice in two just to make these tiny popsicles.
There he was, locked in an epic struggle with a colossal iceberg, hoisting it onto his shoulder, John Cena style. His weapon of choice: an ice pick — hacking away with the determination of a seasoned mountaineer.
Don’t let the biceps fool you; this guy has flair comparable to that of a tango dancer.
With a chef’s precision and the flair of a performance artist, our kulfi maestro set about heating a cauldron chock-full of fruits and milk. He stirred it with purpose, thickening it into a creamy brew that any café barista would drool in with envy.
Then began the painstaking process of cooling it down, as he cradled his steaming creation to a jar filled with shards of ice, as if gently coaxing a fever to break.
Once the mixture had surrendered to the cold, he proceeded to fill tin cans, one by one, with the decadent concoction. Each can was sealed to keep it from spilling as he manually froze them.
These treasure cans were then placed into a massive rubber jar filled to the brim with a mix of ice and salt. Now, imagine a man shaking this hefty jar for what seemed like an eternity. It was an upper body workout to rival any gym session.
Suddenly, it hit me. This man wasn’t just a kulfi maker; he was a dessert bodybuilder. Selling sweet treats on the outside, forging steel on the inside. Those biceps, sculpted from hours of kulfi crafting, were a sight to behold.
I couldn’t help but wonder, wouldn’t it be simpler to pop to the supermarket, buy some popsicles to resell, and call it a day? The thought of shaving off hours of grueling work and earning more than a handful of coins seemed like a no-brainer to me.
The seemingly Herculean effort he put into his work made sense — this man was crafting a lot more than just delectable desserts.
Sure, he won’t be earning millions from that scale of effort. That slow, deliberate process of making matka kulfi in a fast-paced, instant gratification culture that we’re living in, is a rare sight to behold.
I’ve heard of Japanese craftsmen working in companies for years, mastering their art. Some of them complain about how they’re paid, but they still do their job with a sense of fulfillment towards mastery.
I believe they should be paid more, given the prices of artisan products. Yet, as someone who works in the design industry, I admit that we sometimes get lost in that deeper sense of fulfillment and satisfaction in our work. In some way, it also pays off.
That intentionality, skill, and labor of love. When he mixes those ingredients, he doesn’t think of the right proportions. He has in mind the customer’s palate.
He would imagine how they would enjoy this — the right hints of flavors playing in harmony in their taste buds. Shaking that huge jar like a beast, he envisions just the right freeze for a cold and creamy touch.
With experience, he now instinctively knows how long he will do the shaking. I can only imagine that first time he tasted this, how this beautiful moment later led him to decide to venture in a craft that he probably have inherited from his parents. A treat he once enjoyed as a child is now making a new generation happy.
Store-bought popsicles won’t top this. Not ever. Not when it’s been crafted with such devotion and care by a man who, though built like a heavyweight boxer, carries the tenderness of a nostalgic child at heart.
