Zen orange basil sorbet

I stopped at Sebastian Joe's today and bought a small cup of orange basil sorbet. I lingered over every spoonful, trying to savor each bite. The sorbet is a light green, with flecks of darker green, the basil, the color muted by a mist of condensation scrimmed over the surface. The sorbet is not tightly packed, so it is easy to scoop a bite, and it crumbles a bit as you put it into your mouth and then starts to melt. The citrus taste of the orange and the taste of the basil are perfectly balanced; together the effect is clean, palate-cleansing. It's a bit confusing, too: I expect the taste of basil to be blended with garlic and parmesan instead of orange.

I eat it slowly, feeling the coldness grow in my tongue as each mouthful melts, the crumbly texture morphing into smoothness. I try to concentrate on each mouthful, feeling the play of flavors as each spoonful changes in texture and temperature as I swallow. My tongue aches a bit from the cold, my throat a little less so. It's a pleasant ache.

I scrape the last of the frozen sorbet up with the spoon and lick it off and then tip the cup to capture the last sweet green drop. The last drop lasts as long as I can possibly manage. My mouth slowly warms again, but the clean, green taste lingers.