There were only a few things I truly missed while in Rwanda and one of them was ICE.
It’s one of those quirky things about me – I am addicted to good ice. Soft enough to break, just the right amount of crunch, not too solid or too melty. Who knew you could be so particular about ice.
My love of ice started at a young age, but came to it’s peak when I was pregnant. While my friends craved hamburgers or steak or sour patch kids, I would go through the Starbucks drive thru just to order a cup of ice. It was like dessert. Some call that an indication of iron-deficiency (which I also had), but there was nothing so satisfying as a cup of frozen water.
My compulsion to eat ice has settled down, but I do still love a good ice cube. Give me a glass of water with a slice of cucumber, a sprig of mint and a bunch of ice and I’m a happy girl. (Well, that or a gin + tonic with extra lime and lots of ice. I’ll take that, too.)
Ryan and I are not great gift-givers, but he has bought me two completely un-romatic, yet perfect-for-me gifts in the past few years. One was this milk frother that makes the most delicious lattes, and the other was this portable ice maker.
Since our fridge does not have a built-in ice-maker, we keep this portable version on the pantry floor. It makes great ice, the kids love to snack on it, and I find I drink way more water with ice so accessible. Win all around.
And now you know a very random fact about me: I love ice. Off to go make myself a glass of ice water …