PICNIC STORIES

Summer is already coming to an end. Ice cream asserts itself as the fleeting remedy for the nostalgia of the approaching back-to-school season. As luck would have it, today is a JJ Hings day. A turquoise-blue and orange shop gives off the scent of browned butter and toasted flour. No, it’s not a bakery, but here the cones are homemade, regarded as a product in their own right, on par with the ice creams that will be placed on top. Julia Bell greets me with a shy yet generous smile. We sit at a large wooden table that runs through the room. To my right, a lovely pastel-blue counter with stainless-steel lids contains ice creams that are hard to resist.

Step inside the shop and you’re transported to another world. They gesture with their hands, they speak Italian—Carlo and Martina bustle behind the counter, serving the city’s most Italian Parisians—and vice versa. The conversation gets going right at the counter, as we try not to think too much about all the excellent products surrounding us so we can stay focused.