We were lucky enough to get asked to be featured in a short documentary video by Jasmine and Danny of Incurrent Media for their Pursuit series. It was filmed before and during the pandemic so don’t mind if you see us without a mask. The vid is obviously well done, and it was our first time in front of a camera. So when I first heard my voice I was like, “who is that asshole speaking?” How the hell do I know how I sound?

I’m happy they got a bit of my hometown Passaic in it. Without that town there would be no APEM. Apparently it is the 4th most miserable town in America, but oh lawd there’s nothing like being back on the block or cruising around. They got the same guys hanging on the corner with the random comments, the Hasidic kids running around the park, and the smell of tortilla in the air. It’s prime.

Jenny was pretty embarrassed to do the video but she was perfectly fine. Shit she was better than me. One of her biggest fears is public speaking. To me, it’s funny as hell to speak in front of a crowd. Although a camera is weird. Most of the time I just wanna flip it off.

There was a bit of this and that from being in my family’s garden to Jenny talking about how we met and think up things. We hope you can take some time to watch and enjoy. They did a good job making us look like we know what the hell we are doing,

I love this weather. All the seasons are great, but Autumn is sooooo prime especially here in the Northeast. I love walking around while eating an apple and tossing the core somewhere I fantasize an apple tree will grow. A dream come to life would be where most of New Jersey and New York is littered with apple orchards to fully enjoy in the Autumn, flowers to enjoy in Spring, tomato gardens for summer, and cross country pathways for winter. I’d love to find every random open crack of pavement and plant something to enjoy years later. Usually I try to write something longer, but who wants to spend their time in front of a screen? I’d rather be outside looking for a spot to toss an apple core.

Song for Autumn

Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the tree, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
the piles firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Mary Oliver

Autumn is the purest time of the year. It is when I reaffirm my bond with nature’s chaos. The animals are busy, the weather is confused, and the cold silence on the horizon is always reminding you to savor the moment. Some may only think about the raking of leaves or the picking of a crisp apple off the branch, but Autumn is about remembering our limitations and impermanence.

Jenny and I, along with our dog Clyde, traveled up to the state of Maine. It was a much needed break after what felt like a long summer. We ate, breathed in the fresh air, and most importantly rested. I was lucky enough to go out into Acadia National Park before much people. Generally I don’t grasp hiking. Like the goal is to just walk around? Imagine going back in time to our ancestors on a savannah and communicating to them you’d like to hike. Or even go out for a jog. You’d be treated to the first laughs in human history. I prefer to imagine I’m wandering around and meditating. When I lived in West Marin County, California, I used to go out into Point Reyes and do the same thing. Really I was just always looking for a spot to take a nap and enjoy actual world beyond the glass, concrete, and metal. The world where our brains and senses were defined, a realm where you can be without the crushing oppression of society pushing you to conform. Who fears mountain lions, snakes, and ticks when you have social media and abstract ideologies? It surely must be impossible to become mad outside of society.

All critiques aside, Autumn is the best time of the year at the store. Whereas summer is hot and we naturally seek refreshment, during this time of the year we are naturally more melancholy and seeking warmth and happiness. Besides a hot cup of chocolate all the flavors we will be making are just right to soothe these feelings. The classics like Espresso & Ganache will instantly feel more satisfying, Pear Mascarpone will fill your tastebuds, and Cold Remedy will remind you to be vigilant during this precarious period. After a needed rest we are back.

*side note: Mary Oliver, whose poem is above, is one of my favorite poets and an enriching read during this time of the year.

What it says…

This weekend we celebrate Labor Day and an end of summer of sorts. While we will still have a few summery flavors up until the end of the month this weekend is like a spiritual end to the summer. We will be doing various typical classical American flavors along with some APEM classics. Someone’s been bugging me about the Dannyboy flavor, and I’ve done my best to pretend like I have no idea what he’s talking about. But it will be up at some point this weekend along with some Fresh Mint Chip, good old Cornbread, and El Diablo

Labor Day is an important holiday especially here in Jersey. When I was growing  up, most adults I knew were always busting their asses. That’s that immigrant mentality shit as people would say. You feel like that’s all you got to give and then you hit the clutch and kick it into another gear. And it doesn’t matter if you’re working at an auto body shop or as a pharmacist. You just GO. One of my heroes growing up is an uncle who used to pick asparagus in California and worked on a fishing boat. He’s so crazy. And he learned how to work from my Filipino grandfather who would go until you broke and made you work more. I’m definitely not like them lol. I bust my ass, but I also have a poetic heart. I love sitting idling by a brook just as much as I love turning out the gelato. To me working and creating things for people to consume is a temporary thing. Real living is something beyond labor where we are part of nature and we indulge in its fruits as simple beings. But that is not how our world works, and if I am to labor... then gelato it is. So stop by, shut up, and enjoy.

Michelangelo

Their names echo through time: Leonardo, Michelangelo, Montessori, Dante, Vivaldi, St. Francis, and Brunelleschi. Gods and Goddesses. There have been a share of douchebags from Italy *cough Cesare Borgia cough*, but they can’t overshadow its perennial flowering.

“People are very passionate in Italy. If you like something, you like something. If you hate something, you hate something. When you hate something, you are screaming.” - Monica Bellucci

If I never went to Italy as a child and consistently throughout each stage of my life who knows what kind of ungodly ice cream or gelato I’d be making today. I’m very lucky…no, blessed. I see a lot of gelato and ice cream today where there’s pretzels hanging off the sides or some other Kardashian idea. I immediately make the sign of the cross to the Beloved Virgin Mary to forgive such sins of class and taste.

All jokes aside, THANK THE HEAVENS for Italy. It is where both haute cuisine and cucina povera exist at the same level whether it’s some orgasmic oxtail risotto or simple ravioli. The only other place I know of like this is China. Standards are so high across the board. But aside from just merely food, Italy has given us countless gods and goddesses in art, religion, science, philosophy, poetry, and even cars. What I’ve especially taken from reading translations of Italian writers, hanging around in a piazza, or just chit chatting with a random old lady while helping her setup a table is that Autonomy is life. Far away in Roma or wherever there’s always some assholes running their mouths making excuses and stealing from the land. But a strong sense of autonomy has allowed Italy to thrive in spite of them for centuries and discern what is best for themselves. It’s not just an individual autonomy, although that is strong, but one connection to the immediate area and people. Where you take a good look around to your towns, rivers, parks, flowers, orchards, air, and the people, and think about where we are right now and about being something unique for themselves. Even if it means you are filled with dread.

And in light of today that’s even more important because otherwise life is just algorithms and machines. It’s becoming to the point where the machines are turning us into accessories as opposed to being the other way around. Even being filthy rich can’t save you. When was the last time you thought about your autonomy, the area around, and how you have enforced you and your loved ones’ dreams upon it? Let that sink in for a second and think if those dreams are even your own or another trend. We have automation instead of autonomy. Many act like high technology has empowered them. Surely it has helped logistical capabilities, but on a human level, has it? I think it has made us weaker, less interesting, confused, and numb. How can you feel the vigor of creation when the canvas in front of you is leased and regulated. Leonardo and Michelangelo didn’t live in fantastic times, but they cut through time like a samurai through an enemy’s head. They commanded their visions in spite of all the control. They and many others throughout history lived with a sensual zest for life.

Enzo Ferrari

Sensuality is the other treasure of Italy. Almost every moment in my life is guided by the senses. I walk out the door and breath in the warm summer air, touch the tomato leaves, talk to the rabbits, and listen to every batch being made. With these fucking masks, I watch every persons’ eyes as they speak, and listen to the volume of every syllable. There’s also being close enough to someone to breath in their unique smell, and to touch their soft skin. I even listen to my car starting up and breath in that first bit of exhaust. (I’m a Jersey kid; I grew up on the smell of gasoline and the feeling of the gas pedal.) In terms of food I love the smell of onions and garlic. The sound of onions sautéing is a drug. But sensuality is rapidly disappearing not only because of coronavirus, but because we live in our machines. I’m living through it right now. I wish I could be chatting away with you on the street or at a cafe. I yearn for the days when I used to sit with my friend Etienne at Washington Square Park and we’d talk for half a day. I miss the intoxicating laugh of some people.

In the long run sensuality must return, and it has to be made a mission no matter what. It is what makes us human, not those tools and machines. Humans feel the terror of life and make it beautiful, and it is sensuality that gives that gift to us. Today is chaos. It is being ravaged by disease, corruption, impotence, hate, and algorithms. But it is also the time to remember the feeling of being human. And Italy is one of the best countries, cultures, and regions that manages to keep that autonomy and zest for a sensual life alive. Even right now as it is being ravaged.

Our blog always ends up being some type of lamenting alongside optimism. I wish that weren’t the case and that I could just rant about how awesome everything is. I mean, I just make fucking gelato…who the fuck am I? But today pretty much sucks. I spend a lot of time listening and thinking about today and paths out of the malaise (with a minor in Political Theory, it’s second nature). But the Buddhist in me says to focus on my time now making gelato and the flowers will bloom in their own time and the whole field will be filled. I just hope they bloom the Italian way.

So this is where I break and become more business guy Alex. This weekend we will be doing a classic Italian gelato menu. I had thought of some new stuff, but I’d rather keep it classic like Monica Bellucci in a LBD (little black dress). Expect Fior Di Latte, Ricotta, Gianduia, Pistacchio, Olio d’Oliva, Gorgonzola, Arancia Rossa, Limone, and whatever else. We just want to celebrate the classical Italian way. I wish there were no coronavirus and we’d do this whole weekend at some park where it is a giant party and everyone’s eating gelato up to their eyeballs. Some scene where everyone’s having fun and no one gives a fuck. Maybe next summer. For now stop by, wear a god damn mask, and enjoy yourself 2020 style.

St. Francis of Assisi

Thinking about berries reminds me of when I lived in Northern California. We lived in this small town called Tomales at the northwestern edge of Marin County. The next towns over were Petaluma, Freestone, and Valley Ford, all Sonoma County. I feel like counties don’t really mean anything here in New Jersey, but in California they do. Partially that’s because of how states develop, their terrain, and their shape. I grew up in Passaic which is in Passaic County, but the next town was Bergen and Essex was just right there. Plus Passaic County has an hourglass shape. West Milford is in the same County as Passaic which is nuts. All that said, Tomales was a ranching town as is most of West Marin and parts of southern Sonoma County. I used to wake up every morning and drive pass a herd of Hereford cattle on my way to the dairy farm. My days were spent more around cow, sheep, and goats than people. And since this was grazing country there were a lot of small creeks winding around. Within those creeks were plenty of wild blackberries. They grew like weeds. Further north along the Russian River where I used to lounge around and swing from ropes, there were wild berries all around. That was a really great thing about Northern California in that it’s not totally developed in the way that part of Northern New Jersey or Southern California are developed. You can still walk in the woods and find something to eat that isn’t full of toxic shit. 

Blackberries

Northern California grows great strawberries— there’s no doubt about that. But what they don’t have are great blueberries. I lived there for years and never could I eat a blueberry with that same flavor as here in the Northeast. It’s probably because of the climate, soil, and terrain; but, man, a blueberry here in Jersey, LI, or even Maine is something else. You pop a bunch into your mouth and there’s this undeniable flavor. My grandparents in Long Island used to have this massive blueberry patch along the old barn. They were potato farmers, but my grandma had a sweet tooth second to none. She could make a mean blueberry pie. Those few summer weeks that I’d spend there she would ask me to pick blueberries before the birds get them, and I’d go all out. A few in the basket, a few in my mouth, repeat, and repeat. 

Back to California. I probably know that state better than Jersey, if I’m honest. I spent years reading incessantly about the history of that state, driving up and down, meeting all kinds of people, camping alone at random locations, stalking quail and coyote, and so on. I lived a full California life in a short span of time. It’s possible I could write a whole book about my time there. But the history is rich. Those Kevin Starr, the state historian, books were portals to the past and meant a lot to me. The day he died was a depressing one. 

“Golden” Raspberries

The area where I had the consistently best strawberries were along the Central Coast, roughly around the area of Vandenberg Air Force base. There were endless fields, and you could just pull up and drop some cash into a box and take a flat. Eating freshly picked strawberries while they’re still warm from the sun is something insane. How could anything be that good? You stand there as the dust blows all around you and wonder why can’t life be as good as eating this berry. Of course I’ve had single better berries elsewhere. I was once wandering around Portola Redwoods State Park and saw some wild strawberries along the path. I picked the brightest devilish berry I ever saw and popped it into my mouth. It was like eating one of the Kami itself. And to be in the woods alone where the only sounds are non-human transcend generic living. Your sense of hearing becomes stronger, you feel the air better, and your eyes widen. All this from eating a berry along the path. 

I have a few blueberry and raspberry bushes in Passaic and just started growing blackberries. They’re never enough for me to use at the store, but they are plenty for my own personal indulgence. And in turn, they inspire flavors. I don’t think berries really represent summer even though they peak at the beginning and end of it. Summer is more like a watermelon to me. But berries of all kind are something primal, primal joy maybe. 

Blueberries

“What the hell is this?” I say to Jenny. “It’s Christmas in July” she says back to me. Apparently the Hallmark Channel puts on some insane thing where it’s a bunch of shows from Christmas. Jenny puts on the channel for background noise as she does the bills. I don’t watch much tv, Netflix, or anything really aside from Yellowstone and hockey so this Hallmark thing is just perverse to me. Of course me being me when Jenny is watching these shows I’ll sit there and pay attention. I’ll ask why is this or that happening and why is she so obsessed with that? And then Jenny tells me to go play video games or read a book. 

But Christmas in July has been stuck in my head for weeks. I sit there and think to myself: Christmas... in July. But why? Is there a Fourth of July in January? A Halloween in April? Maybe there’s a St. Patrick’s Day in September. It’s all some great mystery to me. It’s become an obsession just like how Lacey Chabert can’t mind her own damn business.

*Note: I try to write these as if I were speaking to you. I like to do them this way, because I can flow in and out of my Passaic mannerisms since I consider other forms of speaking lacking.

Jenny and I are glad we got to travel during the winter especially since who knows when we will be able to do so again. The world is fucked. Back in March when we originally planned on reopening for the year we had a series of flavors meant to highlight our travels. Now that we’ve been open for a bit, we can finally do some of those flavors. Expect to be transported to Vienna, Milan, Sardinia, Madrid, and Andalusia.

VIENNA

I used to go to Austria as a child to visit family friends, but that was way on the other side of the country. So I’ve never been to Vienna until this year, and I hope to go back plenty of times in the future. It was such an easy and clean city. The subway ran frequently, it was easy to ride a bike around, and there are so many museums and various things going on. The quality of life there seems to be a lot better than most major cities in America especially the ones I’ve lived in like New York, Washington D.C., San Francisco, and Los Angeles. In terms of the food I’m big on Austrian/German food. I grew up on it and my first internship out of culinary school was at Wallsé in New York. Eating schnitzel, Sacher, linzer, wurst, and kraut are as normal to me as burgers and fries. Eating a pile of broiled pork knuckles feels like home. So I was totally in heaven there; plus a few food stalls stayed open until 4am. Chocolate Raspberry Gelato is the flavor we are making to take us back to Vienna. Sacher torte is usually with apricot, but there’s a few versions with raspberry and that’s more my speed. If you haven’t been to Austria, for sure go even if you don’t like skiing. The standards are high, the land beautiful, they’re heavy into music, and most people have wit.

Vienna

Mamoiada

SARDINIA

“I want to go to a place that’s kicked and screamed and said ‘fuck you’ to even the most brutal of people.” And so we went to Sardinia. I can’t describe to you the smell upon arriving in Cagliari. It smelled just like my family home island in the Philippines. It was this mix of island salt air, musk, and burning wood. I looked at Jenny and said, “I’m home.” I’d be ignorant to say I’m not a romantic. I love history and sometimes I go to places and imagine the weight of geological and human time. Sardinia is a Mediterranean island that’s currently part of Italy. Back in the day they were their own thing, then some Carthaginians came, Romans, Vandals, Romans again, Spaniards, and so on and so on. The beautiful thing about the island aside from its coast and interior was that to me it felt like it was all those things and still apart. Still autonomous at least in spirit. You could stand on the south coast, west coast, and east coast, and you felt that there was always going to be some new asshole coming along, but thats fine— Sardinia will always be. The highlight of our time there was being in Mamoiada for their carnival-type celebration where some of the men wear wooden masks and go from one fire to the other and enact a ritual. Things like this and supporting remote tribal people around the world are to me the key to the future. A time before the marching of soldiers and zealots imposed abstractions on the human spirit. People there, whether during special rituals or the mundane every day, were so “whatever”. They didn’t give a shit who you were and only one day a year did they wear masks as opposed to how some cultures do so on a daily basis. In some places I’ve traveled the dreams of the society and people and actual everyday action aren’t that far off. Places like Sardinia and Finnish Sápmi Lapland are those. The food was amazing whether it be pasta, desserts, fruits, and seafood. Food there was a contrast to here. There everything is pretty good so it is and isn’t a big deal. Here there’s some good food, but nothing amazing so as a result everything is always talked up your ass like some avocado toast . I hope to go back to Sardinia one day preferably when it’s warm. The flavor highlighting our zig zagging of Sardinia is what I call Tunisian Almond. The flavor profile is a common thing about the Mediterranean world, but it tastes like my time in Sardinia especially the interior. It holds the spirit of the sweet and rough island.

Sardinian coast

A proper pizza. One of the most beautiful and simplistic things man has managed to conjure.

MILAN

In Milan we basically only ate pizza and drank espresso. Well, that’s not true; we had a lot of risotto and giant hunks of veal. But we ate one giant pizza a day each and drank generous amounts of espresso. Aside from that we hit up some museums and just hung around on the streets. Milan gets a lot of shit, but I enjoyed my time there. It always had a buzz going on and you walk around and feel like a millionaire even though you ain’t shit. I can’t make a pizza flavor because that would be disgusting, but I have a few things in mind. One, of course, being a special espresso flavor. The kind to get you wired throughout the day.

MADRID

Madrid is another city people talk bad about though I enjoyed it too. I was curious to see where the assholes that invaded and colonized my family’s home island came from and I was impressed at its smallness. I don’t just mean in terms of size but vibe. It didn’t feel like a massive place where you’d get overwhelmed. We ate a lot of canned seafood and suckling pig. I drank a lot of beer as well maybe occasionally getting lost and just sitting in a plaza watching people go by. Oh, and I ate churros and drank hot chocolate every single day. This place was open 24 hours! The flavor highlighting Madrid is our Torrone Gelato. It had to be that since there was a damn torrone store every other block.

ANDALUSIA

Before going to Spain, Andalusia was my image of the country. Maybe it was always on postcards and movies, and so that is what I assumed. It kind of reminded me of some urban parts of the Philippines in that the streets were narrow and the smell of exhaust was always present. But despite that the energy was prime. Seville is a gem of a city, and Cordoba was quaint. In both towns you can zig zag through streets and end upon a plaza where everyone is hanging and drinking beer cheaper than water. We hit up a few old relics of the Moorish past and ate a lot and frequently. The food was mostly what I expected which means it was good. A flavor to highlight our time there is tricky. It has to feel exotic but also familiar and bright. Definitely something with saffron.

Si.

Córdoba.

HOME

I always thought of our business as another way to travel. I’ve been going here and there since I was a child and have lived abroad. I was very fortunate and inherited this culture from my mother who managed to travel even with very little money. The world is too crazy and interesting not to go around. At the same time, I’m a Jersey boy— there is no doubt about that. So managing those two things means I’m pretty critical of our country. But I don’t mean that in a negative way. It’s like when you’ve been doing something your whole life one way, and then you meet someone else like an Italian or Algerian dude and they show you another way that’s easier and more fun. You can make better use of your time hanging with family or making your life and the others around you better. It’s far too common for Americans to put their heads to the ground or into their devices and go through the motions the media and society tell them. Ultimately it isn’t necessary to travel to improve our society, but since we inherently lack the ability to look at the wider picture with a critical lens traveling and interacting is like a shortcut. The hard way would be to invest in the creative abilities of our people nurtured in an environment that is going to support them. That is not happening.

Here in New Jersey and New York especially you commute via bus or train into your jobs, and how many times are they late? In Austria or Finland that would be a public shame. Even in Italy the god damn trains run on time. Italy! Plus America has that weird thing where we all think the people in power and in the media are assholes, yet we are shocked when there’s a scandal proving this. Meanwhile since I was a kid I’ve known Italians or Cameroonians who knew this as a daily fact and their society revolved around avoiding those assholes as much as possible, because all they do is divide us. Society can function outside these motherfuckers. I’m not saying to dismiss it all and do nothing, but we are currently lost in a malaise. Our society is stagnant and I have to say again that society isn’t the politicians, the media, and what we post on social media. Our society is something constantly moving and what we offer to our family, friends, neighbors, and to the world. A flag or brand merely represent society, and they aren’t it. If I made gelato like how our society is currently functioning, then the chocolate would look like Hersheys and cost $8 for a cup of dogshit. I’d sprinkle pretzels, relish, and kimchi onto it and beg everyone to like our post on instagram. Chocolate should either taste better than the chocolate from 5 years ago, or taste just as good. We want this country to be around for another 100 years I assume, but it’s crumbling both physically and mentally. Once this coronavirus bullshit has stabilized I hope everyone can go and travel. And not in that typical tourist manner where you take some pics and eat shitty food. Gather ideas, meet cool people, meet stupid people, get drunk and laze around on a corner with some strangers, learn to curse in Finnish or Arabic, learn how others organize their society for the wider benefit, how they are able to make well-made roads, and take a god damn train that runs on time. Then bring all these experiences and ideas home, and let’s make our society better. I’m so god damn sick of going somewhere and they have it better. We’re fucking Americans; we are supposed to be the best. This is New Jersey. We think everyone else in other states are a bunch of assholes. It’s not good enough to say those things. It has to become reality. A new paradigm. This is my feeling everyday when I walk into the store and crank out the gelato. So I hope this week you can enjoy the few random flavors from our travels.