The internet raves about the sunny coastal town of Newlyn in Cornwall and the long queue outside S. Jelbert’s Ice Cream, an institution in Cornwall for over 50 years. But that’s not the Newlyn or the S. Jelbert’s I know - I know a cold, rainy, 10°C day, sitting on a stone wall alone overlooking a river that feeds into Mount's Bay - my fingers freezing, my hair wet, the sound of seagulls making the first of their evening calls. It’s not the same idyllic fishing town and bustling ice cream shop I read about (I was the only customer for quite some time) but the ice cream was just as described: simple, unfussy, indulgent, reminiscent of summer simplicity. The shop is sparsely decorated. On the wall, a faded print of a poem called “An Ode to An Ice Cream” by Penny Lally in 2005: “the shop on the corner / unchanged over time / the recipe, secret / passed down the line.” One woman behind the counter and there’s one flavor: Cornish vanilla, from an 8 liter bucket in the otherwise empty freezer. The only toppings are clotted cream and flake and I got both - “flake” is like a rolled chocolate wafer that crumbles when you bite into it; the cream, ridiculously indulgent, is laced with chunks of butter. The ice cream itself is a little icy, maybe, a little bland - but there’s something I love about it. It’s all a part of the experience - the sweeping rain blowing off the water, the wet wind that moves strands of cream from my spoon to my sweater, the deep quiet that comes over a beach town in off season. The homemade sign outside the shop that reads “made daily,” even though it’s obvious this batch wasn’t. That’s what St Jelbert’s did right - beyond their ice cream - they found a spot on the quaint main drag of Newlyn, a block from the beach, and haven’t moved or expanded. They’ve stayed genuine. They don’t try too hard, they didn’t bullshit me, and they charge a more than decent price - £1 for a scoop, £1.80 with cream and flake.
freelance writer + editor