What with UK politics plunging into a maelstrom, student debates moving on from tuition fees to anti-semitism, and an overall Armageddon atmosphere, there is more than plenty to protest about. But I was never one for debating about politics or in fact anything that I could not bullshit my way out of (there’s a reason I indulge in blabbering about food in Anna’s Culinary Corner and not offering cutting-edge analyses of current affairs in Anna’s Politics Ponderings or Anna’s Feminist Feast – feel free to use these as columns ideas). There is, however, something I feel strongly about and have embarked on a campaign for, very much leaving the cushiness of my comfort zone: it’s May, for goodness sake, and the weather is still sending me into a permanent state of hypothermia. In a blatant denial of all practicality, I refuse to accept the, quite literally, cold facts. I left my warm jacket at home, sport my newly acquired pink polka dot summer skirt, and – hold your breath – bring to you the compulsory start-of-the-summer-season guide to ice cream.

Now, I’m something of an ice cream snob. If you were ever to visit an all-you-can-eat buffet with me, you’d witness my heartfelt horror at the sight of people scooping out unlimited amounts of substandard frozen goods. That said, I don’t ask for Michelin-starred, deconstructed postmodern ice cream. My snobbish standards can be fulfilled by more than one type of cone.

My one true ice cream paradise and standard-meeter is – you guessed it – Sicily. The Sicilian gelato prowess is perhaps as clichéd as the alleged superiority of Sicilian lemons but nevertheless very true. During my gelato-fuelled visit to the island, no ice cream counter, however cheap or touristy, failed to satisfy the trinity of flavour, freshness, and softness all in one (well, for me more than one) scoop.

Special kudos goes to the Sicilian propensity to incorporate ice cream-like dishes into any meal. Craving a slightly more substantial snack? An ice cream sandwich does exactly what it says on the bun. Edible waffle cones become passé when you can enjoy scoopfuls of bliss in a brioche bun; the decadent treat is gyp-room adaptable as well, as long as you don’t attempt it with your standard Hovis medium slice. There is also the option to kick-start day your day in an icy way in the form of granita. Made of sugar, water and various flavourings, granita is not as dense as sorbet nor as creamy as ice cream; it could nearly pass as healthy. Add a traditional brioche bun or a caffè corretto to the side and a buongiorno is guaranteed.

But the harsh reality is that Sicily is as far removed from Cambridge as Brideshead Revisited-esque scenes are from exam term libraries. The stuff scooped out at the omnipresent Cambridge ice cream stands (naming would be shaming so let’s just say you can’t miss the company’s ice cream hegemony) doesn’t quite make the cut of my Sicilian-inspired standards with their artificial, airy waffles and bluntly flavoured, dodgily textured offerings. Despair, not, though: there are a few decent dealers around with quality produce.

Jack’s Gelato is something of a national-level heavyweight, having featured on Buzzfeed’s 17 British Ice Creams You Must Try Before You Die. Unfortunately, the shop has taken on a somewhat itinerant existence after its only stable counter disappeared along with its host, the Nordic boutique Nord. But if you manage to catch Jack on his trusty tricycle, it is well worth sampling the flavours of the ever-changing selection, ranging from beetroot and black cumin to gin apple and elderflower. 

All hope is not lost even if you don’t feel up to gelato treasure hunting. An obvious choice for Sicily-aficionados is the double-act of the two Aromi cafés just by the Corn Exchange. The café cannot take pride in a wide selection of flavours as Jack’s does, but this can be forgiven as an instance of quality over quantity. The pistachio has a particularly fine, dense texture to it, and safe old strawberry doesn’t fail to impress either; the cones dipped in quality chocolate offer an additional upmarket perk.

My other go-to place to get my fix is Benet’s on King’s Parade. The lashings of ice cream and respectably-sized waffles comfortably qualify as food porn and are sure to draw in passers-by. Be wary of the likes of the intensely blue bubblegum flavour – I firmly believe that obscenely obvious artificial colourings and flavourings are the death-knell of ice cream. Along with the all-you-can-eat buffets, of course.

With this, I urge you to join in fight that gives you the right to ice cream. Be warned, though: like in all great battles, there is more than a touch of faith involved. With my fingers turning blue grasping Aromi’s cone (no innuendo intended, promise) in the frosty May breeze, my thoughts turn to waiving a white flag in anticipation of warmer climes…

@vickanschmickan