Can you call an Armonia e Poesia ice cream parlor, Maestro Di Pomponio?
Can you call an Armonia e Poesia ice cream parlor, Maestro Di Pomponio?

Video: Can you call an Armonia e Poesia ice cream parlor, Maestro Di Pomponio?

Video: Can you call an Armonia e Poesia ice cream parlor, Maestro Di Pomponio?
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Anonim

Hermann of Pomponio is the tutelary deity of Homemade ice cream to Rome.

Ermanno di Pomponio is a master, and his abandonment of Milk Snow, which dominated a glorious edition of the Dissapore ranking, starring the best artisan ice cream parlors in Italy, made many tears.

Hermann of Pomponio opens a new ice cream shop tomorrow afternoon a Civitavecchia, in via Bramante 48.

All very nice, it is great news, but now the good feelings end and I get the bastard.

But it can be called an ice cream shop Harmony and poetry?!

But what are we in classical high school? Why not call it Rush and Storm then?

Really, try to read it and spell it in your mind: Harmony and Poetry (all capital letters are desired).

Does it just make me laugh terribly? And then get angry.

How can you call yourself Ermanno (wonderful name, which at least refers to post-war Rome to me, not the narcissisms of biodynamics) and have an ice cream shop called Harmony and Poetry?

And talk one day yes, the other as well, on Facebook, with the formulas of the most bored press offices: excellence, traceability, health care, the culture of taste, naturalness.

And just talk about the natural color of pistachio, I beg you! Rather, I look at all the corrosive interviews by Fabio Fazio in reruns.

From there to biodynamics, the step is tragically rapid. And trust someone who follows the world of natural wines with great attention, if I tell you that I already imagine myself forced to endless digressions on Rudolf Steiner (at best, on lunar cycles in the most probable) while licking an ice cream.

Thankfully it never took me more than 74 seconds to finish one.

In short, in what idiotic times are we forced to live if a recognized master of ice cream falls into the cloying trap of indefatigable self-marketing, or if he has to resort, willy-nilly, to the most reluctant promotional catchphrases to accommodate his creature on the launch pad.

Ermanno di Pomponio opens an ice cream shop.

I can't wait to taste his ice cream, hoping so much not to meet dozens of people dedicated to the new cult of personality, busy telling me who Ermanno is, after having discovered him on Facebook 11 days ago, and how natural ice cream is made.

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