No matter how many gelato stands open on this side of the pond, speaking strictly from my experience, gelato-making continues to be Italy's best-kept secret. I conclude it must have something to do with their cream. Italian cows are my new spirit animals.
Dolce Vita in Coconut Grove came highly recommended. The word 'authentic' was used, and that perked up my ears. Alas, it didn't quite meet expectations, and yes, I know, my expectations seem impossibly high.
Rows upon rows of containers filled with colorful options were displayed with labels that said all the right things- Dulce de Leche chips, Ferrero, chocolate orange, Nocciola, pistaccio. My friend Michele chose the Passion Fruit and Oreo. I picked the Ferrero and the chocolate orange, because you should always have two flavors, never one alone. It's gelato law. It was good. Better than the average ice cream shop offerings, but that dense velvet texture, that rich, full-body flavor was simply not there. Even the surprise strips of candied orange rind in my chocolate couldn't make up for the deficit.
I will say this: If you've never been to Italy, or if the memory of that gelato has faded, this is a fun and satisfying alternative. However, I am cursed with the vivid memory of rich Italian ice cream, and the hunger to duplicate that experience will have me searching everywhere for that elusive frozen food of the gods until I return to its birthplace.
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