I don't even know where to begin. This so-called "ice cream shop" is less a dessert destination and more a biohazard crime scene in disguise.
First off, the smell hit me before the door even fully opened -- a nauseating mix of sour milk, burnt sugar, and something I can only describe as "wet ferret." Against my better judgment (and the screaming warning bells in my head), I ordered a scoop of what was supposed to be chocolate fudge ripple. What I got looked like something scraped off the bottom of a dumpster. Melted, gritty, and warm. Yes -- WARM. Ice cream! Warm!
The taste? Imagine licking a rusted pipe that someone had tried to clean with cough syrup and despair. Within 30 minutes I was curled up in the fetal position, violently ill and bargaining with the universe. I genuinely wondered if I'd be one of those rare people to die from dairy.
And just when I thought it couldn't get worse... I saw it. A RAT. Not a mouse. A full-grown, bold-as-hell rat, strolling across the back counter like it was part of the staff. And nobody batted an eye. Not the disinterested teenager behind the counter, not the manager (who was in the corner vaping like the floor wasn't sticky with melted cream and shattered dreams). I pointed. I yelled. They shrugged.
Health department, if you're reading this: this is your next top priority.
This place doesn't need new management. It needs an exorcism and a flamethrower.
RUN.
Do not walk. Do not even think about trying this place unless you want food poisoning, psychological trauma, and a deep distrust of all future frozen desserts. read more