would you pay $10 for mystery ice cream?

I visited a new (and bizarre) novelty dessert shop and left with more questions than answers.

After a recent visit to one of my favorite noodle shops in the East Village, Ed and I were stopped on our way home. It was snowing and we were heading toward the subway home when a seemingly empty storefront illuminated by florescent lights caught our attention. “What is this?” I asked. Ed read the sign out front that listed off the rules of the establishment: “Welcome to Surprise Scoop! There’s just one ice cream on the menu, all flavors are randomly selected (no flavor choosing allowed), our flavors change everyday, and NO refunds or exchanges.” Looking back, we should’ve seen this as a warning sign for what was to follow.

Inside, the space felt like an interrogation room with only two ordering kiosks and a small pick up window. The walls were painted white with haphazardly hand-drawn squiggles in an off-putting color palette of orange, deep purple, and light blue. Mirrors lining one wall were covered with odd quotes like “they will learn to like it” and “ice cream is cheaper than therapy.” And the vivid purple flooring was already beginning to fade in this new establishment.

ed’s face says it all

We stepped up to the kiosk to place our order and pressed the only option, a surprise scoop for a whopping $9. With such a steep price tag for not being able to choose your own flavor, I was inclined to walk out the door. Ed kindly offered to pay. “Ok, fine. Let’s do it,” I said.

After swiping his credit card, Ed’s name appeared on a screen above the pick-up window. As we waited for our ice cream to appear, we took a look around the shop. I commented on the tacky decor, Ed questioned if this kind of place will stay open for long. While we pondered, a security camera in the corner watched over us with a not-so-subtle sign that read: “Smile, you’re on camera.”

The pick-up window slid open and a plastic-gloved hand appeared holding our ice cream. At first I was slightly impressed: it was in a cute take-out container with a pink spoon, topped with whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, and a maraschino cherry. But one bite immediately changed my mood.

“God, what is that?” I said. “Mustard?”

“Horseradish,” Ed replied.

I went in for another bite to confirm. Yup, it was definitely horseradish. Maybe the person behind the window was listening through the CTV system and decided to hit us with the worst option. We attempted to eat a few more bites but couldn’t bear the taste anymore, so we walked out the door and tossed the container into the trash.

Whose idea was this? What kind of person are they trying to target? Are they really paying the rent? I did some digging online and it seems like Surprise Scoop comes from the owner as Stuffed Ice Cream, another dessert shop that previously occupied the same storefront. The owner moved Stuffed Ice Cream to Bentonhurst and transformed this East Village location into a new concept. Its Instagram bio claims it’s “the world’s first flavor roulette ice cream shop, where every scoop is a surprise!” Their social feeds are filled with cheesy videos of so-called “unique” activities in New York City that target tourists looking for gimmicky, Instagrammable experiences — along the likes of dining in an igloo (a plastic yurt) or visiting an immersive art exhibit (magnified screen projections).

If Surprise Scoop is trying to be an experimental art piece, then the attention to detail is missing. The storefront is thrown together. The freehand-painted squiggles are messy, the florescent lighting feels stiff, and the baseboard trim only covers half of each wall. Meanwhile, its core product, the ice cream, tastes like your average grocery store-branded tub, topped with whipped cream out of a canister, and standard toppings. The concept reminded me of my art professor’s critique of a classmate’s final: an intentionally poorly made sculpture of a dog crafted from chicken wire, which he then submitted to prestigious galleries across the country. He thought his final was revolutionary, a guaranteed A. But our professor tore it to shreds. His argument? The dog sculpture was just bad art. A more provoking attempt, he suggested, would have been to create an intricate work of art that gave the illusion of carelessness and document the intensive process along the way.

Like the sculpture, Surprise Scoop lacks intentionality. It’s lazy. I walked away feeling cheated out of $10 and I’m not even the one that paid for the ice cream. I wondered if I was being too quick to judge the product considering I got a “bad” flavor, but others online agreed: the ice cream wasn’t anything special. On top of the ice cream base recipe being rather ordinary, it seems like a majority of people received normal flavors too — chocolate, vanilla, pistachio, and strawberry — with generic toppings like whipped cream, maraschino cherries, or sprinkles.

The more successful version of this kind of experimental retail is Jellycat Diner, a food-themed plush toy shop within FAO Schwartz, where the toys are “prepared” by staff wearing classic diner uniforms. Entrance is $50 and includes a plushie and an enamel pin. Yet it seems parents and adults alike are willing to shell out the money — especially considering it’s harder to get a reservation here than at some of the city’s popular restaurants. This is because Jellycat Diner is carefully executed. There’s a menu filled with different toy specials. Servers mimic the sound effect of a whip cream canister as they pack up “to-go” orders of waffle-shaped plushies. Sure, the act is gimmicky on the surface, but it’s effective at immersing visitors into this world. Here, the imaginary plush toy diner is brought to life and offers an engaging, memorable experience for its patrons.

The current version of Surprise Scoop feels like a weak attempt to ride out the last of Stuffed Ice Cream’s lease, using a novelty tactic to draw in customers to buy ice cream in the dead of winter. They could really push the concept. Why not keep the bright white interior but make it modern and sleek? Like something out of a sci-fi movie. As for the ice cream, go crazy with it. Take the Nathan For You approach and serve poop-flavored ice cream alongside more out-there options that you could find at Morgenstern’s: Vietnamese rum coffee, olive oil eggplant, toasted rice yuzu swirl. More thoughtfulness and finesse could take it from a one-time gimmicky shop to a destination with staying power. But as it stands now, Surprise Scoop is simply a bad ice cream shop.

— Rayna

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