in the heat of childhood summers in california's scorching san joaquin valley, us kids didn't listen for the broken song of the ice cream truck; we kept our ears perked for the la rosa man. the mexican man pushed his little refrigerator cart down the street, bells dangling off the handles. it was chock-full of frozen goodness: fruit and sugar (lots of sugar) on a stick was yours for a dollar. watermelon and tamarind were my favorites. since I've moved away, it's one of the things I miss the most.at lunch today at the peruvian cafe, I noticed a new case by the door. peering in the glass top, I immediately recognized the colorful bars. even with a different name (la princessa), I knew they were the same. a little piece of home.
