A non-Belgian may not yet be able to imagine an ICE, a sweet (praline in “Belgian”) melting on the tongue and which, after the initial asperity, releases a flow of praline chocolate down the throat. The ICE enjoys that kind of roundness that captures the senses, brimming with excitement. It is bursting with light, ready to explode in every direction or to be encased in its desires by golden or silver corsets. ICE is as asteroid of light coming from nowhere, coming from elsewhere.
