Smitten Ice Cream (Dessert), San Francisco, CA

Gourmet ice cream is, arguably, the tastiest of the dozen trends that have swept the nation in recent years (honorable mention to food trucks). From Portland's Salt and Straw to New York's Big Gay Ice Cream, New Orleans stalwart Creole Creamery to San Francisco's own Bi-Rite, shops specializing in thick and gooey cream are opening to massive crowds and critical acclaim. Arguably the most innovative of these locations (no, not Humphry Sloccombe and its Foie Gras and Prosciutto scoops) is Smitten, a place that pumps out surprisingly traditional flavors from the inside of a refurbished shipping crate. Its humble address aside (the container is located adjacent to the decrepit alley that gave birth to Blue Bottle Coffee), this tiny creamery wins impressive points in numerous ways, most notably the manner in which it crafts decadent frozen treats.

Unlike other creameries who churn ice cream by the gallon each morning, Smitten revolutionizes the industry by making (not mixing like Coldstone, actually MAKING) each serving to order. To the surprise of many first timers, this approach results in quick and delicious cones that arrive to customers "in 90 seconds". Smitten's not-so-secret secret weapon/ingredient is liquid nitrogen, which can be observed billowing in plumes from the buckets, mixers, and stirring bowls behind the counter. This nitrogen is harnessed by the ice cream mixers themselves, a quartet of unique and aptly named "Brr" machines. Five years - and apparently three patents - went in to the design and construction of these mixers, creations that can't be found outside Smitten's four corrugated metal walls. Though risky, the time and money spent more than paid off; many now consider the establishment to be the best in the competitive Bay Area, if not the world. Much of this praise stems from the smoothness of the ice cream; liquid nitrogen's low temperature (-300 degrees) keeps the majority of ice crystals from forming.

Smitten's brilliance goes well past science. Beretta Creamery Milk, TCHO Chocolate, Swenton Strawberries - each ingredient used here is crafted by local, artisanal, and organic vendors. Though these ingredients are understandably more expensive (Smitten's price tag is insanely high as a result), the expense is worth it; each and every flavor tastes pure and unadulterated. My personal favorite is the Apple Crisp, only offered in November, an option that features rich, cinnamon-coated apples in a slightly sour vanilla cream. Crushed and spiced Graham crackers add a light crunch and doughy note, the perfect compliment for the fruit. Easily the best scoop I've ever sampled, it's often hard for me to walk away without a few pints around Thanksgiving. As delicious as the seasonal flavors such as this  are, the standard daily choices (offered year round) are equally delicious. Smooth, silky Salted Caramel is a favorite of most customers, with the TCHO Chocolate coming in a close second.

At $5 a scoop, the price makes Smitten's ice cream a luxury item. Though stunningly smooth, chalk full of local ingredients, and made fresh to order, the dessert here isn't completely worth the cost. Local superstars Bi-Rite and Humphry Sloccombe, two business known for expensive treats of similar quality, charge two dollars less a scoop. Smitten, because of this, is a place I visit occasionally, but not frequent. There are far better deals scattered throughout the city I like to take advantage of, and some of the best ice cream on the West Coast, made by Strauss Family Creamery, can be found at most local markets for half as much as Smitten. Regardless of price or convenience (parking's a hassle, too), Smitten is easily the best ice cream parlor in a city in love with ice cream. Though it may break the bank, do yourself a favor and give this spot a try if you're ever touring San Francisco.

CREAM (Ice Cream), Berkeley, CA

Overrated restaurants exist in every state, city, and town, muddying the waters for foodies dedicated to finding the best eats. CREAM is Berkeley's answer to San Francisco duds Scoma's and Fog City Diner, a pair of restaurants so underwhelming that you wonder why reservations are unavailable for the next six hours, much less six months. Though not quite on the same scale of duddery, this tiny ice cream shop in the heart of the University District draws massive lines for a mediocre product day in and day out. Their vast array of tiny treats are idolized by newspapers and bloggers alike, some of whom compare the place with true giants like Humphry Sloccombe and Bi-Rite Creamery. To put it in perspective, such praise is like the New York Times claiming the Mark Wahlberg reboot of "Planet of the Apes" is of comparable cinematic merit to "Pulp Fiction" or "The Godfather" (I think not).

I ventured to the "Planet of the Apes" of ice cream establishments on a warm summer day in Berkeley. Though I initially made the trip to Telegraph to buy a Pineapple Bun from nearby Sheng Kee Bakery, a strange, mirage-like sight caught me off guard. CREAM, for possibly the first time in its existence, lacked a line. Stunned and with dreams of a delicious frozen treat planted firmly in my head, I walked down the block and into the shop ("shop" is generous terminology, as Berkeley's CREAM is little more than a cramped counter with two tables in the corner). Blue signage, orange walls, and perturbed servers surrounded me, the latter prodding for my order. After purposely taking my time to glance over the short menu, I confidently purchased a brownie and a $2 build your own ice cream sandwich, though I was torn on what to fill it with.

My caramel-craving taste buds won out it the end, as I took a scoop of Royal Caramel Swirl between two Snickerdoodles. The cookies, buttery and warm, were among the best I'd had in a long time. Their lack of firmness, however, didn't win points. Putting two fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies around ice cream sounds great until you realize it creates a runny mess. CREAM's Snickerdoodles did just that, melting my Caramel Swirl, which in turn saturated the cookies to the point of bread pudding. Though terribly tasty, it was nearly impossible to eat without dumping goop all over my modest khakis. Grabbing a cup and an arsenal of napkins, I coaxed the center out and ate it with a spoon while sitting on the curb outside. Rich and creamy, the ice cream actually wasn't half bad; that said, it wasn't Bi-Rite, either. Putting the namesake dessert aside, I reached for the brownie, took a bite, and threw the remainder in the trash. It had the consistency of brown sawdust and the lack of flavor associated with said wood shavings. Deciding I had come, saw, and conquered, I got up to leave. Looking back at the store, I noticed the universe had righted itself - CREAM's line stretched around the corner and halfway to Unit 1 in the distance.

My visit to CREAM was a welcome insight into crowdsourced restaurant recommendations. The trip affirmed my long held belief about Yelp's trustworthiness, a website on which hundreds (maybe thousands by now) of locals and visitors alike have raved about a tiny ice cream shop on Telegraph for the past two years. It's not that CREAM was bad - or, for that matter, Yelp was wrong - it was simply overhyped to the point where anything short of Gordon Ramsey divebombing a dragon into my taste buds would have been underwhelming. All attributes considered, I actually like the place and would recommend it to friends uninterested in trekking across the Bay or down to Fenton's for some real ice cream. Is the idea unique and fun? Sure, unique for the Bay Area, at any rate. Would I consider it on par with renowned, award winning scoops? No, not by any stretch of the imagination. Will I return? Surprisingly, I hope I get the chance.