Ryan M.
Yelp
I've never been a big fan of ice pops*, but the alchemical concoctions from El Paraiso have won me over to the point of addiction. When referring to these ice pops or anything else I enjoy (raw oysters, video games, European art-trash horror movies made by weirdos with names ending in vowels), I say to hell with the tyrannical idiom "everything in moderation." Moderation is for passionless dullards, the middle-of-the-road mindset. To paraphrase Nada, the antihero from John Carpenter's "They Live," the middle of the road is the worse place to drive. I believe in enjoying life to its fullest and stuffing myself silly with delicious, refreshing ice pops from El Paraiso.
Unlike pops of the mass produced variety, the handcrafted delights at El Paraiso contain only a handful of ingredients, such as real fruit and real sugar. The only artificial element is a few drops of food coloring, a necessary evil to make the pops resemble the fruits to which they refer. The use of real fruit (not just juice but pulp) gives these treats a bold flavor I've seldom experienced from ice pops. The lemon flavor tastes of freshly grated zest, the pineapple reminds me of freshly cut pineapple, and so on. I've yet to try a flavor I did not enjoy.
The next time you're near the Deco District on Fredericksburg, keep an eye out for the distinctive blue-and-white building next to HEB and Little Caesar's. El Paraiso has been in business since 1984, so they must be doing something right. Buy the freezies by the truckload and scarf them down by the dozen! Should you overindulge to the point of freezing your tonsils, you can inspect the damage by repurposing the stick as a tongue depressor.
*Popsicle is a trademarked brand name that has become a proprietary eponym, hence my use of the term "ice pop" to refer to water-based food snacks such as paletas. I would use "paleta" more freely, but gringos look foolish when attempting to pronounce Spanish words.
