Dreaming of creamy gelato

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I know it's cold, but I can't help dreaming about better days, better weather -- and scoops of gelato.

My first taste of gelato came on a sultry June afternoon on a winding, back street in Rome. Exhausted from a morning of elbowing past tourists at the Trevi Fountain and forging our way through the throngs at the Forum, my husband and I ducked into a storefront bearing the name "gelateria."

To my inexperienced eyes, the cheery, glass-fronted shop resembled an ice cream parlor. However, instead of round, plastic tubs of ice cream, small metal troughs filled with velvety confections lined the chin-high, refrigerated cases.

I pointed at a container of pale green pistachio gelato, a standard flavor in Italy. Seconds later, I held in my hand a small cup of the cool treat. One quick bite and I was hooked. I turned to my husband and naively announced that this heavenly delight reminded me of ice cream. Of course it did. Derived from the Italian verb for "freeze," gelato is to Italians what ice cream is to Americans: a cold, milk-based sweet.

While I initially wrote the two off as twins, I soon learned that gelato and ice cream more resemble distant cousins. Richer and denser, gelato contains less air -- under 35 percent -- than its iced relation. Stored at a warmer temperature in a semifrozen state, it also possesses a smoother, creamier texture and does not numb the palate as frozen ice cream often does. With gelato, the flavor lingers longer and is stronger.

Heavy in flavor does not mean high in fat. Made with whole milk, gelato has 4 to 8 percent butterfat and employs heavy cream as a thickener, not as a main ingredient. Ice cream, with its cream base, varies from 10 to 18 percent butterfat.

Although I first sampled it in 20th-century Rome, gelato's origins date to 16th-century Florence and the Medici. Introduced to the Florentines by architect Bernardo Buontalenti, gelato shows no signs of losing its grip on modern-day diners' taste buds.

When Italians eat gelato, it varies from region to region and, to some extent, season to season. For Adriana Barsotti-Kaplan, who spent the first 21 years of her life in Padova -- the walled city between Venice and Verona -- eating gelato was, and remains, a summertime ritual. She now lives in Alexandria.

"At the end of a long, hot day, there is nothing better than to go downtown or to your neighborhood gelateria and lick a cone," Miss Barsotti-Kaplan said. In winter, Padova's gelato shops either close or switch to serving baked goods and strong hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

In Rome, locals do eat gelato in winter but much less so than in summer. Along the northwest coast in Liguria, the same holds true. However, head south to Sicily in February and expect to wait in long lines at the gelateria.