The Best Ice Cream & Gelato in the United States

The quinoa-chickpea-walnut burger that made Brooks Headley famous is still on the menu at this vegetarian burger shop in the East Village, now in a bigger room with vintage diner bones. Nothing here pretends to be meat, which turns out to be the whole point. The Michelin Bib Gourmand and a New York Times top-100 spot follow naturally from cooking that treats bold seasoning and smart texture as the actual job. Save room for dessert; Headley came up as a pastry chef.

A single, gigantic pancake made with locally ground cornmeal, mochi rice, and farmers' market fruit tells you most of what you need to know about this all-day cafe in Alhambra. The chef puts that same deliberate care into dinner, where a feast builds easily alongside sake and a wine list that somehow doesn't look like every other restaurant's wine list. Named to the New York Times' 25 best LA restaurants and a James Beard semifinalist.

A cave à manger on 17th Street where you order at a counter, find somewhere to stand, and immediately wish there were chairs. The menu is Mediterranean-Italian, the wine selection leans natural, and the kitchen behind it all has DNA from Komi, the couple's storied tasting room. Griddled pita and olives are constants; a Japanese sweet potato with koji butter somehow fits right in. The ice cream flavors, polenta-cassis among them, suggest nobody here makes easy choices.

Caffè Panna is a tiny Italian ice cream shop near Union Square where the menu is rewritten daily around whatever's in season, so lavender rhubarb might not see tomorrow. Sundaes come crowned with imported Italian whipped cream and rubble like chocolate-covered potato chips, a pairing that sounds like a dare. The line is long and moves briskly, and it has landed on Eater's and The Infatuation's lists of top ice cream shops.

This is an ice cream shop on Bellaire Boulevard, an outpost of the Austin-born chain that buys its milk and cream from Texas dairies and rotates flavors with the seasons. The scoop menu runs from honey vanilla bean and horchata to roasted beets and fish mint, which is the one a certain kind of person orders just to tell the table about it. Houstonia put it on its list of the city's ice cream shops, and the sundae-in-a-cup crowd seems content.

Dolly's is a bakery-cafe on Rockaway Avenue that also runs a soft serve window, and the soft serve is where the strangeness lives. The blueberry pancake one comes with an actual pancake on top, so you can eat the dessert and its inspiration side by side like a tiny experiment. Flavors rotate through cereal and banana pudding, and it's all cheap, casual, and eaten standing up. The Infatuation has listed it among the best bakeries in NYC.

Bebe Zito is a pint-sized ice cream shop in Minneapolis where the spoons change color and the flavors reference both Brazilian desserts and a childhood spent near a cereal aisle. Guava swirls into cream cheese custard, Fruity Pebbles get caramelized, and a flight lets the indecisive sample widely. The burgers come out of a food truck parked in the alley, which is a bold move for a place with this much sprinkle exposure. It's on The Infatuation's list of the best ice cream in America.

Cuzzy's is a kitschy ice cream parlor in South Philly where the flavors read like a dare from someone who's never been told no, such as banana with black sesame and peanut butter, or Rice Krispie with cinnamon goo. Vanilla and chocolate-chocolate cake are always on hand for the traditionalists. Add sprinkles and Oreo whipped cream, and take a few pints home. The Infatuation named it the best ice cream in America.

Hellenika is a small gelato counter tucked into the Pike Place Market area, where the cultured gelato gets churned right in front of you. It leans toward Greek yogurt, so expect a sour tang and restrained sweetness rather than a sugar rush, in flavors like lemon curd and coconut ube. Downtown Seattle once offered only mystery soft serve, so the bar was low. The Infatuation named it The Best Ice Cream In America.

This is a scoop shop on Cape Cod with dozens of flavors, avocado and brownie batter sharing a case with vegan, non-dairy, sugar-free, and gluten-free options. The line often spills out the door and onto the deck in the late afternoon, but it moves fast. Black raspberry, peppermint stick, and maple walnut are all in play, and you can add salt-water taffy for a dessert after your dessert. The Infatuation put it on its Best Ice Cream In America list.

Kanomwaan is a Thai gelato shop on Hollywood Boulevard where the flavors do the traveling, like pandan and a smoked salted egg that somehow tastes like a blown-out birthday candle. The gelato is dense and custardy, there's a two-scoop minimum, and the giant shaved ice sundaes are built for splitting among friends. The Infatuation put it on its list of the best ice cream in America, and a cup runs about what you'd expect.

This is a frozen custard stand where the staff wear white paper hats and the burgers hold their own against the dessert. The custard gets its golden richness from egg yolks, and the flavors rotate daily, so you can get a swirl of Bailey's Irish Cream Coffee or apple streusel and call it dinner. The Infatuation put it on its list of the best ice cream in America, and the line proves nobody here is eating salad.

This is a soft-serve stand just outside Lake George, parked across the street from a Six Flags, which means the line is part sunburned families and part people who've had enough of roller coasters for one day. The menu runs long, from birthday cake to an orange creme twist that tastes like a creamsicle. The cremewich is the move if you're racing the drip. The Infatuation put it on its list of the best ice cream in America.

The malai rigatoni, ridged noodles in a creamy tomato masala, is what half the room orders without looking at the menu. Pijja Palace is a full-on Indian sports bar doing bar pies, hot wings, and dosa-battered onion rings from a ground-floor spot in a Silver Lake Comfort Inn, which sounds like a bit, but isn't. The crowd is loud, the games are on, and the cardamom soft serve closes things out. A James Beard semifinalist for Best New Restaurant.

A converted ice cream truck that traded wheels for a walk-up window on Washington Avenue, this scoop shop keeps a short, rotating roster of flavors that leans well past vanilla, think black sesame, cookie butter, and vegan mango sticky rice. The Dough Boy, a scoop pressed between a warm powdered-sugar doughnut, is the order that ends up in everyone's photos. Call ahead to confirm your flavor is in stock, or risk making choices you weren't prepared for.

An ice cream shop that partners with local breweries and roasters to build flavors you won't find in a freezer aisle, Fat Cat Creamery scoops things like milk chocolate stout made with a local oatmeal stout and a cold brew cream tied to a specific Houston roaster's seasonal batch. One brick-and-mortar location in the city, plus a spot at Hobby Airport, with scoops popping up at bars and coffee shops around town.

Flower & Cream is a modern ice cream shop on West Holcombe where pink is less a color scheme than a commitment, right down to the waffle cones. About fifteen flavors rotate through the case, including a few vegan ones with names like unicorn tracks. Half scoops are allowed, which is how undecided people get two flavors without the guilt of a second full scoop. Expect strollers, sugar, and a lot of photos of cones.

The pandan-and-chrysanthemum swirl was added hesitantly and sold out immediately, which tells you most of what you need to know about this ice cream shop. Milk + Sugar keeps 16 flavors in rotation, built around a simple premise: take desserts people already love and churn them into scoops. The brown sugar waffle cone is worth the upgrade. Additional locations in the Heights and West University.

Tiny's is an ice cream shack with a seaside look that somehow got built in the middle of Houston, nowhere near any sea. The line runs long and heavy with strollers until about 4:30, when everyone leaves for dinner. The metal benches outside turn into griddles in summer, so plan to walk with your cone. The namesake flavor comes with freshly baked cookies blended in, and the pistachio neapolitan covers three flavors at once.

The pressed-tin ceiling and apothecary cases are original to the old drugstore this soda fountain has been around forever inside. It's the kind of Carroll Gardens spot that puts potato chips on a sundae and makes it feel obvious in retrospect. Ice cream floats run on housemade soda, and the sundaes come loaded with toppings, most made in-house. Order at the counter and find a stool; nobody here is in a hurry.

The entrance is a walk-in freezer at the back of a Downtown ice cream shop, which is the kind of plot twist a Las Vegas cocktail bar can get away with. On the other side is an Old Hollywood-style hideaway serving movie-themed drinks, some arriving in milk pint glasses. You can also roll a pair of dice and let the bartenders improvise around your fate. Dress for a drink, not a sundae.

Murphy's is an ice cream parlor near the Notre Dame campus where the board games are old-school and free to play, which means a family of four can lose an hour to Sorry! before anyone finishes a cone. The scoops run to classics like cookie dough and Fat Elvis, with a few vegan options for the dairy-averse. Some football season nights, a player records a podcast here, so the guy behind you in line may be a linebacker.

An ice cream shop that started as a walk-up window at a bar and somehow turned into a proper neighborhood institution in the Drake area. The from-scratch flavors lean hard into Midwestern nostalgia, think bomb pop sorbet and sweet corn with raspberry, which sounds like it shouldn't work until it does. The butter ice cream loaded with fried Twinkie chunks earns its following every state fair season. A second location has since opened in Valley Junction.

Mayday is a hard ice cream shop on Hendricks Avenue where the flavors read more like side dishes, with corn ice cream under hot honey cornbread croutons and lavender paired with citrus cream and shortbread. The six-scoop flight is the move for groups who can't agree, and a rotating boozy flavor, bourbon-soaked on a good day, handles the grown-ups. Cones are a few dollars, and nobody here is in a hurry.

An ice cream sandwich shop in Carondelet where every flavor is named after a literary villain or witch, which is either the most charming concept you've heard all week or proof that a Yale degree can go anywhere. The owners built the place around equitable food systems, so the ethos runs deeper than the frosting. Come for something cold and cleverly named, leave having thought about regional food economies more than you expected.

The Stil is an ice cream shop whose name stands for Sweetest Things in Life, which is a lot of pressure to put on a scoop. The flavors run to churro and lavender with berries, and some come spiked with booze. You can build an ice cream sandwich, an affogato, or a beer or wine float, or go for a flight if you can't commit. Dairy-free and vegan options are on hand, so nobody gets left holding a napkin.

A gelato shop in Old Town Scottsdale where the owner brought recipes from his hometown in southern Italy and hasn't wavered since. The flavors run classic, almond with orange, hazelnut, milk cream, plus dairy-free fruit options, and the affogato is the move if espresso is involved in your afternoon. The crowd is half tourists already pretending they're somewhere else, and the gelato gives them a reasonable case.

A small-batch ice cream shop inside a converted Quonset hut in Gilbert's Barnone complex, with a rotating handful of flavors that leans toward combinations like date and orange blossom or strawberry and rose water. The menu is short by design, and classics like mint chip share the case with vegan sorbets. You won't find thirty tubs here, which turns out to be beside the point when each one is this carefully made.

Nearly two-thirds of the world can't digest lactose, and this funky scoop shop in Uptown Phoenix has quietly built its menu around that fact. Almost everything is lactose- or dairy-free, served in a room full of neon paintings, mannequin heads, and board games that make it feel less like an ice cream shop and more like a very chill art installation. The mango sticky rice sorbet and the Gansito cake-inspired flavor are the ones regulars debate. Pints available for the road.

The ice cream sandwich here comes on a fresh-sliced doughnut, which is either genius or a personal liability depending on your self-control. This small-batch ice cream shop keeps a core menu of eight flavors, rotates in new ones weekly, and does fruit sorbets for the dairy-free crowd. The original location sits in a tiny historic building on Grand Avenue, which gives it more character than a strip mall scoop shop ever could.

This is a gelateria in a Shea Boulevard shopping center, where you order on an iPad before you ever meet a human, which feels very Scottsdale until the scoops arrive. Flavors lean adventurous, with mesquite honey lavender and a ricotta studded with fig sharing the case with mint cookies and cream. You can taste before committing, and each cup or cone gets a crisp wafer on top. Cheap enough, casual enough, flip-flops welcome.