John Robbins had serious doubts about the family business

What could be nicer, as the mercury climbs, than eating ice cream? First, the anticipation, weighing up pistachio versus hazelnut, or praline beside salted caramel, assessing the gooiness or chunkiness of each, before the pleasingly heavy cone is put into your hand. Then that first freezing, caressing tongue-feel, the plunge of the lips into a pure indulgence of creaminess, chocolate swirls, soft biscuit pieces and whatever else you asked for, cooling and satisfying all at once.

This article appeared in the Obituary section of the print edition under the headline “John Robbins”