I only have vague memories of my first time at Mashti Malone’s. It was late at night, some time during college. Who knows what we were up to in Hollywood. What I do remember is pulling into one of those indiscriminate strip malls, and walking into the fluorescent glow of the Persian ice cream shop with the funny name.

The name is a part of the charm though. A story of a Persian immigrant in 1980 buying up an ice cream parlour and swapping out “Mugsy” for “Mashti” and leaving “Malone’s.” Decades later, the name has stuck and expanded beyond the Hollywood location, to the gentrified hipster central of Silver Lake and the heart of Tehrangeles in Westwood. In the current age, it feels like everything is overly branded, crafted in a way that speaks directly to an audience. Against that backdrop, it feels remarkably refreshing to have places like Mashti’s stay true to its story, where the name more a practical choice of survival without much thought into the marketability. That authenticity isn’t taken for granted in this city.

The ice cream is exactly what you want out of a Persian ice cream parlor. Complete with the familiar flavors of rosewater and saffron and orange blossom. The paper thin wafers and faloodeh. It’s not trying to be any more than it is. You’re here for ice cream, not vibes. The product, not the packaging. The frilly font choice and playful clip-art like logo are a part of the charm. In an ice cream landscape that feels increasingly maximalist (see: Wanderlust, Salt & Straw), it’s nice to have a place that is reliably consistent in its traditional flavors. It remains one of my favorite ways to end a night.