What Each Tarot Major Orders at the Ice Cream Stand
Every Tarot card has an appetite
A very serious Tarot study, conducted by the great minds of the Sacred Laboratory of Sprinkles & Waffle Cones Inc, has proven that every Tarot card has an appetite. Some cards reflect an appetite for pleasure. Some for control, novelty, or comfort. If certain cards were people, they would be the ones who want to stand in line for twenty minutes, sample four flavours, ask complicated questions about texture, and then order vanilla anyway.
The ice cream stand is a perfect place to study the Major Arcana because it brings out everyone’s true nature. There, at the intersection of summer heat, insatiable desire, and ice cream, choices are made.
So, in the spirit of seasonal scholarship, let us consider the most important question in Tarot this summer:
What would each of the Major Arcana order at the ice cream stand?
Le Mat — The Fool
The Fool does not technically order.
He drifts toward the ice cream stand because the little dog smelled waffle cones and destiny. He reaches the window with complete confidence and no money in his hand.
When asked what he wants, he looks at the menu as though it has just appeared from another dimension.
“Whatever you recommend,” he says.
He receives a scoop of something bright, probably blue, possibly involving cotton candy, and immediately wanders away before paying. Then he comes back ten minutes later with a popsicle from a completely different stand and a new friend named Greg.
His order: mystery flavour in a sugar cone, plus whatever adventure happens afterward.
I. Le Bateleur — The Magician
Le Bateleur samples everything.
He wants to know the base, the mix-ins, the process, whether the waffle cones are made in-house, and if the lavender honey flavour pairs better with blackberry or lemon. He asks quickly and tries to trip his server up, and then smiles. He may also try for the server’s phone number.
He eventually orders a small scoop of five different flavours arranged with alarming precision, then somehow turns the napkins, tasting spoons, receipt, and a cherry stem into a promotional display for his new side hustle.
His order: a carefully constructed sampler flight with one flavour nobody else noticed.
Ice cream flights….he has an idea for a business now.
II. La Papesse — The High Priestess
La Papesse knew what she wanted before she arrived.
She does not need to look at the menu. She does not need to ask questions. She does not explain herself to the teenager at the window.
She orders pistachio in a cup.
Not because pistachio is trendy or because she likes that shade of green, and not because pistachio has a secret doctrine encoded in its texture, though if it did, she would know.
She eats slowly, silently, and with the faint air of someone who has just received information from the Akashic Records but is not going to tell you.
Her order: small pistachio in a cup, plain, no toppings.
She brought her own spoon.
III. L’Impératrice — The Empress
The Empress wants beauty, pleasure, abundance, and good lighting.
She orders strawberry cheesecake ice cream in a waffle cone, with sprinkles, whipped cream, and a little drizzle of something glossy. It is not merely a dessert. It is a composition, a mood board, an edible offering to Venus.
She will say, “Oh, just something simple,” and then somehow her cone looks like the cover image for a summer lifestyle feature called Soft Power and Dairy.
She takes one bite, and everyone nearby suddenly remembers they enjoy being alive.
Her order: strawberry cheesecake in a waffle cone with sprinkles and charm.
Naturally, someone offers to hold her purse.
IIII. L’Empereur — The Emperor
The Emperor orders vanilla.
Before anyone accuses him of being boring, please understand: vanilla is structural. Vanilla is foundational. Vanilla is not a lack of imagination; it is the pillar upon which both civilization and ice cream rest.
He gets it in a cone because the cone is practical and has proven itself over time.
He does not need toppings. Toppings invite chaos. Sprinkles are unreliable. Hot fudge is a logistical threat in direct sunlight.
He stands slightly apart from the group, eating his ice cream with dignity, silently judging the instability of everyone else’s cone architecture.
His order: vanilla in a plain cone.
If there is a bench nearby, he has already claimed it.
V. Le Pape — The Pope
Le Pape orders for the group.
This is not because anyone asked him to. This is because he believes tradition exists for a reason: someone responsible must ensure everyone receives an appropriate frozen treat. He believes it should be vanilla-chocolate twist soft serve because it represents balance, continuity, and the proper transmission of wisdom from one generation to the next.
He has strong opinions about whether children should be allowed to order novelty flavours with names like “Unicorn Explosion.” He will allow it, reluctantly, as long as they say thank you.
His order: vanilla-chocolate twist, neatly spiralled.
He blesses the napkins.
VI. L’Amoureux — The Lover
The Lover cannot decide.
This is not a flaw. This is the card’s entire thesis.
He stands before the menu, torn between chocolate or raspberry, nostalgia or novelty, cup or cone, what he wants and what someone else recommended. The line behind him grows restless. An internal committee forms.
At one point, he almost orders a mint chocolate chip because someone he once loved liked mint chocolate chip. Then he remembers he does not actually like mint chocolate chip. This is growth.
His order: two half-scoops: one safe, one risky.
He asks everyone else if they think he made the right choice.
VII. Le Chariot — The Chariot
The Chariot wants a cone that can be eaten while moving.
No cup. No spoon. No delicate situation requiring stillness. He has places to be, victories to achieve, errands to dominate, and probably a reusable water bottle clipped to something.
He orders coffee ice cream in a waffle cone because he respects forward momentum. He may add chocolate sprinkles, but only if they do not compromise speed.
He does not sit. Sitting is how you lose the race against melting.
His order: coffee ice cream in a waffle cone, consumed with ferocious speed.
He has already identified the fastest route back to the car.
VIII. La Justice — Justice
Justice asks what the difference is between “single scoop” and “small.”
She is not trying to be annoying. She is trying to understand the system. Are the portions standardized? Is the pricing clear? Does “one topping” mean one category of topping or one application of topping? If hot fudge and whipped cream are bundled under “sundae,” where is that indicated?
She orders something balanced: chocolate and vanilla, side by side, in a cup. Equal scoops. Clean division. No favoritism.
Her order: half chocolate, half vanilla, in a cup, measured fairly.
She keeps the receipt.
VIIII. L’Hermite — The Hermit
The Hermit waits until the line is almost gone.
He does not dislike people. He simply prefers his ice cream without an audience, a crowd, or a group debate about toppings.
He orders rum raisin, maple walnut, or some other elder flavour that people under thirty do not fully respect. He has liked it for decades. He is not interested in defending it.
He sits under a tree, slightly away from everyone, and eats very slowly while contemplating the sacred relationship between solitude and digestion.
His order: Rum Raisin in a cup.
Like La Papesse, he brought his own spoon.
X. La Roue de Fortune — The Wheel of Fortune
The Wheel cannot order the same thing twice.
There is no point. The whole point is rotation, chance, change, fate, and the terrifying possibility that the seasonal flavour will disappear before you appreciate it properly.
The Wheel asks what the special is. Whatever it is, that is the order.
Peach cobbler? Fine. Blueberry basil? Fine. Salted caramel pretzel eclipse? Fine. The wheel turns. The scoop falls where it must.
Sometimes the order is transcendent. Sometimes it is weird. Either way, it was meant to be.
The Wheel’s order: the seasonal special, no questions asked.
The choice of cone is left to fate and the server.
XI. La Force — Strength
Strength wants something sweet but substantial.
She is not here for a tiny scoop of air and vibes. She wants creaminess, richness, texture, and something that can withstand heat. She orders chocolate peanut butter, or maybe salted caramel with candied nuts.
She does not fight the ice cream. She works with it. When it drips, she turns the cone. When it leans, she steadies it. When a child nearby has a meltdown, she somehow calms the child, the parent, and the ice cream itself.
Her order: chocolate peanut butter in a waffle cone.
She eats it with serene authority.
XII. Le Pendu — The Hanged Man
The Hanged Man changes his mind after ordering.
Not because he is indecisive in the ordinary way, but because once the ice cream is in his hand, he sees the entire situation from a new angle.
“Actually,” he says, staring at the melting scoop, “maybe I wanted a milkshake.”
This is not convenient for anyone.
He eventually turns the cone upside down into a cup and declares the resulting disaster a spiritual experience. It may involve soft serve. It may involve surrender. It definitely involves napkins.
His order: a cone that becomes a cup-based lesson in acceptance.
He says the melting is part of the teaching.
XIII. L’Arcane Sans Nom — Death
Death orders black cherry.
Not because it is goth, though that certainly helps. Not because it stains the tongue, though it goes with the whole otherworldly motif. Death orders black cherry because it understands sweetness with an edge. Fruit transformed. Summer darkened. Ripeness approaching the threshold.
Death does not make a fuss. Death does not require dramatic toppings. Death knows everything changes form eventually, including dairy.
It eats calmly while everyone else worries about maintaining a safe distance.
Death’s order: black cherry in a cup.
The spoon is compostable.
XIIII. Tempérance — Temperance
Temperance gets a float.
Obviously.
A scoop of vanilla in orange soda, root beer, or something botanical and lightly sparkling. This is the alchemy of summer: cream and fizz, sweet and sharp, liquid and solid, patience and delight.
Temperance does not rush. Temperance understands proportion. Too much soda and the whole thing foams over. Too much ice cream and the drink becomes heavy. The art is in the pour.
Her order: an orange creamsicle float.
She offers everyone a sip, and somehow nobody backwashes.
XV. Le Diable — The Devil
The Devil orders the most excessive thing on the menu.
Chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. Hot fudge. Whipped cream. Crushed cookies. Chocolate chips. Caramel. A cherry. Possibly two cherries. Maybe a brownie underneath. Maybe the bowl is edible. Maybe the whole thing has a name like “The Sinful Sundae,” which the Devil finds both obvious and acceptable.
He asks for extra spoons and then does not share.
The Devil’s order: the largest sundae legally available.
He says, “I deserve a treat,” and honestly, that is how it always starts with him.
XVI. La Maison Dieu — The Tower
The Tower orders a towering soft serve cone.
This is immediately a problem.
It is too tall. It is leaning. The sun is brutal. The structural integrity is questionable from the beginning, but everyone wants to believe it will hold.
It does not hold.
At some point, the entire top collapses onto the pavement, a shoe, or the Tower’s own hand. There is a moment of shock. A child gasps. Someone says, “Oh no.” The Tower stands there, sticky and transformed.
The Tower’s order: a spectacularly unstable, too-tall soft serve cone.
Let’s not pretend otherwise; we knew how this would end. The lesson was visible from the start.
XVII. L’Étoile — The Star
The Star orders something luminous and refreshing.
Lemon sorbet. Blueberry lavender. Coconut water granita. Something pale, cool, and restorative that makes you feel like you have been forgiven by the weather.
She is not trying to impress anyone. She is replenishing herself. She will probably sit outside under the evening sky, shoes off, spoon in hand, quietly rehydrating her soul.
Her order: lemon sorbet with a little cup of cucumber water on the side.
She reminds everyone else to drink water too.
XVIII. La Lune — The Moon
The Moon orders the flavor nobody can quite identify.
It might be lavender. It might be blueberry. It might be earl grey. It might be something called “Midnight Garden” that tastes different with every bite.
The Moon asks if the ice cream contains anything unusual, then immediately decides she does not want to know.
She eats in the half-light, suspicious of the shadows, moved by the atmosphere, and faintly convinced that the two dogs near the picnic table are speaking in riddles.
Her order: lavender blueberry in a cup, with small shreds of cotton candy.
It tastes like a dream she almost remembers.
XVIIII. Le Soleil — The Sun
The Sun gets orange sherbet.
Or mango. Or creamsicle. Or anything bright enough to be seen from across the parking lot.
The Sun does not just eat ice cream. The Sun radiates ice cream. The Sun has sticky hands, a glowing face, and a complete lack of shame. The Sun will get sprinkles because sprinkles are small celebratory fragments and therefore correct.
The Sun’s order: orange sherbet with rainbow sprinkles.
It melts immediately, but nobody minds.
XX. Le Jugement — Judgment
Judgment orders something from childhood.
A dipped cone. A rocket pop. A strawberry shortcake bar from the freezer case. Something that calls the soul back into the body with one bite and says, “Remember?”
This is not nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. This is resurrection through flavour. The trumpet sounds. The old self rises. The adult person stands in public, eating the exact treat they loved at eight years old, and understands that time is a spiral.
Judgment’s order: a childhood favorite, resurrected.
It comes wrapped in paper and revelation.
XXI. Le Monde — The World
The World orders the perfect sundae.
Not the biggest. Not the most chaotic. The perfect one.
A scoop of vanilla, a scoop of chocolate, a scoop of strawberry. Hot fudge, whipped cream, nuts if appropriate, cherry on top. Classic, complete, elegant, circular. Nothing missing. Nothing excessive. The dance has reached its final figure.
The World does not need to rush. The World has arrived.
Her order: a perfectly composed classic sundae.
Everyone else looks at it and thinks, “Yes. That is what I should have ordered.”
The Sacred Lesson of the Ice Cream Stand
A Tarot deck is a book of human appetite.
We desire, choose, hesitate, overdo it, and then try to control the outcome. We ask for recommendations. We return to old favorites. We order what we think we should want. We discover what we actually want only after the thing begins to melt or fall completely apart.
The Major Arcana are not floating above ordinary life. They are in the ordinary life.
They are in the line at the ice cream stand.
They are in the moment of choice.
They are in the sticky fingers and the collapsing cone.
They are in the person who orders vanilla with conviction.
They are in the person who cannot decide.
They are in the person who says, “I’ll just have one bite,” and then takes five.
This is part of why I love Tarot. The cards do not only speak about grand spiritual initiations. They also speak about errands, snacks, weather, moods, cravings, mistakes, pleasures, and the small public dramas.
So the next time you find yourself standing in front of an ice cream menu, unable to decide between the flavour you always get and the strange seasonal special calling your name, consider the possibility that you are not merely choosing dessert. You are consulting the oracle.
And the oracle says:
Get the sprinkles.