The ice cream parlour comes of age

An ice cream craving is always latent, waiting for its cue. In Britain, it's roused by the toy-like chime of vans drifting through suburban streets – fairgrounds on wheels, plastered with cartoon cones and sun-bleached decals. The visual identity is maximalist and celebratory, yet the product itself remains restrained: the archetypal 99, a neat swirl of soft-serve crowned with the simplicity of a Cadbury Flake. It's at once both impulsive, yet ritualised.

In contrast, Italy could not be more different. Gelato is a passeggiata companion, its flavours artisanal and refined: pistachio, nocciola, stracciatella, amarena. Counters stretch wide, vitrines gleam, and pozzetti lids conceal the craft beneath polished steel. Each portion is shaped with a flat paddle rather than scooped: a fleeting moment of theatre, as opposed to a mere transaction.

The context of ice cream has always been inseparable from the experience of eating it: a mirror of history and culture. In Turkey, dondurma is dense and elastic, sold from brass-trimmed carts where fez-wearing vendors tease customers in playful routines. In India, kulfi is pulled from conical moulds at vividly painted stalls. In Mexico, tiled paleterías brim with rainbow ices and fruit sorbets dusted with chilli or chamoy.

Each country has long held to its aesthetic codes. But in recent summers, a new wave of parlours has emerged. Here, architects and designers approach ice cream as stagecraft, creating experimental environments that are as sensorial and inventive as the flavours themselves.

The evolution of the ice cream parlour

In Odessa, Tanu (‘Таю’ is Ukrainian for ‘I’m melting’) reframes the ice cream shop as a space of grown-up composure. Sivak+Partners resisted the usual pastel kitsch, instead wrapping the interior in undulating stainless-steel panels that ebb and flow like frozen liquid. What might have felt sterile was softened through finish: ‘Thanks to its matte, worn texture, the metal ended up resembling velvet or fabric on the walls,’ says studio founder Dmytro Sivak.

‘There’s no loud, boisterous music or children’s birthday-party vibe,’ Sivak adds. ‘Rather, it offers a calm and pleasant weekend serenity.’ This is a parlour where ice cream is contextualised as an adult ritual, not a sugar rush.

In a similar vein, El Equipo Creativo aimed to create something more grown-up for the design of Barcelona’s Gelato Collection by Spanish chef Albert Adrià. ‘We wanted a space that offered more than just ice cream, where each flavour would be presented as a collectable jewel,’ shares Natali Canas Del Pozo, co-founder and creative director of the studio, which borrowed aesthetics from perfumeries and jewellery stores for the project. The centrepiece is undoubtedly a glass display case designed like a block of ice.

Walls are lined with champagne-toned porcelain tiles, a material choice that echoes the creaminess of gelato. Overhead, octagonal glass light fixtures emit a cool glow. The entire design slows consumption: you don’t grab and go, you approach the counter as though entering a gallery. Adrià’s numbered, ever-changing flavours – recent ones include ‘balsamic candy,’ ‘hibiscus margarita’ and ‘mango green curry’ – are almost treated like precious stones.

Nearby, Amiko Gelato (also in Barcelona) takes a more exuberant, lush and playful approach. Masquespacio pushed Miami Art Deco into the future with pastel geometries, sculptural seating and a shifting play of light. Tropical greenery floods the room, set against ceramics, microcement and metal, creating a deliberate clash between nature and industry. ‘Organic forms and sculptural elements, directly inspired by ice cream, are seamlessly integrated into both the furniture and décor,’ explains Borja Sánchez Marín, product designer at the studio. The effect is lushly immersive, a sensorial oasis rather than a pit stop, sitting at the intersection of juvenile and mature.

Similarly, at The Dreamery in London, ice cream is recast as part of a longer, more indulgent ritual, while ensuring an immersive element: you stay for a glass of wine, under a ceiling mural that dissolves into infinity. English artist Lucy Stein created a canopy of folkloric creatures painted on unryu rice paper, backlit and reflected by three mirrored walls. The result is an enveloping dreamscape that makes time feel suspended.

The material palette – cement-coloured tiles, stainless steel bar, vintage Brutalist sconces by Marino Poccetti – sets a restrained stage, allowing the ceiling to dominate. ‘We wanted somewhere comfortable and playfully innocent,’ co-founder Alex Young says, ‘a retreat of sorts from cynicism and seriousness.’ Traditional English sweetshops informed the design, but nostalgia is filtered through sophistication.

Elsewhere, designers are looking at the past to inform the future of the ice cream parlour, while tuning it into a creative adult ritual. Scooped by Demetres at Square One in Toronto plays with cinematic artifice. ‘We were inspired by the simple, pared-down sets of 1940s and ‘50s films like The Gang’s All Here and An American in Paris, which used design elements like half-height partitions and gestural, line-painted backdrops that disrupt the vastness of the studio sets and ask the audience to use their imagination,’ explains Kfir Gluzberg, founder and principal at Kilogram Studio.

Fluted glass clad with mirrored film refracts light and movement, while perforated steel panels, lacquered with a soft pink automotive finish, shimmer under changing light. This choreography is deliberate: with no colourful tubs on display, attention shifts to the reveal of the scoop itself. ‘The lack of one clear focal point and the monochromatic palette draw heightened focus on the moment the ice cream is revealed,’ the architect notes.

Meanwhile, Gelato Messina’s Sydney outposts show how retro language can be sharpened into a contemporary brand identity. The Newtown site – described by Sans-Arc Studio as ‘a bit retro, a bit 1970s, but also a bit shiny’ – works with a narrow footprint, squeezing circulation around the central freezer. The architects borrowed cues from diners and mid-century gelato bars: timber panelling, a black-and-white chequered floor, and compact counter lines.

In Redfern, the diner influence is pushed further: cork wall panels and spotted gum bullnose battens hug bright orange light boxes, giving a vivid postmodern pop to the brand’s pint-sized offering. The atmosphere is cheerful yet disciplined, part retro homage, part contemporary riff. For Sans-Arc, each Messina outpost is an opportunity to evolve the brand language across multiple sites: ‘developing it over several spaces, improving and becoming more unique with time.’ Here, the parlour becomes an iterative brand experiment rather than a one-off showcase.

The new ice cream parlour occupies a threshold: between child-coded nostalgia and adult sophistication, between memory and reinvention. Designers are not erasing the kitsch traditions of the past, but translating them into new forms: velveted steel, jewel-like vitrines, dreamscape ceilings. The result is a typology redefined by tension; playful yet serious, indulgent yet reflective. Ice cream becomes both an artefact and a stage, suspended between different life stages.

And in each, the ritual itself is re-engineered. Whether through conceal-and-reveal, immersive theatre or sensory overload, ice cream is no longer a snack, but architecture’s most playful act of indulgence.