EXCLUSIVE: Ken Levine on Ice Cream, Currency

I recently had a chance to catch up with Ken Levine at Brighton’s Develop Expo. Here’s what the brains behind Bioshock had to say about our ice-cream and our currency. Exclusive interview, only on Sam!

And so I sank into the soft leather couch with a sigh of relief. It was good to be out of the heat. Unseasonable warmth, even for late July, had transformed Brighton into a sweaty pressure cooker of a town. Free ice-creams were being handed out to patrons of the Develop Expo – of which I was one. Ken Levine, creative director at 2K Boston was sitting across from me, with lead programmer Chris Kline and designer Bill Gardner at his side. On our hands we bore the stamps of those who’d received their one free frozen treat.

“You’ve had your ice cream then,” I began.

A smile flashed across Ken’s face. “Yeah,” he said with his broad New York accent, turning to his colleagues, “it’s a much richer, softer ice-cream over here.”

“Like custard or something,” offered Chris, reclining in his chair thoughtfully. He was probably thinking of custard ice-cream.

“I think they have egg yolk in it?” pondered Ken, peering out of the meeting room window to the blue sky beyond. Of course, egg yolk, it’s often used as a thickening agent. Silently we agreed that egg yolk was the answer to the question we’d not yet asked.

“When I was in Japan,” claimed Bill, “I had uh, sweet potato ice cream. It tasted kinda vanilla-y.” He stroked his chin slowly. Had it been sweet potato? Now he’d said the words he couldn’t be sure. But that taste, that vanilla caress to the back of the tongue – that was unforgettable.

Ken looked perturbed by the mere thought, “I don’t like mixing my desserts with my uh..” he began.

“I’m a vanilla guy, are you kidding me?” snapped Bill. “I get angry when people order coffee.” Meaningful, panicked glances darted about the room like insects on a summer pond. Ken’s eyes seemed to communicate something to me. No, not communicate. Scream. His eyes were screaming, ‘help me’. Sensing the change in the mood, I moved the interview quickly onwards.

“You don’t have 99s in America do you?” I asked, tugging the conversation away from all coffee-based talk. Bill seemed to be fuming, possibly noticing the nervous exchange. He would not speak for the rest of the interview.

“The 99?” asked Chris Kline by way of response. His eyebrows undulated as he spoke, as if I’d presented him with some ancient mystery. He was struggling to solve it.

I stood for a moment, placing my hands behind my back and holding them there. I walked towards the window that had only minutes ago held Levine’s attention. The sun was still beating down on the street outside, I wondered how many ice-creams were out there. Spinning on my heel, I faced my interviewees again. “It’s a vanilla ice-cream with a Flake chocolate bar stuck into it,” I announced, dryly.

This caught Ken’s attention, and he moved to the edge of his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “My wife saw that last night and went…” Ken gasped, by way of immitation. “She loves the Flakes here.”

“They are so amazing,” I agreed.

“Why is it called a 99?” asked Chris, pointing his puzzled face hither and tither. He simply hadn’t a clue.

“Because it used to cost 99 pence,” I laughed, returning to my seat. It felt hot and uncomfortable now.

Our liaison for the interview re-entered the room, placing a roster of interviews on the table next to us. “But now it’s £1.50 at least,” he promptly informed, folding his arms. “Inflation…” he dreamily added.

“That’d be $173 for us,” Ken laughed. “I’m getting killed over here. The company teat dries up tomorrow for me, and then I’m on my own. I’m like, oh my god I’m going to get killed.” For a fraction of a second – almost enough to make me think it hadn’t happened – Ken glanced in my direction, nodding towards the silent Bill. Before I could think, our PR contact continued…

“Have you been to Europe yet?” he inquired. “If you go to France its worse. The euro’s twice as much. It’s like a pound to a euro now.” I’d later attempt to verify this and find it to be inaccurate, to say the least.

“I remember when the euro was eighty cents,” reminisced Ken, nostalgia weighing heavy on his heart. Was that a tear in his eye?

Chris was the only one to question our PR man’s conversion, “It’s one pound to a euro?” he wondered aloud. “Huh…”

Sensing that all that was worth saying had been said, I exited the room. As I walked the empty corridor, a terrible sound erupted from behind. Bill Gardner was laughing some otherworldly laugh. Louder and louder. As if the unearthly cackling was coming from inside my head. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”