Monday Escape: I scream, you scream….

Banana Split at Dedman's

Banana Split at the Kentucky Fudge Company in Harrodsburg, Kentucky—they don’t skimp, as you can see.

July is National Ice Cream Month. Now, despite my dislike of sugar, I’ve a weakness for ice cream—the real thing, rich and creamy and full of flavour. It’s difficult to find someone who doesn’t like ice cream—and really, if they truly detest the stuff, I consider them suspect. Alien? Monster? Cyborg?

I’m sure you’ve heard about the Baskin’ Robbins “findings” (I’d love to know how they came up with this) about what your favourite ice cream says about your personality. For whatever it is worth, I was torn between the Mint Chocolate Chip and Pralines ‘n Cream; let’s hope the good outweighs the bad, yes? Where do

Shoo-Fly Pie!

Homemade shoo-fly pie with a side of vanilla ice cream

you land on the 31 flavours scale?

As you can imagine, with all of my road-tripping, I’ve eaten plenty of ice cream from sea to—well, New Mexico, anyhow. And yes, milkshakes (such as the yummy pineapple shake I enjoyed at the now sadly defunct Route 66 Launching Pad restaurant in Wilmington, Illinois) count—it’s just ice cream through a straw, which greatly lessens the danger of a fudge-meets-vintage-anything catastrophe. I thought I’d share a few of those delicious ice cream dishes with you—a few
of them, anyhow.

I’ve sampled ice cream all over the place, from Michigan’s own Sander’s Ice Cream as a little girl to local Columbus favourite Jeni’s Ice Cream (worth EVERY PENNY—goodness, what absurdly wonderful stuff she makes) and various locally made ice creams in between, including my own. (I make this chocolate-chocolate ice cream with ganache that is so rich—well. It’s good, and my neighbors concur most heartily with eyes glazed over because they’re high on chocolate.)

Such a cute tub

Foster’s Freeze neon sign at the American Sign Museum in Cinci.

Many of my memories oddly, involve to ice cream—Dad buying both of us a soft serve from the DQ after dropping off his business correspondence at the post office next door, of course reminding me “just don’t tell your mom or sister”; sharing prized Klondike bars with my “Teddy Bear Grandma” (my great-grandmother, who was a firecracker but a teddy bear with her great-granddaughters); sharing a peanut butter & chocolate malted with Hubby at an old-fashioned soda shop in Foley, Alabama, not long after we’d married, and a banana split on our first wedding anniversary trip to Kentucky; Grandma doling out generous shares of the stuff onto her impossibly delicious and beautiful cakes.

I remember repeatedly popping into the little corner place or one of Detroit’s many Coney Islands with friends for a summertime treat during the last few weeks we all had together before heading off toward college and adulthood; that pineapple shake, my first official Route 66 food (which hardly spoiled my lunch at the Polk-A-Dot, which we hit next), and the knee-weakeningly good Cardinal Sin at Ted Drewe’s in St. Louis (with all due respect to my Catholic friends); I still giggle when I recall making my own ice cream for the very first time with the machine Hubby had bought as an anniversary gift (hm, there’s a theme here) when my parents visited us in West Virginia—as sweet, fresh strawberry ice cream started to swell from the top like a pink marshmallow because I’d overfilled it (enthusiasm: it’s okay), we all stood  in my turquoise, white, and red kitchen and laughed helplessly. Ben loved that day, let me tell you!

Yes: I adore ice cream. And I am just now realizing how truly weird it is that so many of my

Mmmm, pie!

Strawberry-rhubarb pie with ice cream at Etta’s Lunchbox Cafe in New Plymouth, Ohio.

memories involve it.

And, considering, that I’ve so few pictures of the stuff.

But hey, at least now you know one thing that will definitely make me happy, just in case you ever need leverage. Ice cream pretty much always works, no matter the trouble (just so long as it’s gluten-free).

It’s a bit of a miracle I’m a pretty slender gal…but then, ice cream and wine are about the only sugar I allow myself!

Besides, few things are more all-American romantic or camaraderie-building than sharing an ice cream, milkshake, or malted. Moreover, I’ve seen this national favourite of a treat—’tis my suspicion it rivals apple and cherry pie for our hearts—enshrined on more signs than I can recall, neon and otherwise. So perhaps it’s with good reason that we have a month dedicated to the stuff!

So you can see why I distrust anyone who doesn’t like the stuff.

Have a great Monday!

And go get some ice cream. 😉

What ugly crust?

“Ugly Crust” pie at the Midpoint Cafe on Route 66. I didn’t get to have any (knowing by that point I’m celiac), but Hubby said it was delicious!


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