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This ice cream jingle played in my head as I perused the frozen food aisle at the grocery store, wondering if square pints of ice cream were sold anywhere. One frozen thought led to another as I wheeled my cranky grocery cart – and I recalled our ice cream summer.
Money was tight when I was growing up. We had what we needed and little more. Vacations were rare. My father, however, was a clever man who made up all sorts of games to keep us occupied during the long days of summer and there was usually an event to look forward to; the International Trade Fairl at the old Navy Pier, the Shriner’s Parade, which is like no other, learning to play Monopoly, sometimes referred to as Monotony. It was our ice cream summer, however, that gave us a whole summer of Sundaes – on Saturday night.
After Saturday’s supper, we would pile into the Chevy Impala, aka PenDot, and Daddy would take us out for ice cream. Each week it was a different excursion to yet another spot for ice cream.
It was the summer I had my very first chocolate dipped ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen. I remember standing on the sidewalk, close to the street, watching as the custardy white cream oozed out of the machine and filled up the cone. The ice cream was dipped quickly in hot chocolate. That first bite was pure bliss. Then it melted all over my hands, up my arms, and all over my blouse with its Peter Pan collar.
Cock Robin was where I had my first lick of butter pecan ice cream sculpted with a square ice cream scoop.
There were other destinations of frozen delight; a local restaurant specializing in banana splits, a root beer float, my first frozen chocolate banana at a local festival. Then there was THE ice cream parlor. The Buffalo Ice Cream Parlor. A Chicago landmark! It was the only time I remember my mother coming along. She and my dad had actually gone to the Buffalo on dates. The car ride took forever as we road along the city streets. Finally, we were in the Buffalo, with its original decor, wooden floor, and THE BEST hot fudge sundae that has ever crossed my lips!
How about you? Is there an ice cream parlor from your childhood – or adulthood – that serves memories frozen in time?
In my hunt for an image of the Buffalo Ice Cream Parlor, I happened upon a most wonderful blog that posts all sorts of nostalgic images of Chicago. Images can used for non-commercial use, for which I am truly appreciative. The site can be found here.
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