Day 151: The Frosty Treat vs. The Dairy Cone

You know what my kids have been missing all their lives? They’ve been missing that on-the-corner greasy spoon they can comfortably walk to along with their friends during the day or night and call their own. They’ve been missing the succulence that is a mystery meat sandwich whose ingredients some enterprising woman concocted in her mind with big aspirations to feed the local citizens galore. They’ve been missing that certain place they call go to, sit in a booth as long as they want to escape the summer’s heat, and get caught up on their town’s gossip as told straight from the mouths of the teenage girls working behind the counter. They’ve been missing piping hot French fries and onion chips, big-ass malts and milkshakes, pinball machines in the corner, Ms. Pac-Man at the ready, and a welcome alternative to the grub the school is serving for lunch that day all with the knowledge that every penny they spend there goes straight into the pockets of their neighbors, not The Man. My kids have been missing a Frosty Treat and Dairy Cone in their lives.

If you live in a small town or grew up in a small town, chances are damn good you know of what I speak. You know the tasty vibe I’m spreading here. You can smell the loose-meat sandwich right now. You can taste the bit of pickle that’s mixing with the ketchup and mustard in your mouth. You can feel the hotness of the chicken strip you just bit into burning your tongue, and you’re reaching for your chocolate shake to cool it down. You know what I saying, but my kids don’t. My kids know Dairy Queen (boring). My kids know McDonald’s (ugh). My kids know Burger King and Wendy’s and the whole other slew of run-of-the-mill craptraps spread across the country and world for that matter. What they don’t know is the homegrown magic being spun daily at a local dive. My kids are city kids, and city kids are brainwashed into seeking out the ordinary. What a travesty.

I was lucky enough to have two such places to escape to: The Frosty Treat and The Dairy Cone. Now, family allegiances pulled me to the Frosty Treat. My aunt worked there forever. Countless cousins worked there, too. My cousins owned it at one time, in fact. My dad played for the Frosty Treat softball team along with a bunch of other relatives when I was a kid. To this day, my relatives keep the Frosty burger alive by cooking up a batch for various occasions, and all it takes is one bite for the memories to start clogging my arteries again with the most welcomed acceptance. But here’s a secret, despite the vast amounts of ice cream I devoured at the Frosty Treat, and despite the most glorious of onion chips consumed, and despite spending many a lunch hour there, I actually preferred the beef burger served at The Diary Cone. I always felt a sense of betrayal and guilt from my taste buds’ preference, but not enough that it kept me away for long durations or from ordering three beef burgers at a time. Here’s another secret, my mom preferred the beef burger, as well. (By publicly stating this, I’m sure I’m putting her at all sorts of risk.) Thus, when the two of us were left alone to fend for ourselves at supper time, it wasn’t uncommon for us to covertly make our way to The Dairy Cone, place our order, and make tracks before we were seen. But oh, was it worth it. I can just picture that wonderful sandwich right now, wrapped ever so well in wax paper and secured with a toothpick, just waiting for my mouth.

Sadly, the Frosty Treat is no longer. In my opinion, there should be a landmark where it once stood, but I may be in alone in that thinking. At any rate, I’m beyond grateful for the memories that the place provided, not just food-wise but socially and historically, as well. I’m glad I didn’t have to resort to a chain restaurant to get a hot fudge sundae, and I’m glad that the first place I got my little cup of ketchup was from a mom-and-pop and outfit. I’m glad I have memories of sitting in my parents’ car, watching intently as my mom ordered ice cream cones from the back screen window, and made her way back to make my day. I’m glad for the three or so blocks I could walk to the Frosty Treat from school over lunchtime with my friends and talk about the talk. I’m glad I could sit at the counter at the Dairy Cone and make fun of my friend Chris as he tried in vain to make another ice cream cone. I’m glad for the grease that still courses through my body.