Right on Fayette Street in Manlius, NY, a stone’s throw away from the Swan Pond and the Public Library, you’ll find Sno Top Ice Cream. It is a tiny building adorned with an ice cream cone shaped sign hanging off the roof. When Central New York is not covered in snow, Sno Top operates as the local frozen dessert Mecca. On any evening between March until the last weekend in September, you’ll find a congregation of sweet treat lovers waiting in line for hand-dipped cones, sundaes, and milkshakes. It is, quite simply, the best ice cream stand in the world.
You may ask how I can make such a bold claim especially when I haven’t been to Sno Top in 25+ years? Not to mention, that my sampling of the entire population of ice cream establishments is woefully incomplete. But I can tell you without a doubt, that Sno Top is the best because it’s the ice cream stand from my childhood. It is the model by which all other ice cream stands will be compared against for the rest of my life. It is where my parents first balanced an ice cream cone in my hands and told me to be careful not to spill it. After a tough Little League loss or particularly good win, we could walk down the hill and our manager would buy us all cones. When cars gave us the freedom to direct our social lives, we would head to Sno Top for a glazier (soft serve floating in a slush) after school or on a Friday night when there was nothing better to do. On the 4th of July there’s lots of patriotic festivities throughout town, but the day isn’t complete without waiting in line for ice cream.
Being the discerning reader that you are, you say that it sounds charming, but I haven’t made enough of a case for the best ice cream based on taste, texture, and presentation. You say that my Little League team beating the Mets and hanging out with my best friends from high school doesn’t objectively impact the the evaluation of the ice cream? Hmmm…is it possible my childhood ice cream experience isn’t exclusively unique? My memories are actually laced with positively charged nostalgia and emotion. Are you telling me, people are having and have had similar experiences at Thomas Sweet in Princeton, NJ, Pepper Tree Frosty in Vista, or any other ice cream stand in the world?
Our food memories are loaded with feelings that go beyond the actual ingredients—our favorite slice of pizza, ice cream sundae, bagel, etc. (As an aside, it seems like most of these favorite comfort foods are, shall we say, not the healthiest of foods. For example, very few people wax poetically about their childhood salad bar.) Our palettes were and are influenced by personal histories loaded with events, people, and stories. Food is eaten as a part of an experience wrapped with emotional context. Repeat that experience enough and you’ll think you’ve found the very best ice-cream cone in the world—that no one can scoop frozen milk, cream, and sugar into a waffle cone better than your childhood ice cream stand. Collect enough of these food association stories and you’ll be ready for an audition on Food Network.
And what if Guy Fieri and Giada De Laurentiis had no stories to tell because food was absent of any emotion? When you’re eating for sustenance, there’s not much discussion about which pizza joint makes the best thin crust. Can you imagine our caveman ancestors debating which location was best for enjoying hunted mastodon? Vroc prefers big rock; but Kror always wants to go to muddy river. That sounds like a very different episode of Man Fire Food.
Jenni has a similar experience with a donut shop around the corner from where she grew up. By all accounts, it sounds like the walk down Prospect Avenue for a glazed old-fashioned was an integral part of her childhood. I’ve sampled the product at Moon Donuts and who doesn’t like fried batter covered in icing? But is it the best donut I’ve ever had? Since they don’t add any childhood nostalgia in my Moon Donuts, I would say no. Perhaps nostalgia costs extra.
Ever since my mom moved to Southern California, she’s kept the Matsumoto household well-stocked with chocolate chip cookies. After dinner each boy will eat Grandma’s cookies in their own way. Chase is like a slight-of-hand magician; one moment the cookies are in his hands and suddenly they’re gone. For a picky eater, he can sure eat quickly when he wants to. Ryan takes a little more time gauging the inventory and selecting choice cookies. After ritualistically pouring a glass of milk, he looks at the gallon container and makes a proclamation on how many days the milk supply will last. In yet another example of grandparents treating grandchildren better than their children, I’ll tell the boys how Gammy used to put raisins in these cookies when I was kid, which we all agree is unjust. Not only are the boys cookie consumers, they’ve spent time in the kitchen helping Gammy making them, learning her precise baking nature, probably inherited from my grandmother. Are these the best chocolate chip cookies in the world? Maybe not growing up in Manlius, but they certainly are now.
