Dairyland Delicacies: Frozen Custard

I love ice cream, always have. I dread the day my children are tall enough to peer into the freezer and see Healthy Choice Cookies & Cream hidden behind their waffles. If they had any idea the amount of frozen treats consumed in our house after they went to bed, they would seek legal emancipation…and rightly so.

Our first apartment in Wisconsin was located across the street from a Culver’s where the custard flavor of the day is posted daily on its sign. We were thrilled! We posted the Culver’s calendar of flavors on our fridge, but by the end of the first summer, the custard novelty had worn off and we craved REAL ice cream.

For those that may not be familiar, frozen custard is a creamier variation of soft-serve ice cream. There’s not much to it. Like soft-serve, custard doesn’t really have much texture. It’s like eating a frozen lump of whole milk with sugar. Please note that if you are having custard for the first time, eat a small serving. It can wreak havoc on the digestive system if you’re not used to it!

When I saw Andes Candies featured as the flavor of the day, I envisioned ribbons of chocolate and mint custard woven delicately together, but was disappointed to receive bland vanilla custard with crumbled Andres Candies mixed it.

Real ice cream, surprisingly, is difficult to find in America’s Dairyland unless you hit tourist areas like Door County or the Dells. When I was pregnant with our oldest child in 2001, we traveled Milwaukee County looking for real ice cream only to find Dairy Queen, Kopp's Custard, and a few closed Baskin Robbins. I was even willing to drive back to the Southside of Chicago for a rainbow cone or to visit The Plush Horse or Gertie's.

By the time we were expecting our daughter in 2004, there were TWO ice cream shops in Oak Creek. But my son, nearly three at the time, did not like ice cream (“Too cold!”) and I feared looking like a bad mom eating ice cream in front of my sobbing toddler. Strangers would assume he was crying because I wouldn’t share, not realizing his tears were because I was eating something of an unsafe temperature.

If we are stopping for a treat after school, I will give my kids the two options at Howell and Drexel: custard from Culver’s or a Wendy’s frosty. I know this is disappointing to my Wisconsin friends, but they always choose the frosty.

My final thoughts on frozen custard: edible, but highly overrated, and not a suitable replacement for a scoop of old-fashioned, hand-dipped ice cream full of texture and flavor!

I Survived Wisconsin Dells, Epilogue

Once again, my friend Brigitte did some research on behalf of this blog. She sent me a link trying to reassure me (and herself) that I was not tasting sweat in the wave pool at the Wilderness Resort. But as I thought about this information, two things stuck out:


1) the water is LESS chlorinated than regular pools.

2) the water is recycled more frequently.


To me, that equals more sweat. (And I'm not even entertaining the thought of other fluids.) And it doesn't help that this article compares wave pools and toilets in terms of engineering.

I also spent/wasted a decent amount of time googling "salty wave pool" and found epinions and blog entries that confirmed that I am not the only person to notice a salty taste in a wave pool. Most writers believed it to be sweat. I also learned that chlorine = chloride = salt, so my brain is attempting to cling to a more scientific, less disgusting reason for the taste.

But maybe I was tasting my sweat. That's not so bad, I guess. Let's just hope whatever small amount of chlorine that was in the wave pool killed any potential swine flu germs.

***
This blog, although not afraid to ask the hard questions in life such as "Am I tasting sweat?," will now return to its primary mission of exploring Wisconsin culture.

I Survived Wisconsin Dells, Part 2

Let me first explain that we had a great time in the Dells, even though Part 1 of this blog entry was less than complimentary. See, readers would be bored to tears if I just talked about how wonderful our vacation was. There's nothing entertaining about "happily ever after."

I also want to thank my friend Brigitte for schooling me on the Wisconsin Ducks. These boats are so named because they can go from water to land. That's kinda cool. I do wish we had a chance to go on a duck ride. Maybe next time.

Here are some additional observations about Wisconsin Dells:

We saw a billboard for a gentleman's club named "Wisconsin Dolls." Again, classy!

A sign at the tattoo shop said something to the effect that they do not tattoo anyone who is under the influence of drugs or alcohol, SO DON'T EVEN ASK. I really wanted to take a picture of the sign, but there was a surly bald man working in the store and I didn't want to explain myself.

We went to Pizza Pub for dinner per recommendation of my seven-year-old son who remembered eating there on a summer camp field trip. I was impressed by their billboard that boasted "more than 50 items on our salad bar." I was disappointed to see that those items did not include fresh fruit. As I looked at their prepared salad selection, a potato salad caught my eye. The potato appeared to be sliced, not cubed. I am glad I read the sign on the salad bar before putting some on my plate. It was herring!

The worst part about our trip to the Dells really had nothing to do with Wisconsin, but rather my own squeamishness over a certain part of the human body: feet. I tried my hardest not to look directly at all the bare feet in the water park, lest I lost my lunch. I came face-to-foot with some kid's feet in the wave pool as he cruised the water on an inner tube. I have to say that after several days in the water, my own feet are ready for sandals. I guess the surface of the pools works as well as a pedicure. Maybe even as good as a live fish pedicure. Ewww.

As promised, I have a story about the wave pool at the Wilderness Resort. While my husband and son tackled the water slides, my four-year-old daughter and I headed to the wave pool. She loved it right away. We spent most of our time in water that was about 30 inches deep which required me to squat most of the time. (My legs have a new found respect for MLB catchers!) After an hour or so, the boys caught up with us and I asked me husband a question I had been pondering.

"This water doesn't seem to have that chlorine taste to it. It wouldn't be a salt water pool, would it?"

My husband dipped his fingers in the water, tasted, shook his head, and answered, "Jen, I think you're tasting other people's sweat."

I'm still gagging at that one. But if any reader has insider information about the water content of wave pools, I would love to hear from you.

I Survived Wisconsin Dells, Part I

Question: Where can you find a two-story replica of the Trojan Horse, an upside down model of the White House, endless buffets, and enough tourist traps to make Vegas blush?
Answer: The Dells, baby!

Refined, tasteful, and subtle – these words have never been used to describe Wisconsin Dells. We went in off-season, so the outdoor water parks were closed and only about half of the neon lights were lit in the evening. It was the perfect time to really take in the culture of the Dells without being irritated by the crowds. Eric and I had actually prided ourselves on living 42 and 37 years respectively without setting foot in the Dells. But when our Disney Easter vacation dreams crashed with the economy, we decided to spend three nights in the Dells. Upon arriving, we were reminded of other craptacular tourist places such as Gatlinburg, TN and Estes Park, CO.

As with the peanuts at any ballpark, remember that they are always “cheaper on the outside.” Salt-water taffy costs $11.99 per pound at Goody Goody Gum Drops in Wisconsin Dells. That same taffy costs $4.98 per pound at Ehlenbach’s Cheese Store just 25 miles south of the Dells. This is where I discovered my culinary passion in life: buttered popcorn flavored salt-water taffy.

Why are boats in the Dells called ducks? They don’t look like ducks, walk like duck, or sound like ducks.

We stopped at an Indian Trading Post (err, crappy tourist souvenir shop) to peruse the local artifacts. Among the items on display: a confederate flag, fuzzy toy ponies, an alarmingly large selection of cowboy and Indian toy weapons (including pink toy guns), and an assortment of shot glasses and t-shirts using humorous variations on the term “cutting the cheese.” My son, to my horror, purchased a pop can cozy in bright cheesy yellow that declared the owner to be a “genuine, authentic cheesehead.” Sigh. But there’s no denying it, he was born in Wisconsin.

At the Wilderness Resort, I witnessed a great deal of tattoos, none of which was impressive. Most noteworthy were two pre-teen girls embellished with presumably temporary tattoos right above their tailbones. That’s right, tramp stamps for ten year olds. Say it with me: Classy!

I was surprised at the number of tourists from Chicago at the Wilderness (based on the number of Illinois license plates in the parking lot and display of Sox, Bears, and Cubs apparel.) Growing up, I had heard of the Dells, but didn’t really know anyone who went there.

The Wilderness charges criminal prices for food. I ate a $9 BLT sandwich for dinner on Friday. I am going to assert that it was the best BLT I have ever eaten; otherwise, I’m just a tourist who paid for overpriced food. It all balances out. I realized, after we arrived at home, that I had packed away an unintentional souvenir: a Wilderness Resort pool towel. Oops!

In Part 2, I will share my personal horror of the wave pool…

Round & Round

This past weekend, I was out of commission with strep throat, which was bad for two reasons: 1) I couldn’t blog and 2) I had to miss my girls’ weekend “Up North.” I was so ready to take good notes and photos for the sake of this blog. Nevertheless, I am embarking on my first trip to Wisconsin Dells in two weeks, so I am sure to plenty of Wisconsin culture to share.

I did venture out on Saturday (just to the emergency room at the new Franklin hospital), and along the way I encountered a topic I had planned to write about: the roundabout.

The roundabout is a relatively new phenomenon in suburban Milwaukee. City planners love them, drivers hate them. Many words have been written on the subject recently. The Franklin hospital has one on its campus, for inexplicable reasons. It may have been my fever or the snow, but I swear it wasn’t even an intersection. It was a roundabout for roundabout’s sake.

So what is a roundabout? Perhaps you may already know it by a different name: the traffic circle. My husband also offers the word “rotary” from the time he spent in graduate school on the east coast.* I think the term “roundabout” is more suited for a gymnastics move or some rare colloquialism, but not a serious word for modern infrastructure. And look at the sign for the roundabout -- what is this telling me? Slow down, it's time to recycle?

Actually, I don’t think I even knew of such intersection madness until I was in my late 20s and had the misfortune of driving through Des Plaines, IL. The Cumberland Circle, affectionately known as Suicide Circle, is an anomaly in Chicagoland. It was so unexpected; I cannot imagine how I even maneuvered through it. Please correct me if I am wrong, but I can’t recall any such beast on the Southside.

Traffic circles have recently become en vogue in southeastern Wisconsin with New Berlin housing two additions (with one being at the end of an expressway exit ramp.) And just last week, the Department of Transportation supported a plan to create a corridor of roundabouts on 27th Street, just a few minutes from my home. Note the word “corridor” – it means they want to replace TWELVE stoplights with roundabouts. That is SIX MILES of roundabouts. I would be trapped in my subdivision!

Apparently, studies show that traffic circles are safer and quicker alternatives to traffic lights and stop signs. The only reason they may seem safer is that people are so freaked out about driving through a roundabout that they have a death grip on the wheel as they move along at 10 miles per hour. And quicker? Who cares about quicker? I now view stoplights as brief opportunities to check Facebook on my BlackBerry. I’m not in any hurry.

I hope the DOT does an about face on their roundabout idea. And even if they called them traffic circles, the term I prefer, I don’t think I’d like them any better.

*Yes, I am aware that there are technical differences between a roundabout and a traffic circle or rotary. I’m not interested in those details. When other people (and you know who you are), start to use “you’re/your” and “it’s/its” correctly, then perhaps I could be persuaded to care about the differences in controlled intersections, mmkay?