Snakeskin Journey

I would never consider stopping at the Dairy Queen when at home in the Santa Cruz area.  No.  Over the past 30 years I’ve perhaps been there twice and then only because I had kids in tow and we’d been at the beach.  Since I’ve been in Southern Illinois (just over a month now) I have gone five times, each time for the same thing: a plain cone.

I grew up patronizing the DQ in Carbondale, pictured above, beginning when I moved here in junior high school.  I recall watching the Jesus People drag a huge cross down the middle of the street while enjoying a Dairy Queen treat.  My children have stopped there every time we’ve visited from when they were babies.  It is an institution.  Sitting on the curb (or wall if the curb is occupied) while eating our quickly melting ice cream of a hot humid day is an essential part of a summer experience–and I’ve done that twice this trip.

Only twice, you say?  I thought you said you’ve been there five times?!  Well, I’m not happy to report this, but I found out some scandalous information.  Steel yourself.  Dairy Queen has grades of ice cream.  Not all Dairy Queen ice cream is created equal and it turns out the Carbondale Dairy Queen to which I have been loyal all of my days uses the lower grade stuff.  According to Gordon (my favorite brother-in-law) the Carterville one nearby uses better ice cream, and so naturally I had to find out.

Sadly, I’m forced to concede that his information seems to be true.  Thus the three other cones, totaling five.  There is a difference in how it melts, in the richness of the ice cream, in the way it stands up to the heat.  I will forever be drawn to the classic neon Dairy Queen sign and the curb in Carbondale, but whenever I pass that Carterville drive thru, my car is gonna loop the building.

This Dairy Queen rivalry—it’s strictly an Illinois thing, you understand.