Modern life promises us whatever we want whenever we want it, no wait, twenty-four seven as they say (as if there was a thirty-six eight). Well, not on this island if you are talking about an honest to goodness hot-fudge-sundae with whipped cream, and nuts or jimmies and a cherry on top. And I have got to say that I am glad. I love a hot fudge sundae or a frappe as well as, or maybe even better than, the next guy, but it is extra special when you can get one only from Memorial Day weekend to the Sunday before Labor Day. That is when Billy Warren’s shop is open, and the young people behind the marble counter, who have ice cream stuck to their elbows from digging into the big tubs of vanilla, bubblegum and moosetracks, and patiently answer endless ingredient questions, ask “what can I get you?”
As much as I long sometimes for a gooey something or a plain old cone in October, or even January (we New Englanders eat more ice cream year round than anyone else in the country), I wouldn’t wish it on Billy to be open all the time. And it would spoil the anticipation of his opening, or the bittersweet end of the season, when each day close to the end of August, another flavor or two is rubbed off the chalk board for the rest of the now dwindling season. On his opening day, the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, it is the custom for a bunch of little kids to go stand on Billy’s porch to see which one can be the first inside; the prize is the distinction of having done it. So, at 8:00 in the morning, before school even starts, half a dozen kids will tank up on frappes or cones, and trundle off to class.
June is relatively quiet, and Billy, who also has sandwiches, closes at five. So if you want ice cream you have to plan ahead and not wait too long, maybe go for lunch and have a horse’s necktie to wash it down. Then the week before Fourth of July, Billy stays open until 7:00, which means that you can eat your supper then go out for ice cream afterwards, which really must be the most wonderful sort of thing to do. Jamie and I happily anticipate it as if we had never had ice cream before, ever.
I can remember a time when it seemed I could eat ice cream early and often. Alas, no more. I now carefully plan which of my seasonal treats I will have and roughly when. You have to get an ice cream cone the first weekend Bill is open or you might lose your residency. Sometime in the coming month, I have the first of two horse’s neckties. As soon as Billy is open late, we go have our first hot fudge sundae, I like mine with one lump of chocolate and one of coffee. Jamie is more adventurous except when it comes to the maraschino cherry, which he abhors but lets me have. At some point mid-summer I will go have lunch (I really love the chicken salad sandwich) and maybe I’ll get a malted something or other or the second horse’s necktie. Toward the end of the season, I’ll have the second hot fudge sundae. There might be an ice cream cone or two sprinkled amongst these other things. It is a good thing that Billy’s is “all the way at the other end of the island.”
Billy’s crew will pack ice cream in a container for to take home if you want. In fact, Billy will even make a fancy multi-layered ice cream bombe in a melon-shaped mold if you want. Hardly anyone does that anymore and it makes ice cream very elegant for company; 32 years ago when he first ran the shop, the older generation then still appreciated those nice touches. Ice cream for home is nice, but standing around on the porch, or sitting on a stool watching Annie and Abby make sandwiches, and chatting with neighbors and summer people (whose names you can’t remember because it has been ten months since you saw them last) is more fun. I suppose it is a little pathetic to derive so much pleasure out of something as mundane as an ice cream shop, but it is only for three months a year. It is as wonderful to me as a freshly picked strawberry, plant to mouth, still warm from the sun. It is as good as the ear of corn that you snapped off the stalk and husked on the way to the boiling water you will cook it in. Not everything is improved by chronic availability.
So what is a horse’s necktie? This delectation is made of the soda or your choice whirled in the milk shake machine with the ice cream of your choice. The classic combination is orange soda and vanilla ice cream, which ends up tasting like a Creamsicle. I’ve tried making it at home, and can get close, but not quite. The special Billy’s flavor remains a bit elusive so I still have to go to the source. You could have a root beer and vanilla ice cream one, or a ginger ale and orange pineapple ice cream combination. You could, but I wouldn’t. I’m sticking with the vanilla and orange.
– Sandy Oliver, Islesboro