So in my last prose blog I mentioned my adventure in Coney Island a few weekends ago. One of the primary goals of my trip went tragically unfulfilled.
I wanted me some frozen custard.
"Mmm, that sounds good, Rev" you might be thinking, "I like ice cream too."
I said frozen custard, and may God have mercy on your soul if you ever confuse the two again.
According to Wikipedia: Frozen custard is a cold dessert similar to ice cream, made with eggs in addition to cream and sugar. It typically contains 10% butterfat and 1.4% egg yolk.
See that? Eggs make everything better.
Faberge knew it and now you do too.
Frozen Custard was born in Coney Island, and so I was Hell-bent on finding out its hiding place. I dragged Kaz and Zippy and Bizzy (Oh yeah, Bizzy was there too), up and down the boardwalk looking for someplace that sold frozen custard.
All I could see were storefronts with chipped and faded paint, boldly advertising their heaping servings of disappointment.
Oh yeah, we saw this too:
I could not believe that such a delicious confection could not be found in its place of origin. My world was turned upside-down, and not in a good carnival ride sort of way. More of a bad Astroland Park ride sort of way.
I've seen scarier, but only because of a different kind of fear.
In my desperation to find some Frozen Custard, I called my Chloe.
A "Chloe" is anyone you've ever called whilst away from a computer to have them check something for you online. It is derived from the hit TV show 24, in which Jack Bauer receives increasingly improbable technological help from Chloe O'Brian while in the field.
"Jack, I've just downloaded the entire internet to your sunglasses."
My most consistent and reliable Chloe is Honus.
"With just these and science, I could blow up the goddamned world."
So yeah, I gave him a call and he was good enough to put up with my wildly impractical and needy requests. I fancy myself a pretty decent hand at the interzone. Upon request, I can find info fairly quickly, and on a shocking variety of subjects. There are those in this world that I would not trust to find google.com if it were set as their homepage. Honus is not one of those people.
As soon as three or four minutes had passed in the silence of active internet search, I knew hope was lost. He broke the news to me, I thanked him for his time and tried to keep the shameful burning tears inside. I was not to have frozen custard that day.
Sunday, September 7th, 2008. I had finished a sketch comedy writing class at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater here in NYC, and a Revoriginal sketch had just debuted at the class showcase. It went well, thank you to everyone who came out. That was just the beginning.
A group of people decided we wanted to continue to spend time together and enjoy the wonderful weather. So we headed to Madison Square Park and the Shake Shack.
I may have mentioned it before, but this place is awesome.
As you can guess from the name and (if you've ever seen it) the giant line of people that is ubiquitous, they have pretty good Shakes.
What's their secret? FROZEN CUSTARD.
If you guessed anything else, you show shocking little faith in my ability as a story teller, though I've probably given you good reason to doubt me.
Admittedly, of our group only four of us were willing to wait in the somewhat long line to obtain this ambrosia. One of them looked like me, and the other three looked like this:
I finally got me some frozen custard, and it was all I dreamed it would be and more. Everyone else seemed pretty pleased, too.
Mr. Morchison enjoyed his shake.
Oach heartily endorsed the entire experience.
I'm not sure when I'll go back next, but it helps the Universe make sense in my mind to know that somewhere in this crazy, crazy town there exists a haven, a beautiful sanctuary of sanity and frozen custard.
Oh yeah, Bizzy was there too.
Peace, Love and Bump Your Ass Off,