Ever since forever, it’s been tradition to get a Golden Nugget ice cream cone at Kennywood. I mean, I’d like to break tradition and get THREE ice cream cones at Golden Nugget sometime, but who knows what kind of jinx (and pounds) that would put on me.
Probably have written entire dissertations on this subject in the past, but I don’t care. Golden Nugget needs some blog lovin’.
They use some kind of standard vanilla ice cream (Isaly’s maybe? I feel like I heard once that it was Isaly’s but I always make up a lot of things in the Imagination Station that is my head, so…), hand-cut into squares (I’ve seen them do it with my own eyes). It’s all a part of the process. Watching them cut it into the exact size needed to jam into the weird double-header cone, drooling as its dunked and drowned in the chocolate sauce bath, and then wringing your hands in an OCD fashion because you want every last centimeter to be coated when they roll that beast around in the designated topping.
It’s been a staple of true Kennywooders (?) since 1967, you guys! That’s a long ass motherfucking time.
I’ve literally never seen a Kennywood employee smile while making one of these which seems preposterous.
When Chooch and I stood in line, I started to sweat because I couldn’t remember how to order them. WHAT WERE THEY CALLED?
“The Original,” Chooch said, pointing to the sign, but that didn’t sound right to me! I considered texting Henry to ask him what he calls them when he does the ordering, but figured he wouldn’t reply fast enough so I just stuttered, “Uh, two of the ice cream things…..um, with uh….nuts.”
“Yeah, THE ORIGINAL,” Chooch muttered under his breath.
SORRY BUT THAT DIDN’T SOUND FAMILIAR TO ME. Jesus Christ, do it yourself next time!
The broad (lol, she was like 16) making mine lost the original ice cream chunk when slapping it around in the tray of nuts, sighed, and started over with a new one.
“That’s basically the same week I’ve been having,” I said to her, and we kind of shared a laugh, sort of? But then I kept overthinking what I said until it just didn’t make any sense at all to me anymore and why do I bother speaking out of turn, am I right?
(OMG EW, you can see my reflection in that last picture. I just scared myself.)
Idiot Chooch didn’t get a cherry on his ice cream cone (SORRY, ON HIS “THE ORIGINAL”) so he handed it right the fuck back and said, “I wanted a cherry.”
Damn son. You know how to go after what you want.
So that little shit ended up getting TWO cherries while I only got one, and he ragged me about that for the next two days. I don’t know where he gets his mean spirit from.
Do you think those people in the background are on a first date?!
I wish I always had one of these cones to camouflage my Leno chin. :(
Chooch’s ice cream review: “They’re really good. And also this year I didn’t get any on my face.”
Guys, when you come to Kennywood with me in your dreams, I’ll buy you one of these square cone things and then we can sit beneath a canopy of HAM SANDWICHES.No tags for this post.