The Deleted Scenes - Roadside Delight
Roadside DelightLiving fossils, childhood treats, and the joy of pulling off the highway
I have a fun little piece coming out soon on ice cream stands. Usually I’d quote the piece after it goes up, but this time I’ll quote from it before it goes up:
Jimmy’s Ice Cream, Milford, New Jersey When I was a kid, after my parents voted, we’d sometimes go out for ice cream. They think we only did that once or twice; I remember it as a ritual, to the point that to this day I still associate Election Day with going out for ice cream, and both of them with America. It’s not political, it’s civic. Something it feels like we’re forgetting. Gronsky’s Milk House, High Bridge, New Jersey The Polar Cub, Whitehouse Station, New Jersey The Polar Cub is the one I remember going to after voting. In the piece I will note this as well:
Here’s one of the new ones, not far from my parents’ house. I haven’t gotten to trying the ice cream yet, but I like the way it looks. The building is, if I recall, the old office from a since-demolished motel. (Not too far down U.S. 202, there’s one of only two surviving motels on the stretch, with a decades-vacant pancake house next door. The building must be a wreck by now, but it sure would make a neat diner and ice cream joint.) Thee Ice Cream Parlor, Flemington, New Jersey Cream King, Pennington, New Jersey We used to stop at Cream King all the time coming home from daytrips in Philadelphia. Sometimes we’d just go in for a stroll and dinner in Chinatown, and a cone on the way home. That was long before social media and Instagram. It’s an interesting thing that most of my favorite places, the places that hold the most meaning, don’t photograph well in that context. The Cream King is so old there’s an old wood sign behind the current plastic sign (which has been there as long as I can remember!) Wright’s Dairy-Rite, Staunton, Virginia Johnny Mac’s NC Style BBQ, Alexandria, Virginia These places hail from the same era, and fall into the same general pattern, as little family-owned, one-story motels, which can have as few as 10 or 20 rooms. Once you stop and think about this stuff, it’s weird. I frequently think about this letter from a reader, on driving a Buick Roadmaster every day:
I had a similar thought all the way back in 2017—the first “urbanism” piece I ever wrote—thinking about whether old motels merited historic preservation. Actually, it was that rare survivor on U.S. 202!
31 South, Lebanon, New Jersey I am always struck by how small these old, early, car-oriented buildings feel. New ones frequently have a moat of landscaping or parking ringing them. Their scale is imposing, but often without a sense of grandeur. Here’s an old motel on U.S. 50 in Fairfax, Virginia (it’s actually a remnant of a much larger motel structure that has been retrofitted into a storefront!) Look at how it just sort of fits into the landscape. Human-scale suburbia. The very different assumptions made by a culture very similar to yours. Spooky. It almost makes me shiver, but I’m still getting an ice cream cone. Related Reading: Election Nights and Ice Cream Cones Thank you for reading! Please consider upgrading to a paid subscription to help support this newsletter. You’ll get a weekly subscribers-only post, plus full access to the archive: over 400 posts and growing. And you’ll help ensure more material like this! You’re a free subscriber to The Deleted Scenes. For the full experience, become a paid subscriber. |
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