Mr. Frostie

My neighborhood is not steeped in history. Well, I guess it is, but only steeped in a very short modern history. It's no Rome, or Athens, or even a Williamsburg.

The homes in my neighborhood were, for the most part, built in the '40s -- postwar bungalows built for returning GIs. Over the decades Pacific Beach has grown up, kind-of, but it's still the kind of town that turns over quickly. I can't keep up with the storefronts on PB's main drag; it seems that only the thrift stores, Filippi's Pizza, and a few select others have remained the same for more than a decade. One of those 'select others' is none other than Mr. Frostie.

1949! That's old around these parts!

It'a a local landmark for anyone who grew up here. I did not, but my kids are, and it is a true family favorite. You know, the kind of favorite that works well for kiddy bribes?

But what's not to love?? It's got delicious soft serve ice cream that they dunk in those crazy flavored dips that immediately harden, then crack when bit into. Umm, butterscotch dip on vanilla. And honestly, cherry dip over chocolate ain't too shabby either.

But butterscotch remains the family favorite

So much so that we thought it was only right that it be baby girl's first encounter with ice cream
Judge not lest ye be judged...
Umm, umm, good.

Apart from the soft serve dip top, Mr. Frostie also boasts good ol' fashion wood signs,

and cool paraphernalia that folks like to wear in far-away lands so they can get their photos displayed on the Mr. Frostie side window.

We decided we're going to get ourselves some of those famous T-shirts and get our photos taken in some intriguing distant place.

Maybe we'll just ride our bikes there...