Crown Candy Kitchen does not believe that a human being should be able to consume five malts in less than thirty minutes. That’s why the freaks that can get their names on a plaque and their malts for free. Five malts finished in thirty minutes and one second cost nineteen dollars and fifty cents. Extras include malt, nuts, topping, whipped cream and “thick.”
If your name isn’t Doug “The Dude” Rowley or Joey Chestnut, you’ll probably seize up before the end of the second round. Migraine-caliber brain freeze may or may not subside.
I ordered a marshmallow malt because, I was informed, seemingly gross can be surprisingly good. It was good—not too goopy or arrestingly sweet. Although my soda fountain glass stood nearly as tall as the metal cup that my malt arrived in, that single serving filled the glass three times.
To be honest, I couldn’t finish it. I pulled up short of organ failure and worked on my Reuben.
My dad said that I should’ve ordered the BLT because the bacon is thicker than the bread. My theory is that savory items should only refresh the palate, enabling more intake of sweet, though that Siren on the menu board (see item five) certainly seduces.
This one-stop sucrose shop was opened by Harry Karandzie and his best friend, Pete Jugaloff, in 1913. Crown Candy Kitchen is the anchor attached to a sunken ship ready to slip off the continental shelf. The pedestrian mall across the street looks like an abandoned studio lot that has been attacked by elephants.
Though Headhunters Unisex (that’s a beauty salon) may lament bygone days of customers and structural integrity, the corner confectioner is thriving. If this family-owned operation is the life support machine that has been sustaining Old North St. Louis in its vegetable state, a few developers may be the defibrillator pads that force a pulse.
I’m not sure who the other customers were or where they came from. Almost all of them were white, which contradicted my unsubstantiated assumptions about the area. There were some cops, families and a few guys in suits pounding malted butterscotch and Lovers’ Delight sundaes in their rush back to work. My friend, Shannon, and I appeared to be the only novelty seekers.
We said, “Maybe next time,” to the candy as I focused on placing one foot in front of the other. I think that if you mixed some malt powder in water and spread that on your hand and placed your hand on a wall, you’d probably be screwed.
If your name isn’t Doug “The Dude” Rowley or Joey Chestnut, you’ll probably seize up before the end of the second round. Migraine-caliber brain freeze may or may not subside.
I ordered a marshmallow malt because, I was informed, seemingly gross can be surprisingly good. It was good—not too goopy or arrestingly sweet. Although my soda fountain glass stood nearly as tall as the metal cup that my malt arrived in, that single serving filled the glass three times.
To be honest, I couldn’t finish it. I pulled up short of organ failure and worked on my Reuben.
My dad said that I should’ve ordered the BLT because the bacon is thicker than the bread. My theory is that savory items should only refresh the palate, enabling more intake of sweet, though that Siren on the menu board (see item five) certainly seduces.
This one-stop sucrose shop was opened by Harry Karandzie and his best friend, Pete Jugaloff, in 1913. Crown Candy Kitchen is the anchor attached to a sunken ship ready to slip off the continental shelf. The pedestrian mall across the street looks like an abandoned studio lot that has been attacked by elephants.Though Headhunters Unisex (that’s a beauty salon) may lament bygone days of customers and structural integrity, the corner confectioner is thriving. If this family-owned operation is the life support machine that has been sustaining Old North St. Louis in its vegetable state, a few developers may be the defibrillator pads that force a pulse.
I’m not sure who the other customers were or where they came from. Almost all of them were white, which contradicted my unsubstantiated assumptions about the area. There were some cops, families and a few guys in suits pounding malted butterscotch and Lovers’ Delight sundaes in their rush back to work. My friend, Shannon, and I appeared to be the only novelty seekers.
We said, “Maybe next time,” to the candy as I focused on placing one foot in front of the other. I think that if you mixed some malt powder in water and spread that on your hand and placed your hand on a wall, you’d probably be screwed.
2 comments:
How much weight have you gained since beginning this blog? I am coming to visit to gain 26 pounds. In a day.
I may have to go back for "extra malt" and "thick."
I don't know what it is about sugar lately.
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