45 Minutes for Two Scoops and a Caramel Sighting…read more
We had wanted to try Roger's Ice Cream & Burgers, so on a warm 80-degree afternoon we stopped by for what we thought would be a quick ice cream.
There were only a couple of people ahead of us, so we assumed we would be enjoying our ice cream in short order. As it turned out, "short order" may mean something different in the frozen dairy arts.
It took about ten minutes just to reach the window. When we finally stepped up, the order window was abruptly shut. No greeting. No smile. No explanation. Not even a glance in our direction. Just bang--and suddenly the window became less of a service window and more of a stage curtain.
After several minutes of silence, we considered politely knocking just to make sure we had not become invisible. Eventually, someone inside made brief eye contact, so our existence was confirmed. Still, it took another ten minutes or so before the window opened again.
"Can I help you?"
That was it. No "thanks for waiting." No "sorry about the delay." Just the efficient warmth of a parking meter.
When my wife ordered, there was a minor misunderstanding. She asked for a "small scoop," meaning a single scoop, though "small" apparently is not one of their listed sizes. This could have been handled easily. Instead, the correction carried the emotional weight of translating ancient Greek during a lunch rush.
We ordered two single scoops in cups. I added caramel topping for an extra 99 cents, which I assumed meant something more than a caramel rumor.
Just as we were about to ask how long it might take, the window closed again.
Then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At about the 25-minute mark, I began wondering whether the ice cream was being made from scratch, beginning with negotiations with the cow. By the 35-minute mark, our quick ice cream stop had become less of a treat and more of a character-building exercise with spoons.
All told, it took just over 40 minutes to receive two single scoops in cups. During that time, no one offered an update, an apology, or even a simple acknowledgment.
When the ice cream was finally handed to us, the window was immediately shut again. The caramel topping I had paid extra for looked less like a topping and more like a few thin drizzle lines that had passed briefly over the ice cream on their way somewhere else.
My scoop was also noticeably smaller than my wife's, even though we had ordered the same size. I took a photo because, at that point, the picture said it better than I could.
I tried to get someone's attention and asked whether the caramel may have been missed or rushed. Without really looking at it, I was told, "No, that's the right amount." And then the window closed again.
By the time we walked away, our "quick stop" for two scoops of ice cream had taken about 45 minutes. The service felt cold, rushed, indifferent, and oddly burdened by our presence, as though we had accidentally wandered into a staff-only moment and ordered ice cream.
The ice cream itself did not rescue the experience. It was not terrible. It was not bland. It was not the worst ice cream we have ever had. It was something almost more disappointing: completely unremarkable. After decades of eating ice cream in all sorts of places, I cannot remember having anything quite this mediocre. It was barely ice cream one would cross a parking lot for, let alone wait 45 minutes for it.
I enjoy writing reviews, and most of mine are five stars. I do not enjoy writing negative ones. But in this case, between the long wait, the lack of communication, the dismissive service, the uneven portion size, and the underwhelming 99-cent caramel appearance, this was a deeply disappointing first visit.
A simple greeting, a quick apology, or even a "thanks for your patience--we're backed up" would have changed the entire experience.
Instead, we got silence, a slamming window, and a caramel topping that seemed to be practicing minimalism.
