2 days ago
The history (and mystery) of ice cream sundaes, and 6 standout Chicago-area offerings
The origin story behind the ice cream sundae comes swirled with mystery, history, as well as chocolate and even a cherry on top.
When Edward Berners died at 75 on July 1, 1939, the Chicago Daily Tribune published an obituary the next day headlined 'Man Who Made First Ice Cream Sundae Is Dead.'
The paper wrote that Berners claimed he originated the sundae at his ice cream parlor in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, about 40 years before his death, when George Hallauer asked him to put chocolate soda flavoring directly on a dish of ice cream.
But according to the Two Rivers and Wisconsin historical societies, Berners made that first chocolate sundae at Berner's Confectionery in 1881 — nearly 20 years earlier than his obituary estimated.
A number of places claim to be the birthplace of the ice cream sundae, including Evanston (William Garwood at Garwood's drugstore in 1890) and Plainfield (Charles Sonntag at his pharmacy, circa 1893).
Then there's Ithaca, New York, which says Chester Platt first served a 'Cherry Sunday' at his Platt & Colt's Pharmacy on April 3, 1892. That is, in fact, 11 years after Two Rivers' chocolate sundae. Ithacans, however, cite a paper trail as their evidence.
If you were wondering, pharmacists, aka druggists, once made medicinal and recreational soda drinks, sometimes mixing flavorings and cocaine. Those soda fountains became family-friendly social hubs, eventually offering ice cream sodas, then soda-free ice cream sundaes, wherever it was invented.
One detail shared across the origin stories is that the name sundae came from Sunday. But theories vary as to why, from respect for the Christian day of worship or due to a decidedly secular trademark attempt.
Whatever the story, the ice cream sundae lives on, with old-fashioned chocolate and cherry, which you can find at Margie's Candies with lots of whipped cream, of course, to more modern creations made by top chefs around of summers past stand frozen in time at this Southwest Side ice cream window, where a vintage sign holds the sacred image of a banana split sundae and reads 'good ice cream for good people.'
That's the heart of Betty's Ice Cream in Gage Park, where owners Juan and Beatriz Gonzalez for decades have served cold treats with warm smiles.
As a first-time visitor, I wasn't sure which direction to take my sundae, but I did make sure to bring cash. Select chocolate, vanilla or strawberry ice cream for the base, and fudge, strawberry or pineapple sauce for the topping, plus adornments such as wafers and maraschino cherries. For me, a crispy waffle cup tied my fudge and peanut-covered scoop together — the perfect treat for an idyllic Chicago summer afternoon. The now-everywhere Dubai chocolate trend can be traced back to a pricey bar of chocolate made by United Arab Emirates-based chocolatier, Fix, which dreamed up a milk chocolate bar filled with shredded phyllo pastry known as kataifi and a pistachio cream filling. The actual name of the bar is 'Can't Get Knafeh of It,' referencing the traditional Palestinian-Jordanian dessert, knafeh, or kunafe, which is made by layering kaitefi with cheese, pistachios and a dousing of rose water syrup. Since it took off on social media, it's been reinvented into everything from pastries, cakes and doughnuts to lattes and cold coffee drinks.
At Karak Café in Lisle, Dubai chocolate has become an ice cream sundae. The easily shareable dessert has two scoops of classic vanilla ice cream on a bed of chewy, chocolatey brownie pieces and melted milk chocolate gracing both the brownies and the ice cream. It's topped with a generous drizzle of green pistachio cream. Typically, it's served with a sugar cone on the side or a wafer stick.
A solid sundae — indulgent, sweet, texturally pleasing and messier with each dig — but it would be even better with a sprinkle of chopped up pistachios. The unassuming Muslim-owned cafe also makes a halwa sundae, based on a Desi confection with a fudge-like texture. Award-winning pastry chef Dana Cree of Pretty Cool Ice Cream and then-executive chef Max Robbins at Longman & Eagle launched a charitable series that was a beacon in the dark of 2020. Sundae Mondays at L & E in Logan Square, featuring toppings from an extraordinary roster of chefs, restaurateurs and creators — benefiting a charity of their choice — still persists every summer. A recent sundae by chef Won Kim of Kimski offered subtly spicy gochujang caramel with aromatic rice vinegar macerated peaches, crushed Honey Butter Chips, Maldon sea salt and nutty sesame seeds over a soft scoop of vanilla ice cream. It benefited The Montessori School of Englewood (with 70 low-income children ages 3 to 5 years old, many who are unhoused and rely on the school for food, clothing, health care and more), which will have to shut down if it does not receive federal funding by December. Citrus and chocolate are a common Italian duo as well-suited as strawberry is to cream. Some experimental scoop shops blithely sprinkle orange peel or extract in chocolate, but it can feel hollow or overly clever. They might take notes from Monteverde's citrus dark chocolate sundae, which is plated alongside a whirlpool of marmellata, mandarin olive oil and toasted pistachios swirling in an umber cocoa sea.
Citrus and chocolate both can dabble in varying intensities of sweet, sour, bitter and florality — here, the focus is textural congruity and balance, not tartness or sweetness. The citrus isn't infused into the ice cream, but that flavor still ripples through every bite, sans acidity, thanks to the shapely and precise pieces of fruit and peel.
And the biggest achievement of all? It's actually a dark chocolate sorbet sundae, completely smooth, creamy and devoid of any crystalline ice. The dish is quietly, confidently vegan and gluten-free.
The West Loop restaurant offers the dish year-round and has different iterations depending on the citrus season and availability. Some intriguing possibilities include Cara Cara oranges and kumquats. OK, yes, this might be a bit of an unconventional pick. But what makes a sundae a sundae? For the Tribune food team, we settled on there needing to be some sort of ice cream base and, of course, lots of toppings. And Filipino halo-halo is all about the toppings, which can range from sweet beans and fruit to bits of ube jam or even sprinkles of cereal for crunch.
Sunda's take — which they do label as a sundae — features plenty of crunchy shaved ice topped with scoops of ube ice cream, chewy pandan coconut gels, red mung beans, lychee and flan. The mixture is well-balanced, served just cold enough so it doesn't all melt into an unsightly ice cream soup. It comes plated beautifully in a glass for the perfect photo opp, but the accompanying bowl allows you to mix everything together just right so you can build the ideal bite without getting too messy. Chefs Tyler Hudec and Dani Kaplan, along with co-owner and general manager Pat Ray, will always have a shot of house-made No-Lört waiting for you at their whimsical Italian American restaurant, but probably not the same dish of ice cream. The seasonal sundae at Void in Avondale changes constantly, utilizing creative techniques, but is always served in a silver coupe. One variation paired tangy-sweet blueberry sorbet with delicately salted vanilla gelato, topped with a crackling cornbread toffee and buttermilk caramel drizzled with the carefree abandon of summer. Here's the scoop: 25 Chicago spots for ice cream and cool sweet treats to beat the heat this summer
