You had to see this coming: Oliver and I walked the 1.3 km to Dairy Queen tonight after supper so as to throw off the shackles of my childhood and have Dilly Bars for dessert.
And to engage in investigative journalism: are Charlottetown Dilly Bars made in-store and have the curl, or are they curl-free and made in some far-off factory?
And, truth be told, not worth the walk.
The Dilly Bar of my childhood imagination was a dense thicket of fudgey goodneess. The Dilly Bar of University Avenue was a hunk of milk-flavoured ice wrapped in the thinnest and least satisfying sheen of chocolate possible.
My parents were wise to keep them from us.