I Walked A Kilometer for a Dilly Bar (so you don’t have to)

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?

No curl.

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.

Dilly Bar, no curl

Comments

Shane's picture
Shane on May 28, 2020 - 09:38 Permalink

Based on your description from your childhood memories is it possible you are thinking of a Buster Bar?

Andrea's picture
Andrea on May 28, 2020 - 15:34 Permalink

I was relieved that your parent's sanctions were against the Dilly Bar, not Dairy Queen in general. Dilly Bars were always the lowly member of the DQ treat menu, but for my father, appealed to his frugality and were easier to transport than soft cones for a gaggle of kids. Thank you to you and Oliver for doing this important research.

James's picture
James on May 30, 2020 - 09:17 Permalink

Gotta go against the flow here, because IN MY DAY I found Dilly Bars quite tasty, and a trip to DQ to get one a definite treat. I only remember them with the swirl, but am Gobsmacked at your revelation at factory vs in-store dipping. I never for a moment considered they could possibly have ever been anything other than factory-produced, conveyor-belted goodness.

Peter Rukavina's picture
Peter Rukavina on May 30, 2020 - 12:35 Permalink

I suspect the difference was the Aldershot vs. Waterdown Dairy Queen. The Aldershot Dairy Queen was old school.

Which makes me suspect we need to talk about the Red Barn someday soon.

Fran 's picture
Fran on May 30, 2020 - 12:27 Permalink

We spent summer days blitzing around on our bicycles, climbing over and flying from metal monkey-bars, spinning dizzily on merri-go-rounds, playing hide-and-go-seek and tag, and then we’d gather at the local corner grocer for a Dixie Cup with a little wooden paddle spoon or an orange creamsicle. My grandmother’s handmade creamy ice-cream was the best. We all took turns turning the handle. No Dilly Bars but sweet memories.