Ode to the Milkshake

            It was a typical Sunday, and, when raised by two well-meaning, intelligent Catholics, a typical Sunday means mass.  Mass has always been a struggle for me.  My mother would suggest opening my heart, a task she has a natural talent for that I do not.  When that didn’t work she suggested that we go out to eat after mass.  That did work.

It is important to know that I lived in chain land.  I am from Atlanta.  Suburban Atlanta.  Atlanta is very big and it has many parts.  Some of them are really cool.  Some of them really suck.  I lived in one that really sucked.

            So we drove away from church, passing your typical fast food restaurants as well as a less typical fast food place called Guthrie’s, which remains the worst "restaurant" name I have ever heard.  We continue past Guthrie’s and the fast food chains and dive into the realm of casual dining chains.  We pass the Chili’s, Applebee’s, and, an Atlanta favorite, Taco Mac.  Places you can safely assume whatever you get will be edible, but not exceptional.  Somewhere within this mess lies the old married couple of the casual dining, Max and Erma’s.  Maybe you’ve seen one, but chances are the one you’ve seen has closed down since they declared bankruptcy two years ago.  It is here that I found the best milkshake I have ever tasted.

            I wish I had found this shake somewhere in New Orleans.  Like at Creole Creamery.  I would tell people that the ice cream at Creole Creamery is so unique and of such high quality that their shakes had no choice but to be the best.  Or the classic freeze at Camellia Grill.  It tastes home made, and, when paired with a diner style burger, you’ll find yourself in sugar-grease heaven.  These shakes are great, but they are not the best.  I have given that honor to the good people at Max and Erma's.

            So my mother and I sat down.  We looked at the menu.  I decided on a burger, my mother stuck to a cup of soup.  I noticed the milkshake and, just before our waitress came back to take our order, I asked my mother if I can get a milkshake too.  She showed her agreement by blessing me with a smile only a son could recognize. 

Describing the milkshake will do no good.  It is too unique and too separate from all others I have tasted.  All I can offer is advice.  Should you find yourself on a road trip to the northeast, and you need a little break from the road.  Skip the one of a kind hole-in-the-wall and head to the nearest strip mall.  If you're lucky you'll find a Max and Erma's that survived the recession.  It will look chainy, it will look average, and you won't want to go in.  Open your heart.  You’d be surprised what you’ll find.