Snowballs

My all-time favorite summer treat is a heaping, freshly-shaven, juicy snowball. I have enjoyed these for as long as I can remember; they were a mainstay of my childhood, and their necessity has carried over into my adult life. It’s comparable to a snow cone or shaved ice, and I’ve come to learn the term “snowball” is native to the Baltimore region. It’s an obvious way to mitigate the summer heat, a great excuse for indulging in empty calories, and an integral facet of Maryland summertime culture.

There is a list of flavors to choose from that vary from snowball stand to stand, which can often appear endless, and to settle on one is a daunting task. My flavor of choice is egg custard; I have dabbled in others, but have found that none compare. Egg custard is supreme, and I won’t accept my snowball experience with anything but. I recall my father initiating me into egg custard veneration as a child, and I associate it with a good memory of him.

I was excited to introduce a friend from New York to an egg custard snowball, of which he was skeptical, but he came to acquiesce to the hype. The flavor is a rich, creamy, sweet blend of vanilla and a sort of nutty, almond-tinted caramel, which I guess could be perceived as similar to the taste of crème brulee, or those egg custard tarts available from a dim sum cart. But you have to try it for yourself to understand its decadence.

Another essential component of a proper snowball is marshmallow topping, which can either be placed in the middle or on top of the concoction. I prefer its inclusion both in the middle and on top of my snowball, so that when I’m halfway done there’s another layer of marshmallow to accompany the remaining amount for consumption. Marshmallow topping is of a gooey, viscous consistency, that I guess is technically marshmallow fluff or marshmallow crème, but we just call it “marshmallow”.

When I was little, I could always look forward to having a snowball at Mom-mom and Pop-pop’s. There was a stand around the corner from their house, a shed situated in this man’s backyard, the window of which opened through the fence on to the adjacent sidewalk. It was reliably open for business every evening during the summer, and Pop-pop would allow my brothers, cousins, and myself to scoop out quarters from his change jar, to glean just enough for a small with marshmallow. After enjoying our snowballs, we would spend the remainder of the evening traipsing along the nearby creek, and then catching lightning bugs at twilight, before heading in at sundown.

There was a penny-candy store a couple of blocks away from my other grandparents’ house, and during the summer the elderly couple who owned it, Mr. George and Ms. Cass, would produce snowballs from their garage. You could get a sizeable bag of candy for a dollar at this place, quite the thrill for a young kid in the ‘90s. That candy store has long since been closed; I don’t think given today’s inflation rate anyone could get by on a salary selling candy for pennies. But it stands as a hallmark of the past, a relic of simpler times.

My mother reminisces how during her childhood several of her neighbors sold snowballs, handing them through the basement windows of their rowhomes which peaked out on to the street. They were, of course, even cheaper back then. Her grandmother sold them for a nickel a piece, and though her repertoire of flavors was limited, I’m sure they were just as satisfying. And it has been confirmed that she had egg custard handy.

The selling of snowballs still exists in the fabric of the Baltimore economy today. Driving through the city one will spot several makeshift stands along the street, consisting of a table set up beneath an umbrella. On this table will be arranged a series of tubs with appendages for squirting out their varying remaining contents of flavor syrups, and sitting alongside is the crucial ice-shaving machine. I guess they’re akin to the lemonade stand trope, but while lemonade stands are seemingly a thing of the past, snowball stands are very much up and running in the present.

Regularly during the summer I make the 20-minute drive to a particular snowball stand that I have deemed the best around, the texture of their ice and quality of their flavoring to be unmatched. Those snowballs are not cheap, at least not in relation to what I remember paying as a kid, but I consider the cost to be well worth it. And I will always return to that stand, and if it closes down I’ll find another, and it will remain a habit for life, as it has been instilled as part of my heritage. And even if I don’t end up living in Maryland, I will return during the summer possibly just for that compulsory egg custard snowball with marshmallow.