Sundae Times

Need a hot chocolate mocha or buttered pecan waffle cone with your history lesson this festive holiday season? What about a grilled cheese, that can quite literally melt your face, so good? Then take a quick drive with me up to the mountains (45 minutes out of the city, all inclines). Zooming past all the city lights, smog, pollution, and work-life stress lies a small little town that appears (on the surface) right out of a Hallmark movie. Picturesque, quaint, canopies of trees, and a Norman Rockwell-ish village from another time; off to the right of the freeway (Highway 50).

“Placerville is located in the Sierra Nevada foothills where U.S. Route 50 crosses State Route 49.” “According to the United States Census Bureau, the city has a total area of 5.8 square miles (15 km²), over 99% of its land.” “The population was 10,389 at the 2010 census, up from 9,610 at the 2000 census.” “After the discovery of gold at Sutter’s Mill in nearby Coloma, California, by James W. Marshall in 1848 sparked the California Gold Rush, the small town now known as Placerville was known as Dry Diggin’s after the manner in which the miner’s moved cartloads of dry soil to run water to separate the gold from the soil.” ~ Wikipedia

“Later in 1849, the town earned its most common historical name, “Hangtown”, because of the numerous hangings that had occurred there”. “However, there is debate on exactly how many numerical lynching’s occurred in the town”. “The town had no police force (in 1849) and five immigrants attempted robbery of a Mexican gambler”. “Of the five immigrants, two Frenchmen and one Chilean were known wanted men, and they were not given any trial, instead they were hanged on an oak tree on Main Street by a mob”. “The name “Hangtown” stuck after that event” and existed as its nickname up until this year! Voted out! (*gasp*)

“By about 1850, the temperance league and a few local churches had begun to request that a more friendly name be bestowed upon the town”. “The name was not changed until 1854 when the City of Placerville was incorporated”. “At its incorporation, Placerville was the third largest town in California”. “In 1857 the county seat was then moved from Coloma to Placerville, where it remains today”. The town appears unchanged and at night creepy, spooky, and eerily ghostly; as history comes to life, once the sun goes down. Bring a jacket, there’s a frosty chill in the air. Just know, demon’s “hide-out” where it’s the coldest.

We’ve just passed Cameron Park, Burke’s Junction (shopping center), next too Sam’s (restaurant with saw dust for floors; a cowboy’s paradise!) and our little family creamery. We had a perfect ice cream parlor and dessert extraordinaire shoppe nestled in the hills, for all the Tahoe tour busses coming back down the mountain, and right before the city life of hustle and bustle resumed.

The creamery was a family spot for a little fun on the weekends, and couples kindling new romances from the stones, while sharing frozen yogurt and decadent handmade truffles. We had an old-timey parlor meets Disney feel, black and white checkered floor, frosted snow glass, and beautifully crafted menus with catchy sweet phrases, to entice, and gloss your evening off just right with delight. My mother and father worked every day and came up with enormous dessert creations, flavoring favorites, and creative delicacies, sprinkled with pure powdered sugar, love, and heaping amounts of cocoa.

“The original Native American inhabitants of the area surrounding Cameron Park were Nisenan, or Southern Maidu Indians”. “Grinding rocks and burial mounds serve as glimpses of the past and are still visible in various locations in and near Cameron Park”. “Today, Cameron Park contains a mix of ranches, single family homes, condominiums, apartments and businesses,” and also were I ran out of gas.

Originally, we thought transmission issues; turned out no fuel for us to continue onward. No check engine lights, or fuel gages. This Buick was a manual in every sense of the word. As my brother and I walked the freeway, uphill, one can’t help but notice: (A) the freeway is not safe to walk, and (B) the hills are still alive with the sounds of honking, and smells of exhaust and gasoline. Of which, we needed, the gasoline; the honking, not-so-much!

This was in the day’s way before cell phones, triple A, contract law, and my brother’s Infiniti Qx60 luxury cross-over. No, we had a “beater” (lemon) of a maroon Buick traded in for a red Sprint (ironic), that needed to “hit” (pedal to the metal; “floored”) 80 mph, just to get up one hill. While the Mack trucks flew past us whisking our lives to the side. Embarrassing, butt-clinching, and dreadful as one could possibly fathom. Luckily, there’s a guard rail to hold on too, like at the roller rinks of long ago, before plunging off a steep mountainside. If the wind from the Mack’s didn’t blow us off, a storm was brewing and surely about too.

We looked like Mario’s golf cart was driving on a freeway, just to give you a visual. My dad said it was a glorified lawnmower. It wasn’t uncommon then to see Magnum PI fly by and wave from his red Ferrari (probably laughing at the hilarity), or a run-in with “Bull” from Nightcourt at Eppy’s. Bull’s perpetual frown always made me smile. I’d rather build up speed, so we can get up the next, longer, more inclined and winding last mountain, than coast at snail speeds or bust from my “wagon” into town. You do not understand how essential a four-wheel drive is, in the mountains with seat warmers! Godly and necessary creations!

A time or two a quick unexpected rendezvous with Mr. Miyagi would take place, since he did live in the area. The Sheen’s (Martin and Charlie) helped a stranded friend from school get home after he lost his shirt in Tahoe, and let me tell you, it’s cold in there, them hills! My parents played blackjack with Barry Manilow and his dad, while I snacked on way too many candies (jackpot) to tell from the hotel room. Ran into countless stars coming and going through the winding, windy, ominous mountains, casinos, gas stations, restaurants, and hotel hallways.

I don’t really ever get star struck or tongue twisted. Shyness, a whole other thing; yes, especially individuals who I admire or respect. Not as many as there should be I have high standards and my expectations are through the roof. My entire life, many have exclaimed; I needed “realistic” expectations. Rather, I believe, everyone needs and should up their game! We’re living in unprecedented times and should be on the lookout for a better tomorrow.

My mom stated, “will you serve table 4?” Of course, completely obliged; ran a tuna melt and extra steak fries over to the man sitting alone, reading. “Can I get you anything else,” my usual restaurant speech. “Oh, can I order an Oreo cream cookie shake to-go?” He requested. “My favorite too,” I answered. “I will get it started while you have your lunch.” Mom, bewildered at me, said, “Do you know who that is?” “Mom, ya know, I don’t know anything!” She laughed, “figures, that’s your painter of light.”

Sadly, we left the warm family fun town, and bought an old Leatherby’s (I know why they left) in cold, unwelcoming Placerville. No one wanted this move, except my mother; so, we all begrudgingly accepted our fates and plunged into the frozen depths of an unknown abyss. This facility was 10 times bigger than our previous sweet nook and 100 times more draining. The actual size of the ice cream “machine” was almost as large and in charge as our entire store in Cameron Park. One needs a small ladder up; to pour the “magical” ingredients (“Ice cream must contain at least 10% milk fat, and at least 20% total milk solids, and may contain safe and suitable sweeteners, emulsifiers and stabilizers, and flavoring materials.”).

“There is a wide range of ingredients and formulations (recipes) that can be used in ice cream.” This is where my mother shined! You’ve probably enjoyed a few of her concoctions, unbeknownst. Her decorated ice cream cakes and “skillage”, par to none and couldn’t be compared or fulfilled fast enough. Daily orders and special occasions (birthdays, and holidays) kept her thoroughly and perpetually busy. Lines everyday out the door. Designing creations her forte; management of unruly, thieving teenagers, not her strong suit.

Ice cream rooted from Persia; 50% of the volume is air! Before the development of modern refrigeration, ice cream considered a rarity and for special occasions. The most popular flavors in North America are chocolate and vanilla, by far! Americans indulge more than any nation, anywhere else on Earth, at a whopping 48 pints per person, per year. Yum!

Mom handed her famous Oreo shake over the counter to me. I walked over to table 4 and handed Thomas Kinkade his shake. All I could mutter, was “hope you enjoy”. The famous painter was maybe three doors down in a beautiful gallery downstairs, and his studio upstairs. I got to visit and that’s exactly where I fell head over heels for oil paintings. He demonstrated with a toggle on the wall that made the lights bright or dim, depending upon ambiance and personal fulfillment. The lights full blast, the painting appears made in daylight. Dimmer, the cottages themselves look as if someone stepped through the paintings front door and put candle lights in each window; almost knowing we were coming over. Magic does exist in Placerville, and Kinkade was the best at capturing that light.

“Kinkade said he was emphasizing the value of simple pleasures and that his intent was to communicate inspirational messages through his paintings”. “A self-described “devout Christian, Kinkade believed he gained his inspiration from his religious beliefs and that his work was intended to include a moral dimension”. “Many pictures include specific chapter-and-verse allusions to Bible passages.”

One evening, the week of Thanksgiving to be exact, I took a friend up with me for a holiday treat. When I got there; I was godsmacked and horrified. I waited in line and was talking quietly to my friend, when I noticed, not one table was cleared or cleaned for the next out-the-door waiting patrons. It was a packed house, and I quickly side-eyed, “noticed” the so-called “manager” (my mother’s fav employee, treated better than her own son) standing up at a table pushed together for let’s say 20 quests.

Two girls in front of me just received their ice cream cones, and neither reached in their purses to purchase. Nada, not one penny exchanged for product. It must have shown on my face when our eyes locked because the little snotty teen’s face void and clammy white; all the blood drained from his empty brain. The once smile ear to ear, replaced with sheer horror and panic; he shot a glance to the manager. Too late, I had caught a whiff! I was cleaning tables and asked my friend to help. The family ship had hit an iceberg and I was sounding every alarm I could.

“They” were robbing my parents’ blind, and I felt a rage I couldn’t express. My friend Jenny, said in her sweet voice, “I will clean up the tables.” Thank God for genuine humans out there! I ran to the back for rags and mops, noticed not one dish washed or available for use. “Word”, was going around fast that I was there, and employees started mad dashing out the back. Not before, the bus boy offered me drugs (for sale, of course). Enraged, I made a decision, and sat my behind down, right next to my mother’s beloved manager. I was just about to rain holy hell down on their Thanksgiving, when something stopped me.

Surrounded by his family and friends, entirely at my family’s expense. I told him; my parents were good people. My father who had recently suffered a stroke, came from nothing, to now being robbed of everything. I calmly cursed those ingrates and no-good thieves. Let that be your gravy! The last day, we locked up, never had Placerville been so sunny, vibrant, and colorful before. Best day I ever had in Placerville, was the last day I left!

A picture tells a thousand words, and I will leave Placerville to the artists brave enough to capture a fragment. Looks can be deceiving and that little town fits the bill. I still once in a blue moon have returned. More for Apple Hill instead; but that’s for another day of writing about bear claws, apple fritters, broken ankles, and cinnamon everything.

Maybe, we’ll get our Christmas tree there this year, and I can share more tasty morsels of California’s golden history and my families’ miseries. Happy Thanksgiving Turkey’s, from all of us, too all of yours!! Keep your family and friends close; show the door to the rest!!