A Deconstructed Malted

I used to loathe malted anything. When ravaging my annual Halloween haul, I always left the packs of Whoppers malted milk balls lingering among the debris field of Mary Janes, Clark Bars, Goldenberg’s Peanut Chews, and other unloved candies at the bottom of my trick-or-treat bag.

But in my last year or two in New York, I developed a powerful taste for malteds. Incidentally, AK’s dad recently mentioned that he could tell she had once been a real New Yorker because she called a malt by its rightful “malted” designation.

It all started with an obligatory pilgrimage to the Lexington Candy Shop, an old school diner and soda fountain that made a brief cameo at the beginning of the classic 70s paranoia flick Three Days of the Condor. If you live in New York and haven’t been to the Lexington Candy Shop, you’re missing out on a classic slice of old New York. They have amazing malteds, extra sour cherry lime rickeys, and they get bonus points for continuing to offer the lost American breakfast classic that is the grape jelly omelet. And yes, we’ve had the grape jelly omelet because we’re that trashy.

A subsequent trip to the Bespeckled Trout, a cluttered shop of antique curiosities flanked by an old fashioned soda fountain, revealed the extent to which soda jerkistry could be an art form. The impassioned proprietor apparently makes his own syrups and even imports raw malt pellets from Wisconsin.

Unfortunately, we’ve not yet discovered a classic malted in the D.C. area. But we’ve managed to content ourselves with a quality substitute: the Dusty Road sundae at the Dairy Godmother, Del Ray’s much celebrated Wisconsin-style custard shop.





The Dusty Road is basically a deconstructed malted. Their creamy vanilla custard comes topped with hot fudge and malt powder, and though we skip the whipped cream and nuts, we can’t not get the maraschino cherry.

The genius of the dusty road is that it allows you to decide how to moderate your malted with each spoonful- from granular malt powder overkill to smooth blend of custard, malt, and hot fudge.

Although we had always thought that the Dusty Road was owner Liz Davis’ singular creation, she informed us that this sundae format is a standard offering in the midwest. But she assured us that our other favorite, the Door County Sour, which pairs marshmallow creme and sour cherries specially imported from Door County, Wisconsin, is a Dairy Godmother original. I replied that the Door County Sour is her great contribution to sundae culture. I think, however, that this C.I.A. trained former pastry chef might have greater aspirations than that.

Sate your frozen treat jones at the Dairy Godmother:

2310 Mount Vernon Avenue
Alexandria, VA
(703) 683-7767

—AC