Leon’s Frozen Custard

Leon’s Frozen Custard

Several weeks back, we at Milwaukee Magazine and InsideMilwaukee.com launched a bi-monthly photo contest. The first contest’s theme was “Classic Milwaukee,” and we received no less than four photos of Leon’s Frozen Custard. That got me thinking: Why have I never eaten there? Let’s rectify that right now. Four co-workers and I pull up to the retro, neon-wrapped stand on the corner of 27th and Oklahoma in my rented Dodge Avenger (it’s a long story). As my companions – already nauseated from the bumpy and odor-filled ride – peer through the cluttered glass front trying to read the menu, I…

Several weeks back, we at Milwaukee Magazine and InsideMilwaukee.com launched a bi-monthly photo contest. The first contest’s theme was “Classic Milwaukee,” and we received no less than four photos of Leon’s Frozen Custard. That got me thinking: Why have I never eaten there? Let’s rectify that right now.

Four co-workers and I pull up to the retro, neon-wrapped stand on the corner of 27th and Oklahoma in my rented Dodge Avenger (it’s a long story). As my companions – already nauseated from the bumpy and odor-filled ride – peer through the cluttered glass front trying to read the menu, I hop up to the window to order.

“Hi. Yeah, I’ll have a cheeseburger,” I say.

“Sloppy Joe?” the woman replies.

“Ummmm, okay…”

As most of you may or may not know, Leon’s doesn’t serve hamburgers. I always assumed that in the vein of Kopp’s or Oscar’s that Leon’s specializes in the whole custard and jumbo burger thing. Not so. Although the menu says “hamburger,” what they actually serve is a loose meat sandwich (where am I, at The Lanford Lunch Box? If you got that joke, pat yourself on the back). You can even buy an enormous 50-ounce can of the “Burger Mix” for just $5.60. The quotation marks are their addition, not mine – make of that what you will.  The same mixture adorns their chili dog, too. So, it does double duty as chili and sloppy Joe mix. Curious.

The “burger” itself isn’t terrible – hot, salty, vaguely beefy. It’s pretty much what you’d expect from a $1.87 (51 cents for cheese) sloppy Joe. I’m tempted to use the word “cafeteria food” to describe it. I realize that description makes it sound disgusting, but, really, it’s not. It’s also not good, either. It just sort of is what it is. Probably amazing for those who grew up with it and let nostalgia cloud their taste buds, but us newbies will just never understand. (Kelly Rippl says she thinks Leon’s used to sell burgers and the like, but new ownership recently changed the menu. I can neither confirm nor deny this.) The chili dog ($1.96) is even less exciting. A thin smear of the “Burger Mix” sits below your standard low-quality hot dog. It’s screaming out for some onions or mustard or, really, any flavor whatsoever.

“You’re going to have a stomach ache this afternoon,” Kathryn Lavey says to me as she snaps photographs. She wasn’t joking.

Now let’s talk about the custard. Oh, the custard. For everything Leon’s “hot sandwich” menu is – uninspired, second-rate, whatever – their custard is the exact opposite. Growing up a Kopp’s kid, I was accustomed to just vanilla, chocolate and the flavor of the day as my custard options. Leon’s, I quickly learn, offers butter pecan on a daily basis and two (TWO!) flavors of the day (cinnamon and strawberry today), not to mention an assortment of pre-packaged pints. So, right there, they’re looking good. Rich, silky and deliciously melty (I like my ice cream soft), Leon’s custard is as good as I’ve had in Milwaukee. And, best of all, their portion sizes aren’t outrageous. One scoop is really one scoop (and only $1.20). A small milk shake is, get this, actually small. In a country where portion size is completely out of control, it’s nice to find a place that hasn’t given in to the gluttony. Now if only they could do something about that “hamburger.”