Esther Tseng fondly remembers the church outings and sporting events of her youth in Wisconsin — but mostly because afterward, her dad usually insisted that the family stop for frozen custard.
“Probably the only person who loved frozen custard more than me was my dad, who would always jump at the chance and get visibly excited whenever the prospect of frozen custard came up,” Tseng, a freelance writer now living in Los Angeles, tells me.