A tour of the New Orleans' sno-ball stands nets some wondrous samplings

NEW ORLEANS -In this always-hungry metropolis hugging the Mississippi, there's no shortage of iconic dishes that define its culinary soul.

There are beignets and boudin, po-boys and pralines, crawfish and café brulot, jambalaya and jazz. OK, so maybe you can't eat jazz, but you can certainly drink it in - as hot and thick as a dark-roux gumbo.

But I come to the city today to immerse myself in a distinctly New Orleans treat that literally sends shivers down the spines of Big Easy denizens. The sno-ball.

Yes, it is that: a ball of snow. But it is also much more. A sno-ball is New Orleans history in a chilly cup - a dessert of nearly weightless snowflakes drenched in richly hued and vividly flavored syrups that has bonded families, defined neighborhoods, created traditions and gotten generations through summer heat that could fell even the hardiest souls.

I'm drawn to the sno-ball out of curiosity. What's so special about a snow cone?

A sno-ball is special precisely because it is everything a snow cone is not. A snow cone's coarse, granular ice crystals can seem thuggish and pedestrian compared to a sno-ball's angelic whispers of ice that quickly absorb whatever ambrosia is poured on top.

An icy introduction

Before I begin my trek through the land of ice peaks and rivers of sugar syrup, I decide to acquaint myself with a bit of sno-ball history courtesy of the Southern Food & Beverage Museum, a nifty little temple dedicated to the gustatory treasures and spirit-fueled history of New Orleans. The museum (southern food.org), located in the Riverwalk Marketplace shopping and dining complex next to the Convention Center, features a sno-ball exhibit through July 31.

On display are ice machines that mechanically replicate the earliest forms of sno-balls (also called snoballs or snowballs). One machine, called the Sno-Bliz, was built by Ernest Hansen in 1934 (Hansen's Sno-Bliz is perhaps the city's most historic and beloved sno-ball shop). Another game-changing machine, called the SnoWizard, was built in 1936 by George J. Ortolano, a grocer and son of Sicilian immigrants. SnoWizards are now the primary sno-ball machines used in Louisiana and throughout the Gulf Coast, according to the exhibit. It is worth noting that the spout used to pour bottled syrups also was invented by Ortolano.

Sno-balls, I learn, are a seasonal confection, available when sno-ball stands open, usually from late March to October. These neighborhood stands, often small, funky places, distinguish themselves from rivals by the availability and creativity of syrup flavors. These flavors can be astonishing - fruits, spices, creams and mystery amalgamations that often sport hallucinogenic colors. The syrup concoctions (some house-made, but most coming from only a few syrup concentrate producers) are a sno-ball house's calling card and bragging right. One syrup producer's lemon is not like the other; a flavor as simple as chocolate can vary widely in taste from stand to stand. Syrup flavors can make or break a sno-ball, I soon discover.

Taking a bite

My sno-ball baptism is a feverish affair. I assumed I would hit a couple - enough to taste the essence of sno-ball - and call it a day. That would not do for my friend Judy Walker, food editor of the Times-Picayune. No, Walker waves a two-page list of must-do sno-ball stands when I get in to her car. Off we go, armed only with our willingness to taste as many sno-balls as possible in one day, criss-crossing the city and its neighborhoods to find the ultimate frozen treasures.

"I'll take a stuffed wedding cake," says a lady who steps up to the counter at the Original New Orleans Sno-Ball & Smoothie, 4377 Elysian Fields Ave.

Sno-balls can be as plain or as elaborate as you wish. A stuffed sno-ball has a scoop of ice cream embedded in its arctic heart. But that's not all. Sno-balls can be drenched in sweetened condensed milk, slathered with crushed pineapple or marshmallow fluff, littered with sprinkles, gummy candies and nuts and topped off with whipped cream and a cherry.

Wedding cake, it turns out, is just one of the dizzying assortment of flavored syrups available at some sno-ball shops. Other flavors I wouldn't expect to see include king cake (apparently tastes like the frosting on the city's beloved pre-Lenten sugar roll), yellow cake batter, peanut butter, cookie dough, key lime pie, vanilla malt, tamarind and buttered popcorn.

But it's fruit flavors that are the most popular, said Scott Oestriecher, manager of Original New Orleans Sno-Ball & Smoothie. "Strawberry outsells the others about six to one," he said.

I, too, pick a winner: red velvet cake. And darned if it doesn't taste just like the crimson innards of a red velvet beauty.

Next we head to Sal's Sno-Balls, 1823 Metarie Road in Metarie, which has been in business since 1960. I order yellow cake and wish I had chosen nectar after Tricia Grishaw, manning the booth, proclaimed it her favorite. What's this nectar? It's actually a beloved New Orleans flavor that blends almond, vanilla and a little citric acid. It was developed for the New Orleans-based K&B drugstore chain.

Not all sno-balls sport teeth-aching sweet syrups, however. At Beaucoup Juice, 4713 Freret, the sno-balls are made with freshly blended juices made with local and seasonal fruits whenever possible. Walker's excited by this "green" approach to sno-balls and orders pineapple mint. It tastes like a cocktail (if we had rum we'd be in business) with a welcome fruit purity. I get the watermelon, and it tastes like biting into the heart of crisp, red summer beauty.

Childlike wonder

"I've seen adults jump up and down like they were 8 years old," said Ashley Hansen. "It never gets old. I cherish every day here."

Who wouldn't? After all, Hansen's Sno-Bliz is a New Orleans institution - for many the pinnacle of sno-ball achievement. Hansen is the owner of a business her grandparents, Ernest and Mary Hansen, began in 1939. She grew up slinging sno-balls and proudly carries on the traditions of Ernest, who invented the first ice shaving machine and Mary, who created her own flavored syrups.

"I don't change any of my grandparents' recipes," Hansen said, sitting behind a well-worn counter in the tiny corner shop at 4801 Tchoupitoulas St. "I've seen grown men cry because the blueberry tastes just like they remember it as a child."

Hansen's still makes its own flavors every day, poured from old vessels that look like apothecary bottles. The number of flavors may not rival other sno-ball stands, but Hansen's homemade syrups are astonishing for their depth of flavor.

Unlike most shops that pack the top of their sno-balls using a mold to create a tidy helmet, Hansen's are shaggy, free-form tops - call it the "natural" look. I decide to try the much-loved nectar flavor and discover why it is a city favorite. It tastes like a luxurious, milky cream soda. After seeing a woman top hers with a sticky cap of marshmallow cream, I decide to copy. It's an extravagant sno-ball that I take my time to enjoy.

Pickles and sno-balls

Since the morning, Walker had dangled a pickle over me. She had heard about a shop that made a sno-ball flavored with dill pickle juice and garnished with a whole pickle. For someone who adores pickles and pickle juice, I was eager to get to Droopy's Sno-Balls, 6560 Jefferson Highway in Harahan. I wasn't about to believe a pickle sno-ball until I saw and tasted it for myself.

Curiously, we didn't see the pickle on the menu, so we asked the older gentleman behind the counter about it and he said he'd be more than happy to make one. Then he told us the story behind the pickle sno-ball. John "Droopy" Guercio, whose wife, Lana, owns Droopy's, said that one day about six years ago, a young lady from the nearby bowling alley came in for a sno-ball. She was a familiar face at Droopy's because she and her girlfriends sometimes would come in to buy dill pickles, which the store also sold. On this day, however, fate compelled her to ask Guercio to make a pickle sno-ball.

"If that's what you want, I'll do it. I've got the stuff," the affable Guercio tells us. Soon the word spread that the pickle sno-ball was a dilly, and now Droopy's is the place to get them. It is not, however, the store's most famous creation. Guercio says that the house's specialty syrup is the mysterious, blue-hued Droopy's Cream, which, like all of Droopy's syrups, is engineered by Guercio's brother, Donald Guercio. "Without him, this place will be closed down," John says admiringly of his brother's syrup-making skills.

So what's in the Droopy's Cream syrup? John Guercio smiles and just shakes his head with one of those if-I-told-you-I'd-have-to-kill-you looks. "Just say it's special."

It is. It's vaguely almondy and wholly creamy. In fact, creams are Droopy's specialty; many "regular" flavors also are available as creams, which adds a depth and lushness. Think of an orange Popsicle. Now think of an orange Dreamsicle. That addition of creamy vanilla richness is the difference. "You want to ride in a Volkswagen or ride in a Cadillac?," Guercio says. He's high on his Cadillac creams. And we're high on Droopy's. Without knowing it, we had saved the best for last. That Droopy's Cream was decadent and the pickle was an altogether unusual (and welcome) sno-ball experience.

"I'm sugar loopy," Walker says on our drive home. I think I've got the sno-ball shakes, too. In the span of about six hours, we made it to nine shops and tasted more than two dozen sno-ball flavors (some of the stands gave us free samples). It was a cheap date, too: The sno-balls we tasted cost between $1 and $2 each. Probably the most we paid for a single sno-ball was $2.20 for the Droopy's sour smacker, and that came with a whole pickle.

It was a puckery end to a sweet day I won't soon forget.

greg.morago@chron.com