GR restaurant evokes memories

Arctic Circle was my first job. I started while at Green River High School and continued on while attending college at Western Wyoming for a while. When I moved away for school, I would come back to work there for the summer or even on my winter breaks.

When relatives from out of town would visit, we would make a trip down to the Arctic Circle with them, or they would visit me while I was working.

My Arctic Circle memories made while working there are numerous, as well as the shake and sundae flavor combinations my coworkers and I would come up with that were not on the menu.

The best flavor combination I remember a coworker coming up with was made after the famous chocolate “better than sex” cake. The shake was made with chocolate ice cream, caramel, hot fudge, heath pieces, and brownie bites. It was a pretty good ice cream version of the well-known cake.

An odd, bizarre, yet unexpectedly tasty flavor another coworker came up with was a pickle shake; vanilla ice cream with pickle juice and pickle slices. Not bad, if you really enjoy the flavor of pickles. The vanilla ice cream soaked up the pickle flavor perfectly.

Weird, I know.

My Arctic Circle memories are numerous to count, like memories made with my family. And some were one in the same. Arctic Circle become somewhat of a tradition in my family over the years of my working there, and afterward.

My dad especially liked Arctic Circle. One of my dad’s favorite things to get was a chocolate malt, with extra malt and extra chocolate. He passed away a few years ago, but Arctic Circle has remained a constant, just as when he was here.

This past summer, my mom and I were baby-sitting the grand kids, and it was a beautiful warm summer day, so we decided to have a picnic lunch; a picnic lunch with dad. We packed up the kids, drove to Arctic Circle and made an order to go. Aside from our individual food orders, I ordered a small chocolate malt for us all to share, with dad. We got back in the vehicle, bags in hand. We drove up the windy road leading to the Green River cemetery.

There, we set up our picnic on the green grass in front of his headstone. We sat there, exchanging stories about my dad; my nieces’ and nephews’ grandpa.

All the while we passed the chocolate malt around, sharing the shake in memory of my dad.


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