Custard King’s Motto: Be Creative, but Don’t Keep Customers Waiting

ST. LOUIS —  It’s 4 p.m. and the pre-dinner crowd is lining up at Ted Drewes’ frozen custard stand, looking for ways to ruin that appetite.

So many choices--most of them with names like TerraMizzou, Stormcrete, Lilikapalui and CinderMint. And the specialty is a superthick shake called a concrete. Weird-sounding maybe, but definitely not weird-tasting.

Drewes, 64, is the unquestioned king of custard in St. Louis, and his frozen concoctions are so highly praised that he is even able to satisfy long-distance cravings.

In March, Dave Englehart of San Diego surprised a close friend with a dozen chocolate chip concretes he had shipped via Federal Express.

Beats a dozen roses any time, he figured. No matter that it cost about twice as much to ship the custard, packed in dry ice, as it did to buy it.

Englehart never has been to the south St. Louis stand, but he feels he knows the place.

“All she ever talks about is Ted Drewes,” Englehart said of his friend, a transplant from St. Louis. “She thinks they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. It was well worth the effort, if just to see the look on her face.”

Drewes doesn’t like to talk about his custard formula, saying only that he uses a “little cream, a little honey and 10% fat. If it’s off, I know it.”

The real secret to his success is simple: Give them a little extravagance, but don’t keep the customers waiting long.

“My idea is to get the creativity going but try to keep it simple so you still get fast, good service,” Drewes said. “I try to give the people a little tickle if I can.”

A lot of people seem to get that little tickle. Drewes has been around since the 1930s, and it’s been a popular stop for tourists for years.

On hot summer nights, the lines can end up blocking part of a lane of old Route 66. A Baskin-Robbins across the street isn’t much competition, handling a mere trickle of traffic.

Drewes’ world is one of whirring blenders, shouted orders and a never-ending stream of vanilla custard that churns out just fast enough to satisfy the throngs. His custard machines are capable of producing 100 gallons an hour, and frequently they’re running full tilt.

Drewes knows he has a good product, but he doesn’t quite know what to make of its widespread popularity. He’s been in the custard business all his life and has known his share of lean times, when he wished he were anyplace else.

Now, Drewes can do no wrong.

Well, almost no wrong. There have been a few spectacular bombs like the Bunnycrete, an Easter specialty that was carrot-cake flavored.

“That was a dumb idea,” Drewes said. “Ideas like that would get you fired somewhere else.”

Here, it adds to the 1950s charm of the place. Menu items are hand-painted on a board, fake icicles hang from the sides of the building and dozens of fresh-faced teen-age workers scurry about.

“The place is really pretty modern, but we keep the flavor of a joint,” Drewes said. “It keeps our individuality.”

Drewes has named creations after his kids (CinderMint for daughter Cindy, who likes mint flavoring) and obscure islands he’s become smitten with (Abaco-mocha and Lilikapalui, the latter combining passion fruit and cranberries).

“When we’re right, it works like a clock,” said college student Mark Pessoni, who has worked at Ted Drewes for eight years. “We stay out of each other’s way without even trying.”

Drewes tries to make it worth their while. In addition to paying a competitive salary, he started a scholarship program to help defray college expenses for his workers.

Of course, just being there would be enough for some people.