This Split is Bananas! B.A.N.A.N.A.S!!!

This article was originally published in the Tufts culinary magazine, The Palmier, in October of 2020.

Mya at J.P. Licks in October of 2020, holding a Banana Split.

Let me tell you a secret: before tonight, I had never eaten a banana split.

I know, it is shameful. Feel free to ridicule me. But first, let me explain.

Most people can envision the classic  banana split: three scoops of ice cream (traditionally vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry), flanked by bananas cut in half lengthwise, topped with three mountains of whipped cream, three cherries, and all the other sundae fixings. Of course, I knew about them, but only due to their prevalence in cartoons, television shows, and movies. I’m sure this is because of their bright colors and slightly recognizable nature. 

Banana splits are a relatively recent addition to the food scene. In fact, ice cream sundaes were invented in the early 1900s in Ithaca, New York, about the same time bananas hit the fruit import market in the United States. Then, in the 1950s, they started to lose popularity in favor of soft-serve ice cream which did not work clearly with the sundae concept.

With this knowledge, I started talking to my friends about banana splits., Anecdotal evidence revealed that only about 50% of students I asked have actually eaten a banana split. An additional 35% had never had one but had seen one and the remaining 15% had never seen one in person before. I was part of that small 15% who saw banana splits as more mythology than reality. Of course, this needed to change.

Tonight, to announce and celebrate The Palmier’s official recognition at Tufts University, the executive board walked to Davis Square to get ice cream at J.P. Licks. While Malcolm, Megan, Jake, Paige, and everyone else got single scoops, I was hyping myself up for having a banana split. My friends who had tried banana splits before raised my expectations by discussing the mesh of the creaminess of the banana and the ice cream, naturally combining flavor and texture. 

Finally, I ordered. “May I please have a banana split?” I asked Mya, a J.P. Licks staff member. As she began to construct my ice cream, she asked me what flavors I wanted.

“Uh… up to you!” I responded, albeit indecisively. This is a common response for me as it keeps my pallet diversified and encourages me to continue trying new things.

A banana split, from J.P. Licks.

Mya explained how people traditionally choose strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla, but she had seen every combination of flavors. In honor of the fall season, she combined scoops of pumpkin custard, caramel apple, and maple butter walnut. Then, she asked me about toppings and I let her decide once again. She piled warm dripping caramel, crispy waffle cone pieces, and fluffy whipped cream atop each scoop. With precision, she placed a bright red Maraschino cherry on each mountain of whipped cream. 

After a short conversation with friends, I dived into my gooey sundae. I made sure to get every layer -- ice cream, whipped cream, cherry, caramel, and banana -- on my spoon before shoving  the one-bite sundae into my mouth. 

Of course, I enjoyed it! But I did even more: I analyzed it.

The banana almost fell away in the ice cream, to a point where it added a slight freshness and fruitiness, but not  much more. I don’t know if this was unexpected, but it was underwhelming in comparison to the high expectations that my friends placed upon it. 

My friends were right about one thing. The pairing of banana and ice cream seemed natural. But, it somehow felt incomplete in a way. The ripe banana and ice cream had very similar textures which caused them to mesh together, leaving little textural variation between bites. If Mya had not put waffle cone pieces on the sundae, the texture would have been lost. 

Overall, I enjoyed it from a sense of being a sundae, but it did not feel “special.” I think the one word I would use to describe it is “classic.” Granted, “classic” implies that I had eaten it before, but I am using this word to describe how the flavor and texture combination seemed relaxed, understated, but oddly comfortable in a pleasant way. 

So, would I order one again? While I do think it worked, the only “inspired” component seemed to be the combination of ice cream. On the other hand, and once more unique ice cream flavors are added, the banana even further feels unnecessary. I don’t think my experience would have been significantly different if the banana was not present. In that case, I might as well get just the three scoops of ice cream.