You don't walk into Henry's Ice Cream in Plano by accident. Plano is far. You're here on purpose. On a mission. And because you made the pilgrimage all the way out here, your expectations are stupid high.
Your toddler stares at neon signage of Henry's Ice Cream and thinks to herself, "This better be good. I rode in that piece-of-vegetables car for, I dunno, some amount of time I can't even process right now because none of you losers taught me how to tell time yet, just for the promise of ice cream. Then, when the car stopped, you took me inside a sadass Fuddruckers because 'We're sorry, sweetie. Your mom doesn't understand Plano,' and then you told me some lie about how people have to eat dinner before dessert. Whoever made up that rule should be made to chug an entire sippy cup full of She Ra farts. That's right. They should have to chug farts. And then, we should all be allowed to point at them and call them a bunch of fart chuggers. Because screw eating dinner. Ice cream. We all want ice cream. There's even a song about it. I'd sing it for you, but I left my plastic microphone at home, which I'm pretty sure you remember is stupid far away from here. I'm ready for this dang ice cream. I swear, if this is like the time you told me Fraggle Rock would blow my mind and it turns out that you've just over-hyped the shit out of Henry's Ice Cream, I'm gonna five-point-harness the ice cream man in the junk."
The cardboard cow out front consoles her, "Oh, this shit is delicious. If you don't like it, you're wrong."
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You heard about Henry's two times in a span of 24 hours, so you took that as a sign that it was important to try this place out. First, a post on the Entrée Dallas blog that made the cones at Henry's sound otherwordly. Then, Komali Chef Lady Anastacia Quinones told you that the Mexican Chocolate ice cream you ate at her restaurant that night that was so delicious and velvety, mariachi unicorn angels shot out of it playing the best rendition of Boyz II Men's "End of the Road" that you've ever heard, was made by Henry's Ice Cream. "It's in Plano," she said.
"My stupid face will get there, post haste," you thought.
One scoop of homemade ice cream at Henry's is close to one pint of ice cream according to the behatted high school kid behind the counter, and will cost you $3.49. Pro tip: Henry's will gladly divide your one scoop into two flavors, if you want, just like Paciugo. If you don't want to eat that much ice cream (light high fives for being a total ice cream pussy), order the kiddie cup, which is still giant, but a little cheaper.
You'll have to choose between safe flavors, like vanilla strawberry, and more adventurous options, like Hog Wild, which you'll be told, "has peppered bacon in it." Fill up the gas tank, get yourself to Henry's and get your ice cream adventure in a waffle cone. This place is so good, it might even make you like Plano.