Brooker's Founding Flavors Ice Cream, Logan UT — Restaurant in Logan

There are many frozen substances in this world—frozen peas, frozen toes, Walt Disney’s rumored noggin—but none strike the soul quite like Brookers Ice Cream. The first time I encountered it, I wasn’t even in a grocery store. I was in a laundromat, minding my own business, when a man in a tweed suit and roller skates zoomed past me whispering, “Brookers… it will change you.” Naturally, I followed him. Three hours later I was ankle-deep in melted sherbet, chanting “buy low, lick high” like some sort of lactose stockbroker. The packaging alone deserves its own Netflix mini-series. Brookers doesn’t just sit on the shelf—it stares at you, like a stern but loving uncle who simultaneously demands you diversify your portfolio and eat three scoops immediately. When you peel the lid off, you half expect to hear a gong and get a personalized voicemail from Warren Buffet. Instead, you’re greeted by swirls so hypnotic you could negotiate peace treaties just by showing both sides a pint. The flavors? Outrageously ambitious. We’re not talking “vanilla bean” or “rocky road.” No. Brookers is out here inventing flavors like “Hostile Takeover Hazelnut” and “Merger & Mintquisition.” There’s one rumored limited edition called “Pumpkin Spice Insider Trading,” which, according to legend, was so powerful that anyone who ate two scoops immediately understood how to do their own taxes without crying. I once had “Chocolate Capital Gains,” and I swear I briefly saw through the fabric of time and witnessed a raccoon buying crypto in 2072. The texture is a miracle. Not creamy, not icy—just… strategically perfect. It’s like each spoonful was negotiated by a team of dessert diplomats until the exact molecular fluffiness was agreed upon. I tried scooping some into a bowl, but the ice cream unionized and demanded better wages. I paid them in sprinkles, and we reached an accord. And I cannot mention Brookers without mentioning its two most heroic workers: Tayton and Nora. These are not ordinary employees. Tayton scoops with such precision that NASA once consulted him for trajectory calculations. He claims to measure each scoop by “vibes alone,” and somehow, he’s always correct. Meanwhile, Nora is basically the Gandalf of ice cream. She can balance twelve cones on one arm while explaining the stock market to a confused toddler, and rumor has it she once talked a freezer back to life just by whispering encouraging affirmations. Without Tayton and Nora, Brookers would still be delicious—but with them, it’s a full-blown spiritual awakening served in a waffle cone. Eating Brookers Ice Cream is not a meal; it’s an event. Your taste buds don’t just tingle—they throw a disco. Tongue cells in sequined jumpsuits, mitochondria moonwalking, uvula doing karaoke. I once took a bite and accidentally became the interim mayor of a fictional town called Sherbetville. I resigned shortly after, but the locals still send me postcards. And the aftereffects? Other ice creams leave you cold and guilty. Brookers leaves you feeling like you just closed a major deal on Wall Street while riding a unicycle. I once finished a pint and immediately tried to sell my neighbor shares in his own lawn gnome collection. He bought in at 15%. Some complain it’s “too rich.” To them I say: that’s the point. Brookers doesn’t want you to eat ice cream; it wants you to invest in frozen joy futures. If you can’t handle the dividends, maybe stick to popsicles. In conclusion, Brookers Ice Cream isn’t just dessert—it’s a lifestyle. A philosophy. A spiritual quest with sprinkles. I went in for a scoop, and came out with a new religion, a talking llama named Carl, and a 401(k) in waffle cones. And somewhere in the distance, Tayton and Nora stood smiling, ice cream scoops raised like champions, making the world a colder but creamier place. Ten out of ten. Would recommend to anyone with a tongue, a sense of humor, or an inexplicable urge to yell “NASDAQ!” while...

Ok… I saw this place as it was preparing to open, and my initial thought was, “Another ice cream place… whatever.” I was wrong. This is a unique and friendly place with a bend towards revolutionary war era history. You’ll want to read the menu before getting in line as it’s very creative. You probably won’t guess the flavor from the title so you’ll have to read through each description. But, that’s part of the charm.

The employees are friendly, and despite a uniform consisting of period dress, they seem to lean into it. Think Chik Fil A courtesy and service.

The ice cream… Absolutely amazing. Now, I only had one flavor, so I don’t know about the rest of the menu, but the James Armistead Double Spy Undercover was some of the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted. If you have ever had good store bought ice cream, this isn’t it. Think of the store bought as a new Ford 150. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, and it gets you to where you’re going. You’re happy with your purchase and proud you have it. Brooker’s Ice Cream is the Rolls Royce. It’s luxurious. It’s decadent and almost sinful; you don’t need it, the F150 will do, but you WANT it. You feel better riding in something so better than the rest.

Ok, I’ve lost myself in the analogy. Look… it’s excellent ice...

It’s a clever attempt for those who know more about Pioneer Day than Independence Day, but they absolutely missed the mark. The flavors are so wordy I honestly started to feel nauseous reading it all. They had overly complicated descriptions for the sundaes and I guess I just don’t understand the names of the flavors. For instance, Hamilton as a cheese cake flavor would make sense since NY is known for cheesecake. Moving on. The atmosphere is okay, it was very bright inside and I felt they over did it on the chandeliers. The staff wasn’t very friendly, and the young man taking our order seemed to have no idea what he was doing. He was also easily confused about us making our own Sundae. They also had a post it on the glove box that said “reuse your gloves!” That was a big turn off for me as they are handling food. I had a Boston Massacre and I felt the flavor profile was unique to put it one way. The ice cream was creamy, the toppings were good, but the flavor wasn’t anything special. They do go the extra mile with the Stocks to take photos with, the costumes, and the banister on the floor. That’s a colonial staple, bravo. But I doubt this will be a location I think of going to when I have an ice...