(MONEY Magazine) – Around the corner from my apartment, about a five-minute walk away, is a Haagen-Dazs shop, and a few blocks past that is a Carvel. Both of them offer a yummy array of cones, sundaes and floats, but when I'm in the mood for ice cream--a fairly regular occurrence this time of year--I don't visit these conveniently located shops. Instead, I drive to an old-school neighborhood ice cream parlor several miles away, where I enjoy the ambience of the tile floor and wooden fixtures, the familiarity of the longtime staff and the friendliness of the shop's cat.

I generally favor local mom-and-pops over national chains anyway, but the choice between the two is particularly easy in this instance, because ice cream is a supremely social food--it's festive, celebratory, conversational. How social an experience can you get from a faceless corporation with a jillion identical franchise outlets? Put that against the homespun sense of community offered by a family-owned ice cream parlor, and it's no contest. Chains like Haagen-Dazs, Carvel, Baskin-Robbins and Friendly's, along with the ebbing of Main Street businesses nationwide, have made ice cream parlors harder to find. But some still survive, and I look for them when I'm traveling. Here are some of the most memorable parlors I've come across.

My favorite is Lagomarcino's (1422 Fifth Ave., Moline, Ill.; 309-764-1814), a Quad Cities classic that gets my vote for America's most beautiful ice cream venue. It's a nostalgia-lover's dream, with gorgeous tile floors, mahogany booths, Tiffany-style lamps and a pressed-tin ceiling. And the treats can't be beat. Like all of the eateries described in this article, Lagomarcino's makes its own delicious ice cream and toppings. Hot fudge is served on the side in a little pitcher, so you can drizzle it on as you please. If you're thirsty, try a hand-mixed vanilla Coke or a strawberry phosphate. And if you still have room, there's a huge variety of chocolates.

Lagomarcino's was founded in 1908 by an Italian confectioner named Angelo Lagomarcino and moved to its current storefront in 1919. The family faced a crossroads back in the 1960s, when a bank tried to acquire their site, but fortunately they stayed put. "Some of our current customers were first brought here by their grandparents," says Beth Lagomarcino, one of three third-generation siblings who run the place. "And now they're bringing their grandchildren." That spirit of family heritage is present within the shop itself, where a fourth generation of Lagomarcino children already works after school.

A similarly timeless air of conviviality can be found at Beerntsen's (108 N. Eighth St., Manitowoc, Wis.; 920-684-9616), a lively shop about 85 miles north of Milwaukee with more than 125 varieties of candy displayed up front and black walnut booths in the back. Founded in 1932 by Joe Beerntsen and now run by his grandson Tom, Beerntsen's supplements its basic menu with more than two dozen specialty ice cream creations, with names like the Kewpie Doll (strawberry and vanilla ice cream topped with butterscotch, marshmallow, strawberries and pecans) and the Cherry Circle (vanilla ice cream surrounded by fresh cherries, with marshmallow topping). Then there's the Hard Hat, a 10-scoop, five-topping whopper served in a construction hat. What's it like to eat that, you ask? Don't ask.

Incitement to gluttony notwithstanding, Tom Beerntsen is a civic-minded man who's active in local causes. His toughest fight, however, may be to extend the Beerntsen's tradition. His children have pursued careers far outside the realm of ice cream--not surprising, perhaps, given the rigors of the business. The shop is open from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. every day except Christmas and New Year's, the latter of which is usually devoted to waxing the floor. Keenly aware of the shop's role in the community, Tom is determined to find a successor. "I recently hired a guy who reminds me of me about 20 years ago," he says. "He might be the one."

The Lagomarcino and Beerntsen families have gone out of their way to preserve their shops' original fixtures and detailing, but a preservationist instinct isn't responsible for the classic decor at Eddie's Sweet Shop (10529 Metropolitan Ave., Queens, N.Y.; 718-520-8514). According to one story, the shop's previous owner was just too cheap to do the type of remodeling that so many old ice cream venues underwent in the 1950s. Good thing too, because Eddie's original marble counter, wood-topped stools, frosted-glass partitions and inlaid-wood moldings are magnificent--and only a 20-minute subway ride from midtown Manhattan. Joe Citrano, who's owned the place since 1968 and says it dates to about 1915, not only makes the sensational ice cream and toppings but goes the extra mile by making his own whipped cream, a gargantuan mound of which can usually be seen in a cooler near the counter. Hand-packed containers of ice cream are available to go, as are innumerable dolls and tchotchkes, which occupy the display cases that must once have held candy--with Joe's son Vito often working behind the counter, it all makes for a suitably playful atmosphere.

As wonderful as these sitdown eateries are, sometimes I'm more in the mood for the informality of a roadside takeout stand. My favorite is Ted Drewes (6726 Chippewa, St. Louis; 314-481-2652), a Gateway City institution since 1931. Operating in the shadow of a battered but beautiful neon sign, Ted's specializes in frozen custard, a particularly rich, smooth type of ice cream. Drive by on a typical day, and you'll see dozens of people happily milling about while eating cones, sundaes or a local favorite called concrete--an impossibly thick milk shake served with the world's most useless straw. Run today by the founder's son, Ted Drewes Jr. (who has declined all offers to franchise the family name), Ted's also sells Christmas trees each December--a tradition that dates back almost as far as the custard and the type of community-bonding ritual that a corporate chain could never hope to match.

In what seems like cosmic irony, there's a Baskin-Robbins across the street from Ted Drewes. I walked over to check it out during a recent visit and found that business was slow, the shop oddly quiet. Then I looked back across the street at all the people enjoying their concretes and sundaes in the Ted Drewes parking lot, laughing and talking as they stood under that old neon sign. Poor Baskin-Robbins. It wasn't even a fair fight.

Paul Lukas' favorite ice cream flavor is coffee with fudge ripple.