Everyone has a local ice cream counter fix. We each have our “dairy stand” that is near and dear to heart for our own reasons. Proximity. Nostalgia. Secret menu items.

So what makes Lickity Split worth differentiation?

Well, a grill serving burgers and chili dogs and specialty sandwiches for one. You can even get a salad. Can’t say why you would do that here, and we didn’t, but it’s nice to know.

Another reason is that for a seasonal place run by many adolescents who aren’t necessarily confident in mercantile manner and who may also be practicing with audience math for the first time in their lives, they always smile and get the change right — and the place is blazing clean.

The Lickity Split facade was also remodeled throughout the last year after a wayward motorist rearranged the old one with just a week to go before the close of last season. But the aesthetic decisions made by owner Deanna McHugh  didn’t overly modernize the front, and the building retains a stainless steel echo of mid-century appeal.

Also, there is ample parking and indoor seating for 10 to 15 people.

But there are even more intangibles. Lickity Split is part of its own kind of vestigial shopping district: a main street connecting Broadway to the Anthony Wayne Trail, while acting as a border confluence of South Toledo, Beverly Neighborhood, Harvard Terrace, and River Road.

The best burger on the Lickity Split menu is without a doubt the Greg Burger ($6.95) — named after the guy who owns the jewelry shop two doors down. It’s a double patty with grilled onions, Swiss cheese, bacon, pickles, lettuce, and mayo. Mortals such as myself can give the inside-baseball order of a “Single Greg,” which is the same burger with just one patty. You know, in case you need to be awake for any reason after you couple something like that with a chocolate malt (start at $3.45) so thick it needs taming with a spoon.

Any institution that retains the human touch is invaluable today. A place that names a sandwich after a customer who so faithfully orders time and again the same specialized item has a certain glow to it. And kudos to Greg and whoever his doctor is; the burger is a two-handed tomahawk jam.

Like many summer-only joints, Lickity Split stays open late, until 10 p.m. every day all season long. When you visit, try going at the very beginning of the end of sunset.

Choose your cold treat to start. Through a few trips we tried the Butterfinger Sundae (starting at $3.95) — mainly for the bootleg daycare-style drawing of a “Bark Simpson” advertising its charms — a straight ahead vanilla milkshake (starting at $3.25), Oreo Cookie and Reese’s Pieces Cyclone (starting at $3.50), respectively, and a Watermelon Slush with soft serve ice cream mix ($2.95).

Nothing surprising, nothing amiss. Your grill order should arrive sometime in the middle of your tasty treats freezing away the summer heat.

Skin-on French Fries (medium for $1.95) took the trophy as favored side, with the onion rings next ($4). Again, neither was spectacular, and both are prepackaged frozen. But they were cooked to perfection and finished happily by all diners.

The burgers (starting at $4.95), as mentioned, are great, whether you build your own with stacked toppings or get just the plain patty.

We also liked their Coney ($3.50), even though it’s truly a chili dog and not a Coney as set forth by the strict rules of the unofficial, but nevertheless acknowledged, doctrine of Toledo Coney-ism. This Lickity dog has traditional chili rather than the thinner, sweetish red sauce of fine ground meat and Greek spices often found locally. However, Lickity Split grills the bun and wiener, a nice change that makes for a wholly satisfying dog even when ordered traditional style with onions and mustard (and maybe cheese).

The very, very crispy Lake Erie Perch Sandwich ($5.65) with house-made tartar sauce (and hot sauce if you’re tropic blooded) is a nice little meal with two beyond-the-bun filets.

Lickity Split could do more by way of fresh ingredients, but even then, their absence doesn’t really detract from the lovely summertime bloom of this perennial ice cream and sandwich shack.

First Published July 13, 2017, 4:00 a.m.