Something most us don’t think about much is what a full-blown event buying a Slurpee is.
After choosing from the overabundance of candied options, or inventing a combination of flavours as distinctive as your own DNA by mixing them together, it’s time to consume the semifrozen libation, a process that can take several hours, according to Slurpee connoisseur Shannon Hilberman.
At some point, you either give up, especially if the ice loses its syrupy taste, or you find yourself celebrating when the bottom of the goblet becomes visible, as if it’s the finish-line ribbon for a brain-freeze-filled obstacle course. Maybe that’s why so many people don’t do it solitarily, she says. Instead, they make it a social pursuit, a concoction meant to be enjoyed by a group.
In Winnipeg, where Ms. Hilberman lives, drinking Slurpees isn’t like any other pastime, though. Here, it’s an activity that holds the cultlike fervour of a local religion.
More below: Did you know Slurpees were invented by accident?
For decades, the chilly Canadian city has been recognized as the “Slurpee Capital of the World” by 7-Eleven, the international convenience-store chain that trademarked the sugary beverage. Per capita, sales are higher in Winnipeg – population roughly 800,000 – than any other market across North America, Asia, Europe, the Middle East and Oceania, with an average of nearly 190,000 Slurpees sold a month across the city. By comparison, the rest of Canada, excluding Winnipeg, buys fewer than 180,000 a month on average.
You can spot those cartoonishly large plastic cups everywhere in town: They’re mentioned in travel guides, sold as buttons or stickers in souvenir shops, and even included on the front cover of Manitoba-isms: A Dictionary, the unofficial glossary of provincial colloquialisms.
The go-to choice for visitors in maternity wards is Slurpees. People get tattoos of the cups. Stores allow (or some would say encourage) patrons to fill entire kiddie pools and bath tubs for 7-Eleven’s occasional Bring-Your-Own-Cup sales, while machines for the brews are booked out regularly for parties and weddings.
Residents have so keenly embraced the drink that city councillors in 2018 named a west-end street Slurpee Way. The moniker stuck around until 2020, after which it was unanimously voted that it would stay in place for another two years before the street sign was withdrawn.
But where, really, does Winnipeg’s love for Slurpees come from? And, as many 7-Eleven locations in the city have been recently shutting down, purportedly for a whole host of reasons, are those closures affecting this unique part of local culture?
When you think about it, Slurpees are the epitome of what constitutes a good deal for Prairie dwellers, says Janis Thiessen, a food history professor at the University of Winnipeg: “They’re quick to find, offer great value for money, are enjoyable by virtue of just – I mean, have you seen the colourful things? And clearly, we’re quite used to cold stuff in these parts.”
Among those reasons also lie some socio-economic truths mixed with nostalgia, explains Prof. Thiessen, who has written a couple of books about Canada’s relationship with food, including Snacks: A Canadian Food History.
“Slurpees represent, at least for most Winnipeggers, one of the first times in your life when you get to really be a young adult,” she says.
“Picture this: You’re hitting junior high and you want to spread your wings and express or test your freedom. What do you do? You head off campus and walk a few blocks during lunch or free period. And guess what’s the closest thing with the most amount of fun for the little change you carry in your pocket?”
This rite of passage isn’t unique to Winnipeg, of course. But it appears to be more prevalent in this city, which does not boast more 7-Eleven stores than other similar-sized municipalities in Canada, yet sells more Slurpees.
Prof. Thiessen says the ubiquity of Slurpees in Winnipeg is partly because they act as “an equalizing tool” in a city with significant disparity between its rich and poor, where one in eight people struggle on a daily basis to put food on the table or a roof over their heads.
“You grow up around them because they’re this easy snack that everyone in your friend group can afford,” she says. “Then, you’re older, you keep the habit going. The versatility, taking it with you on summer road trips, the way it allows you to stay in a warm spot in the winter without getting kicked out or chased away by security for not spending money, all really helps. And, you know, sometimes, you can blend Slurpees with a bit of booze to make some nice drinks, too – that’s never a problem.”
Shannon Hilberman, 30, and Zac Beaudry, 31, friends who share a love of Slurpees, visit a 7-Eleven in Winnipeg’s St. Vital neighbourhood.
For Ms. Hilberman and her best friend, Zac Beaudry, Slurpees go back to the little traditions they made during periods of difficulty as kids in the city.
When she was 16, Ms. Hilberman woke up one morning and fainted immediately as she tried to get out of bed. Moments later, she stood up, her heart pounding, only to pass out again. Eight weeks later, she was diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, a condition referred to as POTS, affecting blood pressure. Later, she was given another diagnosis of Ehlers–Danlos syndrome, a group of disorders that degenerates the connective tissue in her joints and skin.
With both of her disabilities working against each other, if she wasn’t sick with one, she was sick with the other. So, on the days she was feeling particularly unwell, Mr. Beaudry would visit, toting their favourite drink.
The classic Slurpee cups are sold as buttons and stickers in souvenir shops, and even mentioned in local travel guides.
“When nothing around me felt normal, Slurpees were something that just strangely made me feel that tiny bit more normal. Like it was all going to be okay,” Ms. Hilberman says.
The pals are now in their 30s, and the ritual continues – often with their partners along for the ride. They text each other, asking what flavours they want, and show up with the perfect excuse to hang out for a few hours.
When it was time for Mr. Beaudry’s wedding last year, the only natural gift for him was to get matching tattoos with his “groomsbro,” Ms. Hilberman.
“And what better than another pair of Slurpees together?” Mr. Beaudry chuckles.
Shannon Hilberman and Zac Beaudry commemorated their shared love of Slurpees with matching tattoos.
The duo commissioned popular tattoo artist Allison Thiessen for the project. They spent nearly an entire September day reminiscing, as Mx. Thiessen drew a neon-green cup packed to the brim with a purple slurry on the back of their legs, complete with the loonies and toonies they used to stash away to pay for the potations. “They shockingly still don’t cost any more than a few bucks,” Mr. Beaudry says.
It was a magical moment, made even more special when they realized Mx. Thiessen grew up around Slurpees, too.
“And you know what? It wasn’t even the last time I did one of those tattoos,” says Mx. Thiessen, who recently inked another client with a Pikachu, the animated Pokémon character, wearing sunglasses and drinking a blue Slurpee.
If we’re being honest, 7-Eleven locations in Winnipeg – or “the Sev,” as locals call them – are pretty mundane stores. But they’ve long been reliable and convenient because there’s one every few blocks or so.
Since last summer, however, six stores have permanently closed, including two in late January. City council was warned by the company last August that at least nine others out of 7-Eleven’s remaining 45 locations in Winnipeg were at risk of being shuttered, which councillors largely blamed on burdensome crime rates.
Winnipeg Mayor Scott Gillingham told reporters he met with company officials in early January to discuss their plans. The representatives designated their closures as part of broader restructuring, he said, adding that 7-Eleven wants to continue expanding in the city. Yet despite Mr. Gillingham’s clarifications, indications of further closures have caused a frenzy among residents, intensified by local media coverage.
Marc Goodman, vice president and general manager of 7-Eleven Canada, told The Globe and Mail that he understands Winnipeggers’ concerns around closures. “But the truth is, we’re always optimizing our retail network,” he says.
“Sometimes, we have to close some stores that just aren’t part of our growth strategy.”
Despite the popularity of Slurpees in the city, six 7-Eleven locations in Winnipeg have closed over the past year, and at least nine others could also be at risk of closing permanently.
Mr. Goodman says high rates of theft have, in fact, affected some locations in Winnipeg, causing the company to seek the city’s help to maintain employee safety. “If customers feel unsafe going to a store because they know there’s so much crime and theft going on around that area, the sales go down. And so, all of a sudden, that store is no longer as profitable as it once was.”
Nonetheless, he added, Winnipeg is the “Slurpee Capital” for a reason. Over the years, several cities such as Detroit and Calgary have taken a run at that title, but no one has surpassed the love for 7-Eleven’s marquee product like Winnipeg, he says.
“It’s an extremely important market for us. Our strategy is not to close. Our strategy is to grow throughout Manitoba.”
Slurpees from 7-Eleven, or “the Sev,” as Winnipeg locals often call it.
Winnipeg high-schoolers Chasity Pinesiw and Jennifer Featherman have tried every different variant of Slurpees: Icees, Slush Puppies and “all the other generic ones out there.” Still, the 15-year-olds say nothing beats the Sev.
“Even with the one in my area closed, I’d rather walk to another Sev for a Slurpee than go anywhere else,” said Jennifer on a recent Tuesday after school, holding her cup of “swamp water,” a menu-hack mixture of 11 different flavours. “Not gonna lie though, I do worry about these closures. Like, the parking-lot hangouts alone are part of the culture,” added Chasity in between sips of their shared extra-large drink.
But Jennifer tapped her friend’s shoulder, chiming in to tell her: “Girl, you’re tripping. I don’t think these Slurpees are going anywhere. And even if they did, we’ll get like a gazillion other new places that use the same machines that the Sev has. Like you said, it’ll always be part of our culture.”
In the 1950s, Omar Knedlik, a Dairy Queen owner in Kansas, began serving bottles of soda that had been sitting in his freezer after customers told him they liked the slurry consistency.
According to the Kansas Historical Society, Mr. Knedlik tinkered with his ice-cream machines to produce the slush, with one early prototype using a car’s air conditioning unit, before enlisting the help of engineers in Dallas. At first, he branded the drink Icee, now the name of a competing beverage company.
In 1966, 7-Eleven licensed Mr. Knedlik’s product after a successful trial run of the Icee makers in 100 stores, eventually trademarking the name: “Slurpee.” It was made official the following year with a patent filed for an apparatus to produce and dispense “a particularly good and unique drink or confection made from water and flavouring mixed with carbon dioxide gas.”
In fact, 7-Eleven even trademarked the term “brain freeze” in 1993.
But fear not, that trademark only limits other companies from naming or marketing their products as such. All of us can still use that turn of phrase to describe the funny feeling we get after consuming our favourite chilled beverages and foods far too quickly.
