The secrets behind the crazy over-the-top shakes at Black Tap

CrazyShakes from Black Tap Craft Burgers & Beer are not like that little black dress; they are like Versace prints. They are not like cardamom; they are like staying hydrated. They are not like mindfulness; they are like serial dating. Which is to say: More is more.

But these madcap marriages of drink and dessert — of, variously, milkshakes, frosting, whipped cream, drizzles, crushed cookies, chocolate chips, cereal, cotton candy, sliced cake, brownies, ice cream sandwiches, Pop-Tarts, sprinkles, pretzel sticks, assorted candy bedazzlement and so on — are not mere exercises in more is more (though they are that).

CrazyShakes also open a window onto questions of late-capitalist abundance (and calorie counts); of food as spectacle (and clickbait); of surprising shortages caused by a janky supply chain; of how sweet indulgence 10-year-olds might dream of also anchors an international restaurant group; of the ways you go about eating these towering lollapaloozas anyway.

The other afternoon at Black Tap in The Venetian, which just celebrated its fifth anniversary, Julie Mulligan, co-founder and co-owner of the restaurant, offered her expert take on tackling CrazyShakes.

“Everybody does it their own way. I like to take the spoon and scrape the stuff off the edge of the glass. If there’s something really large, I’m the kind of person who takes it off and cuts it and eats it.” (She admits to eating wings with a knife and fork, too.) “Some people smoosh the whole cake into the milkshake. Some people like to get their fries involved.”

The main appeal of the shakes lies not in the socio-culinary questions they invite, but in the shared human delight in the unexpectedly oversized, Mulligan said. (Or, put formally: Oof, that’s big!)

“Everyone has that wow and jaw-drop moment. It’s like a special occasion, with more fun.”

Growing with Instagram

Black Tap traces its origins to a 15-seat burger shop opened in March 2015 on Broome Street in the SoHo neighborhood of Manhattan. At first, there were classic milkshakes, modest affairs made at the bar. Then, the crew started playing around with rims, toppings, add-ons, flavors (as it does today). Cheerful excess crept in. “It started taking over,” Mulligan said.

Because the shop was small, “people could see everything going on, people could take photos. Our opening was around the time of the rise of Instagram,” said Chris Barish, the other Black Tap founder and owner. “Instagram has always been important to us.”

And certainly nimbi of cotton candy, swirled rainbow lollipops, cookies affixed to the sides of shakes, glasses encircled by bodices of colored candy pearls, cakes balanced on high like edible Jenga (or 56 Leonard) — assuredly these building blocks of CrazyShakes are made for Instagram and helped fuel the viral posts, likes and shares.

But the medium is not the message, or at least not entirely, said Stephen Parker, corporate executive chef of Black Tap.

“There isn’t anything we do just for Instagram. It’s great for something to look great, but we want to have great flavor, too. If we have a product that looks good but doesn’t taste good, you’ve lost a customer.”

Supply chain shake disruption

Company images of CrazyShakes are typically shot front-on, with a shallow foreground that places the shakes close to the picture plane (an old trick of Dutch still lifes). The composition almost creates the urge to lick the screen or extend a spoon; with a nudge, the Cotton Candy seems it could tumble into the viewer’s lap, a sugary rush.

CrazyShakes sometimes have a savory side. There have been versions incorporating miso caramel apple or chilis roasted in oil or a sweet corn base with fried Twinkies. “It’s a state fair shake,” Parker said. A trip to visit the Black Tap in Singapore conjured a locally flavored shake featuring grassy pandan and Milo brand chocolate malt powder popular there.

When the Black Tap trio sat down with the Review-Journal in late January, supply chain disruptions had caused shortages in CrazyShake accoutrements like ice cream sandwiches, ice cream cookie sandwiches, chocolate tacos and Oreo crumbles.

“We were sending everyone to 7-Eleven while they still had them,” Mulligan, the co-founder and co-owner, said of the ice cream novelties. As for the crumbles, the commercial bakery that made them “had to focus on other products,” chef Parker said. “We were having to break the Oreos by hand with hammers.”

And a planned shake festooned with Twix chocolate bars has been paused until a consistent supply returns.

Calories? What calories?

CrazyShakes, though very much of the digital moment, also descend from a long line of over-the-top (though far less creative) ice cream sundaes and other ice cream dishes. To cite just one ancestor: the multi-pound Zoo sundae borne on a litter at the old Farrell’s to the sound of blaring horns.

The shakes also belong to the “loaded” category of restaurant dishes that has grown in the past two decades to encompass baked potatoes (an OG), burgers (another OG), bloody marys, doughnuts, french fries, bagels and, it seems, almost any dish that can be lavishly piled or provisioned.

Mulligan said Black Tap had not calculated the calories in its CrazyShakes, omitting that aspect of their baroque exuberance. And perhaps that’s just as well. Or beside the point.

“The world is a little tricky these days,” said Barish, the other Black Tap founder and owner. “It’s not bad to come have a little something to pick you up.”

Contact Johnathan L. Wright at jwright@reviewjournal.com. Follow @ItsJLW on Twitter.