Ice Cream Dreams
By Naperville Magazine
Appears in the September 2025 issue.
By Peter Gianopulos
The Banana Split marks its first year under its new owner, a longtime fan
It’s the kind of sugary sweet fairy tale that’s ripe for a movie. The setting: Aurora. Time period: early 2000s. The protagonist: Daniel Cuevas, a plucky ice-cream-obsessed kid who grows up blocks away from Banana Split (820 Church Road), a family-run ice cream parlor. Growing up, Daniel can’t get enough of the Split. Passes the place every day before and after school. And eats there constantly—spring, summer, and fall. He loves the place so much that he tells everyone who will listen to him—friends, family, employees, random strangers in line—that one day this place is going to be his.
Years pass, but the dream stays frozen solid in his mind. He enlists in the U.S. Marines. Comes home. Works odd jobs, including selling pest control services door to door. Earns a business degree. He finds some success, but he returns, season after season, to the Banana Split, dreaming old dreams. He loves that owners Lisa and Randy Brown still make their waffle cones from scratch—a painstaking five-to-seven-hour process. And that they still churn out small-batch pints of ice cream—including some exotic flavors like banana pudding, coconut cream, and pistachio fluff. And prepare their take on a Pineapple Dole Whip from Disney World. And bake their own cookies.
Everyone who’s spent so much an afternoon with Daniel has heard about his Banana Split dream, so when rumors swirl through Aurora that the Browns might want to sell, people make sure Daniel is aware. He fires off an impassioned email laying his ambitions on the line. No response. Time passes. Then one day, early in the 2024 ice cream season, Daniel’s father spots a “for sale” sign and speed-dials his son.
Daniel drops everything and makes an immediate pitch to the broker, who is so impressed that he connects him to the Browns. They sense his sincerity, his genuineness, his love for a shop they’ve run since 1983. He hopes that he’s winning them over, but he’s not 100 percent sure so he pulls out his phone and shows them the email he sent them. And the Browns, especially Lisa, melt like popsicles in the summer sun.
Daniel doesn’t have the capital to make the largest financial offer, but the Browns sell the shop to him anyway. No conditions. No contingencies. The Banana Split officially becomes his on August 14, 2024, to do with as he pleases. But he decides not to change anything. He and his father still make the waffle cones themselves. He still hand-dips the Split’s ice cream bars and refuses to skimp on the quality of his whip cream, toppings, or cherries for his sundaes.
The only thing he does do is partner with a local coffee producer, Dapper Brews, so he can introduce cold-brew ice floats. He pays homage to his Latin heritage by offering fresh-cut fruit to the menu. And decides to add seasonal soft-serve flavors.
When he takes control at the end of the 2024 season, he worries no one will show up, but they do. In droves. Because they realize he loves this place as much as they do. Finances are tight. Word spreads. And they’ve kept coming, more with every passing week, ever since.
“It’s surreal,” he says. “Some days, when I’m driving to work, I feel like a kid again.” He pauses for a moment, then continues. “But this place is bigger than any one person.” But in some ways, the story of Daniel Cuevas proves that it’s not exactly right. Some kids grow up and let their dreams melt. Daniel put his in a waffle cone and wound up saving a community landmark in the process.
Photos: Jen Banowetz
