I had forgotten — not in the intellectual sense but in the visceral. What I had forgotten was the sheer childish joy of shave ice — the superfine freezing crystals hitting the heat of the tongue and dissolving in an instant, the architectural challenge of digging for beans at the bottom of the cone without losing the stuff at the top, the race to finish before the sun melts the whole.

I remembered recently in a most delightful way when, having driven by it umpty-dozen times on my way to a nearby grocery store, I finally stopped at Shimazu Store on School Street. I joined the line that's always spilling out onto the sidewalk in the afternoons, and ordered a passion fruit with azuki beans and condensed milk.

Even a "small" ($2, plus 50 cents per "extra") dwarfed my hand. I began that cautious juggling dance that flooded back to me like the body memory of riding a bicycle. Clutch paper cone gently but firmly in nondominant hand, insert miniature wooden spatula with other hand, scoop gingerly from the top so as not to undermine the sides, stick out chin to avoid drips on bodice, slurp up Day-glo ice ... ahh!

When I was a girl on Maui a half-century ago, there was only shave ice — in perhaps three flavors — and beans. (Actually, we didn't even identify the choices as flavors, but more as colors — red, yellow, orange or rainbow. The flavors weren't — and aren't — true to the fruit in any case.)

There wasn't even ice cream, let alone 56 flavors (the number offered by Shimazu) or the buffet of sides you find at today's shave- ice stands. At Shimazu, "extras" includes azuki beans, ice cream, sweetened condensed milk, creamy haupia sauce, li hing powder, mochi balls and whatever else owner Kelvin Shimazu comes up with. And you can even buy a T-shirt to commemorate your choices.

I don't remember my first taste of shave ice; it was probably at the old Maui County Fair. But Shimazu remembers his. He was about 5 and the family was visiting the Honolulu Zoo. Something about that experience sunk deep into his psyche. He spent an entire career as a food distributor wishing he could be a shave-ice maker instead. Nine years ago, he opened his first shave-ice stand, which he operated for three years in Mililani. But it wasn't the right place or time.

Two years ago this month, he moved into a location tailor-made for the kind of business he wanted. It was the one-time B&S (for Betsy and Seiko Higa) grocery store at 3308 School St., between Nu'uanu Avenue and Liliha Street at Frog Lane. And the story of how the store came to him is as chicken skin as that first bite of shave ice on a blazing day.

The Higas, who had been selling groceries and snacks in this tiny two-room space since 1950, wanted to retire. But they didn't want to turn their property over to just anyone. They interviewed many applicants, but none seemed right. Finally, they went to their ice supplier and asked if he knew of anyone who was looking to open a shave-ice stand. He did.

Shimazu recalls that the Higas grilled him about esoteric shave-ice issues. There is a definite technique and mystique to making shave ice, and the Higas knew all the tricks. But so did Shimazu, apparently.

"Every question they asked, I answered. I had thought about it all before. I told them, 'I promise you I won't let you down.' " The Higas posted a nice note to their customers, urging them to patronize Shimazu's shave ice and snack shop (he's known for fresh-made popcorn and halo halo in addition to shave ice) and went into retirement, though they can be seen about the place now and again.

Shimazu has developed his own flavor formulas. He makes his own mochi balls (which taste so much like our old favorite rice candy, Tomoe Ame, that I was back on the playground trading treats in my mind as I savored it). He's working on fruit-based drizzles — guava and passion fruit — to add to the mix. Despite this, the shop is relatively unknown. "I'm the nobody guy," Shimazu said cheerfully.

"Everybody has their own technique," he said while his hands automatically patted, packed and shaped fresh-shaved ice into a gigantic mound for the signature "Larry," a head-size shave ice with the works named for one of their customers ($3). "Everybody has their own theories on ice. Everybody's shave ice is good. It just depends on what you like."

Shimazu, who operates the business with his 22-year-old son Kendall, couldn't be happier. "I always said someday I'm going to do this. So, actually, I'm living my dream."

OTHER SHAVE-ICE SPOTS