It strikes me as very odd that I’ve never written about ice cream here. This is because it’s my very favorite food of all time. I won’t admit how frequently I eat ice cream each week–hopefully family members will practice restraint with their comments on this particular post. But really, ice cream makes me very happy. Growing up, Bon Boniere was our little local ice cream shop downtown. Sometimes when I’d get home from school, my mom would promise that if I was lucky, maybe my dad would feel like going out for a cone later. Then the obsessing would begin: M & M or Bubblegum? It was like my mantra as the Brady Bunch wrapped up and dinner time grew near. I’d hear my dad pull up the driveway and know that I should give him a few minutes to put down his briefcase before I bombarded him with the all-important question of the evening: can we go?
Then there were my teenage years when I ate Kristin Hook’s family out of house and home. I’d like to take this moment to apologize to Kristin’s mom: you kept buying that Rocky Road and I kept eating it all. You never said a word although I’m sure you had many to say. And then off to college where Black Jack Pizza decided it’d be a great idea to deliver pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream to hungry college kids. For free. The kicker? There was a $5 minimum so you had to order at least two pints. Thank you Black Jack Pizza for my freshman 15. You’re solely to blame.
So I’ll cut through a few years (or, er, a decade) and tell you about the last week at my place. The beautiful thing about my building is there is this little corner store right below me that is open virtually 24 hours a day. Feel like grapefruit juice first thing in the morning? No problem. Out of toilet paper? Done. Hunkering for some late night ice cream? Hassan’s got you taken care of. Now the thing about Hassan is he doesn’t let you remain anonymous as just another customer and he has a miraculous memory. He always comments on what I’m buying and asks how I liked whatever I bought the day (or week) before. Hassan has noticed that I love ice cream, he remembers what kind I buy, and he’s started ordering more of those flavors. I started to realize this very recently when I walk in and he greets me with “Oh hi, Miss. No more Mission to Marzipan tonight,” he chuckles. “I’m so sorry. But I have your Mint Oreo Cookie. I ordered extra this week!” He chuckles again and I start to think maybe, just maybe, Hassan is mocking my eating habits. Even if he’s not, it becomes clear I’m spending a bit too much time at the corner store. So I vow to give up ice cream. And that lasts about 18 hours. Then I vow to start making my own. And here we are. Hassan and I need some space. And you need this recipe.
I’ve experimented with making ice cream before, but it’s turned out more like ice milk: just a mixed up frozen combination of milk and sugar. But this is my first foray into custard-based ice cream and it was incredibly easy and turned out beautifully. I did adapt the recipe after reading some of David Lebovitz’s advice on ensuring your homemade ice cream remains soft like the store-bought kind. He encourages adding alcohol. It doesn’t take much to sell me on that one. So here we are: homemade ice cream with a little splash of vodka. You won’t taste it–but it makes for a softer consistency. You can read the rest of David’s tips here if you’d like. So I’m starting to look ahead to my next flavor already–any favorites you like to make at home?
Use any berries you’d like for this ice cream. Just make sure to cut up the pieces quite small–nothing good about big frozen, icy chunks of berries in your ice cream. Also, while I call for vodka here, you could also use kirsh or a liquor that would bring out the taste of the berries. I chose vodka because it has a neutral flavor and I always have some around the house, but play around with whatever inspires you–it’s not enough to make a big difference flavor-wise.
Adapted slightly from: Rustic Fruit Desserts
Combine the milk, 1/2 cup of the cream, and 1/3 cup of the sugar in a 3-quart sauce pan over medium-low heat and cook, stirring occasionally until just warm.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the yolks, 1/3 cup of the remaining sugar, and the salt and whisk until slightly lighter in color. Very slowly pour half of the warmed liquid into the yolk mixture, whisking continuously. Next, pour the yolk mixture back into the saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until it thickens and coats the back of a spoon. Do not allow for it to get hot enough to boil. Heat slowly and watch for thickening.
Once thickened, take saucepan off of heat source. Set a bowl over an ice bath, then strain the custard through a fine-mesh sieve set over the bowl. Stir in remaining 1/2 cup cream and the vanilla and continue stirring until cool. Cover and chill in refrigerator 1.5 – 2 hours. Add remaining 1/3 cup sugar to chopped berries and put in the refrigerator in separate little bowl.
Once the custard has chilled, stir in the berries and vodka and freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. Place the churned ice cream in a dry plastic container and cover with plastic wrap directly on top of the ice cream. Chill for at least 2 hours or until set up.
Storage: Stored in an airtight container in the freezer, the ice cream will be good for two weeks.
The Thanksgiving Table
Today is a different kind of day. Usually posts on this blog come about with the narrative and I manage to squeeze in a recipe. But sometimes when you really stumble upon a winning recipe, it speaks for itself. We'll likely make these beans for Thanksgiving this year. They're one of those simple stunners that you initially think couldn't be much of a thing. And then they come out of the oven all sweet and withered and flecked with herbs. You try one and you realize they are, in fact, a pretty big thing.
I always force myself to wait until after Halloween to start thinking much about holiday pies or, really, future holidays in general. But this year I cheated a bit, tempted heavily by the lure of a warmly-spiced sweet potato pie that I used to make back when I baked pies for a living in the Bay Area (way back when). We seem to always have sweet potatoes around as they're one of Oliver's favorite foods, and when I roast them for his lunch I've been wishing I could turn them into a silky pie instead. So the other day I reserved part of the sweet potatoes for me. For a pie that I've made hundreds of times in the past, this time reimagined with fragrant brown butter, sweetened solely with maple syrup, and baked into a flaky kamut crust. We haven't started talking about the Thanksgiving menu yet this year, but I know one thing for sure: this sweet potato pie will make an appearance.
It has begun. Talk of who is bringing what, where we'll buy the turkey, what kind of pies I'll make, early morning texts concerning brussels sprouts. There's no getting around it: Thanksgiving is on its way. And with it comes the inevitable reflecting back and thinking about what we're thankful for. And about traditions. The funny thing about traditions is that they exist because they've been around for a long time. Year after year after year. But then, one Thanksgiving maybe there's something new at the table.
I didn't expect green beans to bring up such a great discussion on traditions, sharing of poems and how a piece of writing can linger with you. So thank you for that. Your comments pointed out how important people and place are and how food takes the back seat when it comes right down to it. Even if you feel quite warm towards Thanksgiving and are looking forward to next week, reading about recipe suggestions and meal planning online and in magazines can start to feel tiresome right about now. Why? Because I suppose when it all comes down to it, in the big picture it doesn't matter what we all serve anyway. Next year, you likely won't remember one year's vegetable side dish from another. What you'll remember are the markers that dotted the year for you: whom you sat next to at the table, a toast or grace, and the sense of gratitude you felt for something -- large or small.
I got a text from my mom the other day that read: demerara sugar? I responded back with a question mark, not sure what she was referencing. It turns out she was experimenting with a new pie recipe that called for the natural sugar and wasn't sure why she couldn't just use white sugar as that's what she's always done in the past. A few days later we talked on the phone and she mentioned she'd let me take charge of the salad for Thanksgiving this year as long as there was no kale. No kale! And I wanted to do the mashed potatoes? Would they still be made with butter and milk? In short, we're always willing to mix things up in the Gordon household. Whether it's inspiration from a food magazine, friend or coworker, either my mom or one of my sisters will often have an idea for something new to try at the holiday table. But what I've slowly learned is that it can't really be that different: there must be pumpkin pie, the can of cranberry sauce is necessary even though not many people actually eat it, the onion casserole is non-negotiable, the salad can't be too out there, and the potatoes must be made with ample butter and milk. And while I was really scheming up an epic kale salad to make this year, there's a big part of me that gets it, too: if we change things too much we won't recognize the part of the day that comes to mean so much: the pure recognition. We take comfort in traditions because we recognize them -- because they're always there, year after year. And so today I present to you (mom, are you reading?): this year's Gordon family Thanksgiving salad.