Sometimes there are things in this life that you have to eat no matter what the consequences. You have to block out the nasty knowledge you have about fat and heart disease and go back to your childhood,
where, in my case, you could find print ads with doctors endorsing
cigarettes. Holy Smokes!
The other day, my husband took me to Williams Sonoma to buy the latest model Cuisinart. That’s for another article by the way because it is a cook’s wet dream.
What we hadn’t planned on was purchasing an ice cream maker; also made by Cuisinart. The little devil was $60 and there was a cute cookbook we bought, as well. The recipes went from labor intensive, (custard based gelato), to simple, (ice creams and sorbets). Of course, my daughter Hannah and I had to attack the custard one. I rationalized that it was about time my beautiful 15 year old learn basic custard. We chose a cinnamon and brown sugar ice cream because those were pantry staples.
The whisking and the tempering and the straining all went as planned, then Hannah lost interest and went into the living room to watch Family Guy because I’m Mother of The Year. The mixture had to sit in the refrigerator for 2 hours or overnight. Like a watched pot, I took the bowl out of the fridge after two hours exactly. Hannah had moved on to Gossip Girl because I’m a saint and should be writing parenting books.
She leans in toward me, her elbows on the counter. She is tall, blonde, and very slender. She’s wearing a tight black skirt and a white blouse open one button just past modest. A maid’s apron circles her waist. She begins to speak but I raise my hand and gesture for her to wait. I am listening to the teenage girl with the long legs and short shorts standing to the blonde’s left. She is a regular but, tonight, she wants more than usual.
For most of my dad’s young
life, he lived above and worked at Felcher’s, his parents’ candy store/
neighborhood lunch counter, tucked between P and G's Bar and Grill and
Simpson's Hardware Store on Amsterdam Avenue between 73 and 74th
Streets. Christopher Morely, imagined the man of the future while
watching my dad as a tiny boy play in front of that store and
immortalized him in his novel Kitty Foyle.
When pretty pink rhubarb stalks show up at the market, you know that summer isn't far behind. Strawberries, too. Known as the pie fruit, rhubarb isn't just for pies. As one of my favorite vegetables (yes, it's a vegetable), I try to take every opportunity to make a unique dish every year when it's in season. Cobblers, crisps, compotes, and pies are all traditional. But this time I made sorbet.
I have never mastered the art of making ice cream. Hard to believe
since every cookbook I read tells me how simple it really is. I bought
a snazzy red Cuisinart ice cream maker and I even have an extra drum
sitting in my freezer so that I have the illusion that I can always whip up a batch of fresh ice cream at the drop of a hat.