Ice Cream

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.

It was a Pavlovian response.  Not just the salivating and the excitement, but the begging my mother for coins, the heart- pounding fear I’d miss it, then the shrieking, running out to the street to see the white truck with the painting of the ice cream bar on the side cruising slowly down the hill.

Fat chance I’d miss the Good Humor man—he had a vested interest in not being missed.  He thoroughly enjoyed selling his wares and making kids happy in our stultifyingly hot, humid summer suburbs.  But the happy memory of that children’s song’s tinkle can still make me drool, (much like a fountain’s trickle can still make me tinkle).

Mother Nature couldn’t have planned a better time to blast us with heat and humidity. After all, July is National Ice Cream Month. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan said so. He also claimed the third Sunday of July will always be National Ice Cream Day. Thank you very much, but I don’t need to wait for a specially designated month or day to enjoy ice cream. It’s one of my favorite indulgences — any day. Or, everyday! It doesn’t have to be a hot day to scoop up a big bowl of ice cream, but it is the perfect frozen treat to bring the body temperature down.

I accidentally brought home a one-pint carton of Organic Valley French Vanilla-flavored half-and-half last week. I meant to grab a carton of the plain old stuff — my husband can’t drink coffee without it. He doesn’t like added flavor — just added fat.

So, when life hands me French vanilla half-and-half, I make ice cream. Ice cream with fresh-picked, sun-kissed, sweet strawberries. Lots of creaminess from a generous dose of fat. Don’t count the calories. Just indulge, enjoy and stay cool! There’s still a lot of ice cream month left on the calendar :)

Oh, what a great mistake I made!

Start with oatmeal cookies (the homemade variety, of course), add ice cream, make sandwiches, then sit back and watch the enjoyment as happy people eat them.

Kids love ice cream sandwiches, and adults feel like kids as they eat them.

Raisins are always a great addition to oatmeal cookies, but when they are frozen, they can get hard and difficult to chew. It seems the perfect way to get their sweet flavor in an ice cream sandwich is to puree them before incorporating them into the dough.

I discovered, too, that giving raisins the puree treatment fools those who dont' care for those little dried grapes. My husband is a good example. He won't eat anything that involves raisins. I offered him one of these cookies, still warm from the oven. After he ate about three of them, he asked, "What is that flavor that I can't quite pinpoint? Dates?" (He likes dates – hates raisins). I thought it safe to share the secret with him. How could he say he didn't like them after already wolfing down three with great gusto? He gave me a sheepish little grin and grabbed another cookie.