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.
Here’s my stumbling block: I am a multi-tasker. I can’t help it. I’m not sure if I was one before I became a single mom, but I’m definitely one now. Producing that perfect, delectable treat must be intended for a more single-minded person than myself. If one cooks the custard even a second too long the result is a curdled egg mixture that is definitely never destined to become a delicious, smooth, cold, creamy, delectable anything.
Apparently we aren't the only one's obsessed with ice cream this month. While meadering around the web we found the "You Scream, I Scream, We All Scream for Frozen Desserts Roundup" on Mike's Table, that called out to all food bloggers to share their best/favorite recipes for ice, cold, creamy treats.
In Margate, New Jersey, there is an ice cream shop that time forgot. It
is called Two Cents Plain and it has little white wire chairs with red
and white striped seats, red and white wallpaper festooned with
whimsical line drawings of flappers in long necklaces and gents in
boaters, and a jar on the counter where customers can deposit tip money
for the scoopers’ college funds. It looks just the same today as it did
in 1979, when I had my fifth birthday party there. 
Each week, Levi gravitates to the fresh raspberries at our local farmers market. He insists on buying them claiming to “love them”. He eats 2 or 3 and then he is done. I pack them in his lunch box and a few stragglers end up coming home with him. I can’t toss them. So, I either eat them or throw them in a baggie and put them in the freezer.
Raspberry Swirl Ice Cream. Doesn’t that sound good? I haven’t made any ice cream this summer and it has been on my mind. Today, the kids are going to arrive home from camp to a very, very, sweet treat.
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.
