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).
A few weeks back, Patricia and I made this angel food cake which was delicious. It also left me with 9 egg yolks. 9 I say! I gave Eli the choice of what to do with the yolks; pot de creme, lemon curd, custard, ice cream. He, of course, chose the ice cream. He and I sifted through David’s book, The Perfect Scoop and it was a toss up between two flavors. I have made a lot of David’s ice creams and I really didn’t want to repeat a recipe. The Butterscotch Pecan got the final vote. And I am so glad it did.
“Brooklyn” is my drop dead cute, young hair colorist at Frederick Fekkai! What do we have in common other than the color of my roots, you ask? Food! We both love to cook. This morning I was mouthing off about my newest secret food sin – Hagen Das Dulce de Leche Frozen Yogurt with Maldon Salt flakes sprinkled on top….
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.