Tag Archives: Ice cream

Grapefruit ice, brown sugar shortbread and the surprising benefits of staleness

Grapefruit Ice and Brown Sugar Shortbread

Sometime we may speak at length about Bill Neal, as his recipes are consulted frequently when Gourmandistan needs to go Southern. But for now, we will speak of staleness.

Steve loves fruit, and stubbornly tries to stay organic and somewhat local even in winter. (This does, however, require a somewhat strained definition that includes the entire southern US.) So we take in a lot of citrus, which Michelle will only eat if all traces of pith and membrane have been removed—which, as it turns out, is one of the requirements for Ruby Red Grapefruit Ice. Steve, less prissy about pith, left the sorbet assembly to Michelle, but deigned to watch over the ice cream maker as the pink brew became firmer. We let it harden a bit more in our freezer, and found the ice to be both sweet and sassy, with blobs of bitter frozen grapefruit battling honey over our tastebuds.

In Biscuits, Spoonbread and Sweet Potato Pie, Neal wrote that the ice makes a pleasantly “surprising combination” with his chocolate-glazed Brown Sugar Shortbread.  Neal said “[t]his is short’nin’ bread,” and it may indeed be the baked good referred to in the old-timey tune (humorously riffed by Elmer and Bugs here). Neal also counseled that the sweet should “age a day stored airtight before serving,” but Michelle couldn’t conceive of anyone waiting 24 hours to eat something they had baked. We gave it a go once cooled, and found it to be much like a too-cakey cookie. Michelle despaired she may have wasted quite a bit of good butter, and glumly left the wedges waiting under glass. The next night they were indeed better—the extra moisture having disappeared, leaving a shorter, tastier cake. (The effect actually lasted for another day or two, though only Steve can vouch for this, as the food passed through Michelle’s idiosyncratic inedibility window.)

Brown Sugar Shortbread

The days are still short and dreary. The holidays are over, and we’re back to grinding out a living like just about everyone else on the planet. But while we wait for spring, we find a bit of comfort in the idea that sometimes staleness can actually lead to something tasty.

RUBY RED GRAPEFRUIT ICE

(adapted from Bill Neal’s Biscuits, Spoonbread and Sweet Potato Pie) (makes 3-4 cups)

2 large or 3-4 small red grapefruits
1/2 c. honey
1/3 c. sugar
1/2 c. water
 

Section citrus as described here and place in a blender.  Squeeze the juice from the fruit into the blender as well.  You need 2 heaping cups of fruit and juice.

Add remaining ingredients.  Blend quickly in short bursts. You want to break the fruit up, but not liquify it.

Let sit for 10 minutes or so, until bubbles subside. Then freeze in an ice cream maker.

BROWN SUGAR SHORTBREAD

(adapted from Bill Neal’s Biscuits, Spoonbread and Sweet Potato Pie) (makes 16 wedges)

1 c. (2 sticks) butter
1 c. light brown sugar
2 c. flour
Pinch of salt
Chocolate glaze (optional) (recipe below)
16 whole pecans, toasted (optional)
 

Beat butter in bowl of electric mixer until light. Add brown sugar and cream well, until sugar is no longer grainy.  Add flour and salt a bit at a time, making sure not to overbeat. As soon as flour is incorporated (dough will be dry), put in a 9″ springform pan. Spread evenly with your fingers, then push down with something flat like the bottom of a measuring cup. Prick dough all over with a fork.

Bake in a 325° oven for 35-40 minutes, until slightly browned.

Let cool for a few minutes on a cooling rack, then remove sides of pan.  While still warm, cut the shortbread into 16 thin wedges.

When cool, drizzle chocolate glaze over, using a plastic sandwich bag with a small hole cut out of the corner. Push a pecan half into the glaze on each slice.

Allow the shortbread to age for a day in an airtight container before eating.

CHOCOLATE GLAZE:

2 oz. bittersweet chocolate
1-1/2 TB butter
1 t. strong coffee
2 TB sieved confectioners’ sugar
Pinch of salt
 

Combine all ingredients in a small pan.  Stir over very low heat until chocolate and butter are melted and glaze is smooth.

 

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Calvados overdose: Calvados Ice Cream with Apple Calvados Compote (now with bonus Calvados!)

Those Norman French sure love their apple brandy. A sidebar next to this recipe in Susan Herrmann Loomis’ French Farmhouse Cookbook lists seven rounds of Calvados served at the end of old-school Norman meals, including the coup de pied au cul or “kick in the ass.” Gourmandistan’s recent relocation to Normandy saw us imbibe several shots throughout many meals, some as apéritifs and some in desserts, but never seven in one sitting. (Steve would not have fared well, as Steve is not one to “party,” as his heavier drinking friends like to put it.)

We had a beautiful vacation.  Thank you for asking.

Our house in Écots in Basse-Normandie had apple trees all round it, as well as several nearby cider and Calvados makers.

We had a wonderful month in Normandy, though we quickly recalled from a stay six years ago that the region’s holy fromages trio of Cambembert, Livarot and Pont L’Evêque does not include our favorites. (Norman cheeses are too bland and bouncy. We prefer a nice firm Laguiole or a runny Époisses.)

Despite the cheese issue, we made several dishes with local Calvados and cider, as well as an apple compote, during our stay.  Though while our small rental kitchen was more than serviceable, it was no place to make ice cream.

When we returned to the States, apple season was in full swing and for a time still featuring Steve’s beloved GoldRush variety. We wanted to make a dish celebrating our successful vacation and, since we were back with our ice cream maker, settled on a somewhat typically complicated Gourmandistan solution: Calvados Ice Cream with Apple Calvados Compote.

Michelle added even more Calvados to the custard than the recipe called for, causing her to fear it wouldn’t freeze. She also worried the firm-fleshed GoldRush apples wouldn’t cook down into compote. (Michelle, you may have noticed, worries a lot in the kitchen.) Neither nightmare happened, of course—the ice cream was delicious and dazzlingly liquorish, tasting of eggnog and boiled custard without the holiday horrors of cinnamon and nutmeg. The compote was syrupy and satisfying with just a little tickle of tartness. We also opted for the optional Calvados topping, which can be tricky. Michelle got quite a cough-laden surprise at one serving when she slurped up a spoonful of virtually straight liquor, leading Steve to observe that she obviously wasn’t ready to “party.” It might simply be that our Kentucky bottle of Calvados is of much better quality than the bargain-bin bottle we bought at the St. Pierre-sur-Dives SuperCasino, but we thought this was the best home dessert we’ve made in quite a while.

You might try this without the extra Calvados. Or, you might rather skip the ice cream and compote and inquire about the seven rounds. That’s up to you, but we know which way we’re choosing to party.

CALVADOS ICE CREAM

(adapted from Susan Herrmann Loomis’ French Farmhouse Cookbook) (6 servings)

1/3 c. Calvados
2/3 c. sugar + 1 TB
2 c. whole milk
1-1/2 c. heavy cream
6 egg yolks
1/2 t. vanilla extract
 

Stir 1 TB sugar into Calvados and set aside for several hours.  Stir occasionally to blend.

Heat milk and cream in a saucepan over medium heat until scalded (i.e., bubbles are starting to form in the corners of the pan).

Whisk egg yolks and 2/3 c. sugar until blended, by hand or in a mixer.  Pour a bit of the scalded milk/cream into the egg/sugar mixture to temper.  Add the remainder of the milk/cream, a little at a time, beating all the while.  When mixed, pour back into the saucepan.

Cook the custard over low to medium heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until slightly thickened.

Remove from heat.  When cooled slightly, add Calvados/sugar mixture and vanilla. Pour custard into a bowl and refrigerate until cold, preferably overnight.

Freeze custard according to the instructions of your ice cream maker.

APPLE CALVADOS COMPOTE

(adapted from Susan Herrmann Loomis’ French Farmhouse Cookbook) (6 servings)

1 TB butter
2 lbs. firm, tart apples, peeled, cored and cut into 3/4″  squares
1/2 c. sugar
1/4 c. Calvados
1 t. vanilla extract
 

Melt butter in a medium saucepan or skillet over medium heat.  Add apples and sugar.  Cook, stirring frequently, until apples have caramelized slightly.  This will take at least 15 minutes, likely more.  Reduce heat a bit.  Add Calvados and vanilla and cook until liquid has mostly been absorbed by the apples.  Set aside to cool.

*****

To serve:  Spoon some of the compote into the bottom of a small bowl.  Add a couple of scoops of ice cream.  Drizzle with a bit of Calvados.

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A parching, painterly interruption leads to Peach Ice Cream Pie

Horrifying heat is not good for ice cream. Neither, it seems, is it good for house painters. After weeks of weather-related delay, our house and kitchen were freshly painted and finally freed from painters. The outside, in its lovely new creamy white color, was baptized by a couple of non-drought-relieving nickel-sized hailstorms (thanks again, global weirding!). After restoring the cookbooks, WWII posters and various tchotchkes to our kitchen we were ready to once again bespatter its freshly painted walls with all manner of foodstuffs.

One of our first overly-involved efforts was this Peach Ice Cream Pie, based on a Bon Appetit recipe calling for store-bought peach ice cream. Michelle eschewed the easy route, hand-making this Camille Glenn version instead with some of our fresh local peaches. Assembly included spraying the kitchen with fragments of pit, since the recipe calls for the almond-flavored (and cyanide-containing) peach kernels. Making caramel (which, despite two tries, never got as dark as it should have) messed up our stove area nicely, too.

Making our favorite rabbit recipe, this time with some of Steve’s guanciale instead of prosciutto, added another layer of spots to the walls, as have several marathon sink-clearing sessions. Soon, possibly before our local peaches disappear, it will be as if the painters were never here. Oh well, at least the ceiling’s clean—at least, until the next blender explosion or something.

SUMMERTIME PEACH ICE CREAM

(adapted from Camille Glenn’s The Fine Art of Delectable Desserts) (makes just over 1/2 gallon)

1/4 c. + 1 c. heavy cream, divided
1 c. milk
1/3 c.  + 1/3 c. sugar, divided
2 egg yolks
4-6 ripe peaches (enough to make 2 c. purée)
1/2 TB. lemon juice
pinch of salt
 

Scald 1/4 c. cream and milk, but don’t boil.  Add 1/3 c. sugar to the egg yolks, and mix thoroughly with a whisk. When scalded milk is ready, slowly add it to the egg/sugar mixture while beating. Return mixture to saucepan. Cook, stirring until custard just begins to thicken — enough to lightly coat back of a wooden spoon. You are just cooking the egg yolks, not making a thick custard. Remove custard from heat and pour into a jar or bowl. Refrigerate until cold. This can be done a day or so ahead.

Peel peaches. (It is easiest to do so if they have been immersed in boiling water.) Remove and reserve pits. Purée peaches in a food processor with lemon juice, leaving no large lumps. Crack peach pits using nutcracker or hammer and remove kernels inside. Mash kernels and add to peach purée, along with remaining 1/3 c. sugar and salt.  Mix well, cover tightly and refrigerate.

Mix cold custard with remaining 1 c. cream and freeze according to ice cream maker’s instructions, until it turns to soft ice cream. Stop turning, add peaches and continue freezing to proper consistency.

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The solution: Strawberry Ice Cream

The problem? A large quantity of soggy, slightly discolored strawberries. We were so excited at the arrival of fresh fruit season that we ordered up several gallons. Unfortunately, between our order and the pickup, there were heavy rains. Rain makes mushy berries, and hard rain gives them bruises.  The berries were so beat up even Steve didn’t want to eat them out of hand—and Steve has (in Michelle’s eyes, at the very least) an amazingly high tolerance for damaged fruit.  After a jam-making marathon, it still looked as if the chickens were going to have a feast. But then Michelle found this recipe for strawberry ice cream in the 1994 cookbook, Mark Peel & Nancy Silverton at Home: Two Chefs Cook for Family & Friends.  In a bit of synchronicity, this no-egg recipe gave us a chance to see if we shared an opinion we heard on Martha Stewart Living Radio (Michelle would like to thank the nice folks at Sirius/XM satellite radio for bringing her hours of drive-time domesticity): that eggless ice cream, which is all the rage these days, has more fruit flavor than custard-based varieties.

Unlike what one hears on other channels of satellite talk radio (*Ahem* PATRIOT NETWORK *Ahem*), this bit of information turned out to indeed be true. The ice cream was rich and delicious, and much more berry-forward than anything we’ve ever seen out of our ice cream machine. Next time, Steve wants to add some strawberry pieces to the mix before freezing. Though unfortunately for ice cream, the weather has started to improve—meaning more perfect berries that will not be safe from Steve’s depredations.

These are a lot prettier than the ones we made the ice cream with.

STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM

(adapted from Mark Peel & Nancy Silverton at Home) (makes about 1-1/2 quarts)

1-1/2 c. milk
1/2 c. heavy cream
2 TB +  1 c. sugar
2-1/2 TB light corn syrup
4 c. ripe strawberries, stemmed
3 TB lemon juice
 

Stirring occasionally, simmer the milk, cream, 2 tablespoons of sugar and 1-1/2 teaspoons of corn syrup in a 2-quart saucepan over medium-high heat for 20 to 25 minutes. Adjust heat as needed to make sure the mixture doesn’t turn color. When the mixture coats a spoon, remove it from the heat.

Purée the berries in a blender. Stir in the remaining 2 tablespoons of corn syrup and the lemon juice. Add the remaining cup of sugar (or less to taste).

Add the cooled cream mixture to the berries, and quickly blend. Refrigerate until completely cooled (overnight is okay).  Then pour the mix into your ice cream maker and freeze.

Check out these recipes from the archives:

Meringues with vanilla ice cream and strawberries
 
Strawberries with balsamic vinegar and crème fraîche
 
Single-serving strawberry tarts
 
Strawberry shortcake
 
 
 
 
 
 

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Honey-Rosemary-Ginger Ice Cream with Peaches

While we enjoy rosemary and ginger, we really never considered using them together—and especially not in ice cream. But while pining for something dessert-ish, Michelle found this recipe in Patricia Wells’ The Paris Cookbook and decided to give it a go. She was a little dubious even as she steeped the ginger and rosemary custard, but started to be convinced by its savory aroma.

The recipe comes from Alain Dutournier’s Carré des Feuillants, a wonderful restaurant we visited with Michelle’s mom during a 2002 trip to Paris.  Dutournier pairs the savory ice cream with pears poached in honey and Beaumes de Venise (a sweet Muscat-based wine from the Rhone Valley).  Pears were not yet in season here in Kentucky, but we had a surfeit of peaches and figured their spicy sweetness would make a good substitute.

We also had, as always, an abundance of eggs, so we made the ice cream a little richer than the original recipe with the addition of some yolks.

After an overnight chill it was time for Steve to plug in our ice cream maker and stand watch while Michelle browned sliced peaches in butter and brown sugar. We were very pleased with the results. The rich ice cream’s spicy ginger and piney rosemary flavors played wonderfully off one another and brought out the spicy-sweet notes of the peaches.

HONEY-ROSEMARY-GINGER ICE CREAM

(adapted from Patricia Wells’ The Paris Cookbook)

2 c. heavy cream
1 c. whole milk
1/2 c. mild honey
thumb-sized knob of fresh ginger, peeled
7-8 branches of rosemary
3 egg yolks, whisked together in small bowl

Combine cream, milk, honey, ginger and rosemary in a large saucepan.  Heat over medium flame until tiny bubbles form around the edges of the pan.  Add a little warmed cream to the egg yolks and stir to temper.  Add the yolks to the cream mixture, whisking for a minute or so.  Remove from heat, cover and let steep for approximately an hour.

Strain cream mixture through a fine sieve.  Discard ginger and rosemary.  Refrigerate overnight.  Transfer to an ice cream maker and freeze.

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