When I was a kid, ice cream was synonymous with summer. I had a trained ear and could pick out the perky chimes of the ice cream truck from miles away. Ice cream is a cool, satisfying summer treat, but a scoop a day can keep the bikini away.
Most people don't know that one pint of many commercial ice creams contains more fat than you should eat in a whole day. That doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy this calcium-rich treat. Making your own is immensely satisfying, and without having to worry about loading up on fat and calories while avoiding crazy preservatives that no one can pronounce.
Get Jennifer's Vanilla Bean Ice Cream recipe after the jump.
A simplistic approach to ice cream. Photo: Sir Mildred Pierce
It's National Ice Cream month, and who -- the lactose-intolerant aside -- doesn't like ice cream?
Well, Southerners. America's favorite dessert is still a third-tier treat below the Mason-Dixon line, where cakes and puddings have a firm hold on the region's collective sweet tooth. Even in the most sweltering of Southern summers, New Englanders out-gorge their Southern neighbors. (Heck, New Englanders hang onto their ice cream eating edge straight through the winter, when their freezers are sometimes warmer than the air outside.)
Nobody's quite sure why Southerners never took to ice cream, although North Carolina food writer Sheri Castle confirms the phenomenon: "It's just not a big thing," she says. She suspects the relative paucity of milk cows might have contributed to ice cream's historical absence from the local food scene.
But a few serious ice cream makers are bent on tweaking the Southern tradition. Shops such as Ultimate Ice Cream in Asheville, N.C., and Morelli's in Atlanta are now providing a gentle -- and delicious -- introduction to the genre.
This cloudy drift of buttermilk ice cream, made and photographed by Molly Watson of the Dinner Files, looks less like dessert than something out of a lactose-fueled dream. While it was undoubtedly delicious, it's so serene and ethereal that eating it seems almost sacrilegious.
National Ice Cream month starts today, however, and its devotees -- and really, anyone -- will have difficulty resisting a treat that looks this luminous and fresh. Indeed, the notion of spooning it straight from that frozen metal bowl is enough to inspire dreams of its own.
Gabrielle Carbone, co-owner of the Bent Spoon Photo: Eating in Translation/Flickr
Since Gabrielle Carbone and Matthew Errico opened the doors of Princeton, N.J.'s The Bent Spoon in 2004, their ice cream shop has become synonymous with high-quality, imaginatively flavored ice cream, winning over countless customers with flavors like cardamom-ginger, dark chocolate habanero and mint julep. Called one of the Top Nine Ice Cream Places in America, it's one of a growing number of ice cream shops that have shaken off the shackles of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry to bring frozen dairy into the brave new world of small-batch, artisanal production and top-shelf organic and seasonal ingredients.
As we're entering the height of ice cream season (though true aficionados would argue that ice cream has no season), and with National Ice Cream Month around the bend, we turned to Carbone for a primer in All Things Ice Cream.
What makes good ice cream? Oh man. You know, it kind of boils down to good ingredients. You can make good ice cream hands down if your dairy and eggs are good. The organic yolks we use are bright orange and creamy, and our dairy is hormone-free. It's great if the recipes are good, but if you start with good ingredients, you end up with good stuff.
Oyster ice cream, bourbon-vanilla ice cream swirled with sea salt and Dolly Madison, after the jump.
Local, organic, artisanal ice cream is great, but sometimes it's a Styrofoam cup filled with vanilla soft serve and topped with chunks and crumbs of a desecrated candy bar that really, truly answers the primal scream for ice cream.
That's why this portrait of a Snickers Sonic Blast, taken by Blondie of Blondie & Brownie, is so diabolically delightful. You can almost feel the cold, creamy rivulets running down your throat, and taste the sugary burn of caramel and chocolate on the back of your tongue.
The Blast's consumption undoubtedly results in a swift and unforgiving sugar coma, but what a fantastic way to surf the waves of the glycemic index.
The Jewish holiday of Shavuot begins tonight at sundown. The two-day celebration commemorates God's gift of the Torah to the Jewish people. Like most Jewish holidays, Shavuot comes with a food tie-in, and this one is dairy desserts, such as the shapely cheese blintz pictured above.
Why dairy desserts? While a dairy farmer may ask "why not?", the answer lies, yet again, in the Torah: its pages contain the Kosher dietary laws, which forbid the mixing of milk and meat. So when the Jews got the Torah, they also got the news that they could no longer cook meat in their pots. Which is, when you think about it, a great excuse to make cheesecake (even if, as one rabbi likes to remind his congregants, "Shavuot is not just about cheesecake!").
Or panna cotta. Or crème brulée. Or ice cream. Or -- well, you get the picture.
Pressed onto a baguette, crumbled over salads, or eaten straight, we can't get enough of goat cheese in springtime.
This year, voluptuaries and gastronomes seeking a decadently rich and creamy goat's milk cheese will go wild for Rainbeau Ridge Farm's Mont Vivant. Unlike other mold-ripened goat's milk cheeses (like Selles sur Cher or Valençay), this offering from Bedford Hills, NY has an exquisite bloomy rind (unusual in goat's milk cheeses) that seems to impart a more complex and cakey texture, as if it were a cross between Valençay and Brie.
They're cheesy, cheap and classic. What are talking about? Casseroles, of course! In this brand-new series food writer and blogger Emily Farris, author of "Casserole Crazy: Hot Stuff for Your Oven" crafts tasty new casseroles exclusively for Slashfood readers. Green Eggs and Ham is her premier dish -- just in time for Easter.
As a kid, I never understood why Easter dinner was called "dinner" if it happened at noon. Luckily, one of the great things about being an adult is that we can make our own rules and name our own meals. And because I still can't bring myself to call a meal that happens that early "dinner," this year I'm hosting Easter brunch.
Am I making a 10-pound ham and scrambling three-dozen eggs while my guests drink free-flowing mimosas? Nope, this thing is happening potluck style. Like most people I know, I can't afford to host lavish brunches (not to mention dinners!), but wanted my meal to incorporate the different elements of Easter and, well, be a little brunch-y. So green eggs and ham it was, with eggs, ham, spinach, biscuits and my favorite thing in the world: cheese.
After a bit of experimentation, I wound up with a sort-of upside-down quiche with a biscuit crust, and who wouldn't go crazy for that? Although it'd be a wonderful meal for Easter brunch or supper, it's also a great way to use up that leftover Easter ham. Regardless, it's the sort of thing that would make Dr. Seuss -- or the Easter Bunny -- proud.
Margaritas are lovely, yes, but sometimes the liver needs a break. And Mexico, of course, is no one-trick culinary pony. In fact, while ambling through the famously taco- and torta-laden neighborhood of Sunset Park, Brooklyn, last weekend, a compadre proselytized wildly about a maple-walnut popsicle right before running into traffic to lead us to the deli where it lived.
Traditionally no friend to the walnut unless it is candied, we were inclined to pass. Then we noticed that in this popsicle, walnuts were a minor player relegated to the stick end of the treat. We politely accepted a small bite. And then another.
And then we turned on our heel and ran back to the deli to rummage frantically through the cooler gleaming on the sidewalk: mango-lime, pistachio, egg nog. Egg nog?! Walnut! Where was it? Pops flew everywhere as, like a dog frantically chasing a mole burrowing underground, we went shoulder-deep into the icy cooler. Thank the stars, a lone, innocuous "nuez" pop remained.
Looking at this makes us want to dive headfirst into a vat of thick, luxurious ice cream and spend the entire summer there.
The idea of ice cream on its own is refreshing enough, but the idea of ginger ice cream -- presented here by the lovely duo behind Rec(ession)ipes -- is a particularly palate-cleansing one. Ginger, a digestive aid, has been soothing stomachs and clearing sinuses for centuries. It's the perfect foil for the rich, heavy cream and eggs called for in most ice cream recipes. Texture-wise, too, it makes a happy bedfellow: biting down on a chunk of candied ginger is a curiously satisfying experience, like finding the prize in a box of Cracker Jacks. Altogether, the idea of ginger ice cream leaves us so ferklempt that we call upon poet Wallace Stevens to find the words that we cannot: "The only emperor," he once wrote, "is the emperor of ice cream."
We admit it. After last week we're kinda sick of ham and reached our saturation point with our delicious but waaayyy too plentiful braided baked challah. Still, being loath to toss out any viable leftovers, we decided this weekend's cooking projects should be all about respite and reformatting.
Hence, a Friday night meal of hard-fried leftover Cheerwine ham with freshly-grated parmesan, egg and black pepper over radiatore (crinkly-shaped) pasta for a makeshift carbonara, and finally (for the sake of our sanity and marriage) a furlough in another part of the barnyard. Saturday night's chicken rubbed all over with a lazy pesto -- basil, garlic, lemon juice and olive oil whirred through the food processor -- was delectable straight from the oven. Somehow it was even more satisfying with the leftovers, bones and giblets cooked down for an herbed-up chicken soup with radiatore a day later.
We trotted back to the pig pen with smoked ribs slathered in mustard on Sunday, but that was just to keep us from making an all-day gobblefest of our challah bread pudding buttermilk ice cream. See, our challah recipe (we like Flickr user mollyali's recipe, pictured above) yields two big braids, and though we foist some on friends and flip up plenty of French toast throughout the week, inevitably a portion goes stale, and we were taught not to waste. Bread pudding seemed a simple solution, but we'd had a cup or ten of caffeine by that point and an awful lot of buttermilk on hand from the ongoing Biscuit Mission. So we got to cranking up some ice cream.
Get the recipe after the jump and use the comments to let us know if ramps are up yet where you are, whether you busted out the grill, or tell us whatever else you rustled up this weekend.
Hoja Santa cheese looks as though it's been gift-wrapped by Mother Nature.
Pronounced OH-ha SAHN-tah, the goat's milk cheese is aged in the minty leaves of a Texan plant called hoja santa ("sacred leaves," in Spanish). It's a gift for the palate, too (unlike some cheeses wrapped in chestnut, grape or fig leaves) -- not too funky, with a clean finish reminiscent of sassafras, eucalyptus and lingering mint.
A relatively recent discovery in fromage terms, this cheese arrived on the scene courtesy of Texan Paula Lambert, a self-proclaimed "urban cheesemaker" who has been crafting it since the early 1980s. After seeing hoja santa used to wrap salmon at a local restaurants she had a "Eureka!" moment a few years later while pondering the French banon, which is covered with chestnut leaves. Wishing to create a Texan incarnation, she found herself stumped for greenery: "I wanted to use something local," she recalls, "and had a hoja santa plant in my garden. Then I remembered [those] fish dishes and voila!"
This mix of cakey, creamy goat's milk cheese and mint is a truly unique gastronomic experience. If the typically strong flavors of wrapped French cheeses are a bit much for you, give it a try. Purchase it directly from Lambert's Mozzarella Company online for $21 per pound or in specialty food shops where available.
Have you tried hoja santa or other wrapped cheeses? Got a favorite?
This photo makes us want to skip on down to Johnny Rocket's, pop the Shirelles on the stereo and sip milkshakes two-straws-to-a-glass -- all before 10am.
But of course what looks to be a simple burger and mac combo platter with a sweet side of Moxie is actually a duck-pork patty slathered with seven-pickle relish accompanied by a gorgonzola and cheddar mac 'n cheese. We're pretty sure that's not what the Fonz was noshing on back in the day. Gotta love that fresh strawberry shake served up in a laboratory glass, too. Click over to the snapshot to learn what those lunchboxes have printed on 'em, part of the cutesy theme at Seattle's Lunchbox Laboratory.
If you're not in our Flickr pool yet it's time to jump in, start tagging photos "slashfood" and show off your skills already. And tell us if this pic makes you get a burger for lunch.
Though we've been covering goat's milk cheeses for the past couple of weeks, today I'd like to concentrate on an American blue raw cow's milk cheese from northern Vermont called Boucher Blue.
This sweet and creamy fromage has an earthy flavor reminiscent of the famous French Fourme d'Ambert. What sets it slightly apart is a unique taste of chestnuts and vanilla and a long finish on the palate. While Boucher Blue is certainly tasty eaten plain, it would also make a great addition to a fresh spring salad, such as one with watercress, prosciutto and hazelnuts.
Boucher Blue is handmade by brothers Daniel and Denis of the renowned Québecois Boucher family, whose 1,000 acre farm boasts 120 Holstein and French Normandy cows. The brothers have deep roots in the region: Their family has been cultivating land for nearly 400 years. Long ago they tilled the land by the Lake Champlain and St. Lawrence River valleys in what was once New France (now Quebec). Their ancestor Pierre Boucher was celebrated after the French and Indian War for making peace with the Iroquois.
While this goat's milk cheese looks identical to the famous Loire valley Valencay, Mekkerbeck is a unique farmhouse goat's milk cheese handmade in Westmalle in Northern Belgium by Paul D'Haene and his wife, Veerle Minsaer. This larger format Valencay has an outstanding bright flavor that is hard to find in many of the industrialized Valencay imported from France.
You'll automatically smell the exquisite herbal and floral notes that emanate from the paste. While tasting Mekkerbeck, the thin skin of ashed rind slowly dissolves into the luscious creamy texture of this pristine white goat's-milk cheese. Both the succulent texture and complex finish produce an unforgettable and exhilarating gastronomic experience.
Mekkerbeck tastes even more exquisite during the springtime when the 200 goats are grazing on natural pasture. In a country dominated by washed-rind cow's-milk cheeses, D'Haene's passion for producing some of the finest goat's milk cheeses is truly unique. For 30 years, the couple has been perfecting their craft.
To taste this one-of-a-kind goat's milk cheese, head to Formaggio Kitchen in Cambridge, Mass., or to Formaggio Essex in New York. Formaggio is the sole purveyor of Mekkerbeck in the U.S. One piece sells for about $19. It's worth it.
We can change the way we make eggs -- scrambled, poached, fried -- but what about changing the eggs themselves? Mix up your scrambling routine with quail eggs.
Though we've been covering goat's milk cheeses for the past couple of weeks, today I'd like to concentrate on an American blue raw cow's milk cheese from northern Vermont called Boucher Blue.
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