July 28, 2008

• …we all scream for ice cream!

  And in our family, it’s the homemade variety for which everyone screams the loudest. But “scream” is too harsh a word to apply to something as sweet as this, so let’s change that to “beg.” And who’s the most insistent beggar of all? That distinction surely goes to my husband, for homemade ice cream has to be his favorite dessert in the whole wide world. Plain vanilla is the ice cream flavor of choice, so long as it is vanilla ice cream that I’ve mixed up by hand and frozen in our own freezer. Forget additions and variations and new recipes; don’t even think about messing with a good thing. Just give him the old standard and he’s happy, all the livelong day.

  Ice cream is a long-standing tradition in our family in the summertime. It’s one of my special memories from childhood, to recall how my dad would go into the ice house at the old Standard Station, where big square chunks of ice sat amid sawdust, just waiting to help our cause. Out he would come with a choice block secured in his big ice tongs, and off we’d trot, to Great-Granny Bushong’s house, for she was the one who owned the ice cream freezer. Granny was also the one who owned the chickens that produced the large, fresh eggs, and the milk cow that produced the milk and rich cream, two essential components in the ice cream recipe.

  The temperature was always nearing 100 degrees, and our two sets of grandparents were on hand, along with Granny and whoever else happened to be visiting, for this was a special treat reserved for special occasions. The womenfolk hurried to the kitchen to beat the eggs with the rotary beater, measure cream and milk, discuss just the right amount of sugar to add (most of the time it was two cups to the gallon), and add a tablespoon of Watkins vanilla, and then a little more, for good measure. Meanwhile, Dad and both grandads used a sharp ice pick on that block of ice, to chip off a big dish pan full of pieces that would fit into the freezer.

  The ice cream was made on the back porch of Granny’s old two-story house, where everyone sat around, the women fanning, in ancient, low-to-the-ground, mule-ear chairs with creaking, woven-hickory bottoms. Background music was provided by the bees buzzing in the nearby grape arbor, and the heavy air was laden with the dank, smoky smell that always emanated from the smoke house out in the side yard.When the churn was filled, the chipped ice and lots of stock salt were layered around it, and cranking began. It was easy at first, and that’s when I would help turn, fast and faster, to make the ice cream ready sooner! But that wasn’t how it worked. Like all good things, it takes time to make good ice cream, and slow and steady wins this race, too. The men were the ones who kept at it, sometimes asking one of my brothers to sit on top to help hold the freezer, until the crank would no longer turn, and by that time they had all worked up a good sweat from their efforts.

  But the reward was worth it! No store-bought ice cream could compare with the rich, creamy taste of homemade ice cream, eaten in the shade on a late summer afternoon, with the grownups wondering if we’d be sick after our third bowlful. Not even one melted drop of this goodness went to waste, for it was just as good to drink as it was to eat.

  Not much has changed today, except for the fact that our ice is bought in bags full of little cubes, rendering the old ice pick into an antique. And our ice cream freezer now has two options. If there are plenty of hands handy and we want to really do it the old fashioned way and get a good, firm set of the ice cream, we’ll use the hand crank. But if there are no extra turners handy, I let electricity help me out. I simply plug it in, and voila! Fabulous sweetness in 30 minutes, and no hand cranking!

                          

  Now, there are two schools of thought when it comes to preparing the ice cream: to cook or not to cook the custard before freezing it. The question involves the safety of consuming raw eggs, and this is a valid consideration. We consider the fact that our eggs come from our chickens, we know exactly their “born-on” date, and we know that enough time never elapses for something bad to happen to our eggs. Thus, we feel safe in continuing the time-honored tradition of not cooking the mixture. I’m not advocating this method, only saying that we’ve never gotten sick, and we prefer the taste of the uncooked custard.

  Yesterday we celebrated some July birthdays with a family get-together, so I made a freezer of ice cream before church, then scooped it out into a big bowl to go in the deep freeze to keep until serving time. While I was mixing up the ice cream, I thought of how Dave and Steve Morrison told me about growing up out on Pine Creek. The only time they had ice to make the treat was in winter, when huge icicles would form on the bluffs above their house. Their mother, Miss Earlene, would send some of the brothers to gather big chunks of ice into tow sacks to bring home, while she prepared the ice cream mix. I wondered if Miss Earlene (my beloved third and fourth grade teacher) made it like my family’s recipe.

  For our birthday gathering, I served the ice cream atop homemade pound cake and fresh sliced peaches.

                                  

  Here’s how I made the ice cream yesterday, the same way my mother and grandmothers always did:

  6 large, fresh eggs, well-beaten

  2 cups sugar

  1-2 cups heavy cream (depending on how rich you like it–the richer, the better, as far as we are concerned!)

  1-2 tablespoons of vanilla (I use 2)

  Enough whole milk to fill up the churn

  Beat the sugar, cream and vanilla into the eggs, making sure the sugar is completely dissolved, and pour into the freezer’s container. Add enough milk to bring level with the fill line (mixture expands during freezing, so leave enough space for this) and stir until well blended. Freeze according to ice cream maker’s directions.

  Hope you have plenty of sweet opportunities to enjoy this quintessential summer treat!

  • 10:30 am
  • 13 Comments