We All Scream

Ice cream and I have a long history together. If I were a dessert, I would definitely be ice cream. Cool and sweet — that’s me.

My very first job was at Swenson’s Ice Cream Parlor in the Bay Area. They were famous for their Sticky Chewy Chocolate flavor. It was a great job for a 15-year-old, and I was an excellent dipper (as we are known in the biz). Whenever the manager would step into the back, we would make a speedy spoon sundae, which consisted of a small tasting spoon of ice cream, a shot of hot fudge, a squirt of whipped cream, nuts and a cherry, all popped quickly into the mouth before the manager returned. We were allowed one free scoop per shift, but nothing beat the thrill of ingesting a spoon sundae on the down-low. Alas, I was caught giving my daily free scoop away to my friend Jackie Diller and was dismissed. It was a travesty: she was hungry, and I was just trying to help. I was the Jean Valjean of that strip mall.

With my wealth of experience, I easily landed a job at Mom’s Ice Creamery, a family-owned shop nearby that made its own ice cream in the back. Mom’s was known for its excellent product, as well as a monthly mystery flavor. If you guessed the flavor correctly, you won a free half-gallon. (It was usually a vanilla that had been colored fluorescent green with purple ribbons.) I soon outgrew Mom’s and left for the big tips at Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor, where I got to dress like a Gibson Girl and dole out such culinary classics as the Tin Roof Sundae, the Hot Fudge Volcano, the Zoo and the Pig’s Trough. (A career in the culinary arts seems inevitable after perfecting something called a Pig’s Trough, don’t you think?)

Once I became a real chef, I continued my love affair with the fountain arts. Frozen desserts became a passion and skill that, I humbly admit, I have excelled at. I’ve even won awards and written accolades for my own ice creams. It was the ’80s, California cuisine was booming in the Bay Area, and my cutting-edge use of chilies, herbs and booze in ice creams was the talk of the town. (Of course, everyone else was doing it too, and it might have been only a couple of my friends talking about it.)

The principle of ice cream–making is simple. A custard is frozen, while being simultaneously churned with a perforated paddle, which adds air. This provides the volume and creates a texture that is both frozen and creamy. The addition of air is key, which explains why you can’t make ice cream by leaving your chocolate milk in the freezer. (I know you’ve tried it.)

Freezing ice cream can be properly achieved in several ways; ice cream freezers come in all shapes, sizes and price ranges. There are fancy refrigerated units made for professional kitchens and others for the home cook. There are also machines that utilize the tried-and-true ice-and-salt method of freezing. (Ice alone isn’t cold enough, but the addition of salt, while it melts the ice, creates a colder saltwater solution.) There are old-fashioned hand-crank machines and modern motorized versions. (I have a Rival motorized machine bought 10 years ago at Target for $17, and it has performed well beyond my expectations; if it were an employee, I would give it a raise.) Ice cream can even be made MacGyver-style, with two coffee cans and some duct tape.   

Of course, I prefer the old hand-cranked machines because they are kitschy and cool, daddy-o. I have a prime specimen made of turquoise fiberglass that I pull out occasionally during the summer for picnics and barbeques. We make the kids do the cranking. (Manual labor — isn’t that what we had kids for?) You can’t pull that on them too many times in a season, though, or they start to catch on, and you end up with more cranky and less crankin’.

Also, you should be sure to have someone keep an eye on the urchins, as the canister can get jostled about if the novices are left to their own devices. This may result in some saltwater finding its way into the custard canister, something we experienced firsthand at a Hello Kitty birthday party one year. The ice cream ended up really salty, and I couldn’t eat it. The other parents were too polite to say anything. (“I thought you said she was a chef!”) The kids, however, devoured it like deer on a salt lick. 

Most of the time, I get my ice cream ready-made. I am not snobby about it and am quite content with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s (those lucky hippies made a fortune out of people’s secret food fetishes). Locally, my favorite is Fosselman’s Date Ice Cream made in Alhambra. It’s not too sweet, perfectly creamy and made with love, which you can taste. My favorite ice cream on the planet is coconut ice cream (coco helado) from Helado Michoacán in Rosarita, Mexico. (I would brave the drug lords and swine flu for a pint of that right now.) I understand that many people think Italy’s gelato is the supreme ice cream. I like it just fine, but it’s not the be-all and end-all for me. In fact, I think gelato is a little snooty. It is made the same way as ice cream, but the churning of a gelato machine adds less air, so the product comes out thicker. Chefs without a gelato machine add more fat to their recipes to simulate the denser texture, which, frankly, I consider cheating.

Making ice cream always seems a little weird to the beginner, because this is a frozen dessert that starts out on the stove, which seems counterintuitive. It is made of a custard based on the French vanilla sauce crème anglaise. Milk and sugar are warmed on the stove, and eggs are carefully tempered in as a thickener. The trick is to harness all the thickening power of eggs without scrambling them. It takes a bit of practice, which is why many cooks shy away from it. It is also a technique routinely used by pastry chefs as a test for job applicants. I once had to make eight gallons in a stock pot for a job interview, which at the time I found cruel, but now I think it was funny. (Sadistic chefs are more common than you might think.) Once you master the method, though, the world is your oyster. It is no effort to create myriad flavors by adding chocolate, steeping coffee beans, folding in nuts, cookies or candies or swirling in caramels, jams and fudge. You are limited only by your imagination.

If this all seems a bit much for you, you may want to begin your frozen dessert odyssey by making sorbet. This is an easy method that entails nothing but passing a sweetened fruit purée through an ice cream machine. Sorbet is the fall-back dessert for chefs who are bake-ophobic. I have known more than a few talented chefs who pooh-poohed the pastry arts but were very proud (and more than a little boastful) that they made their own sorbet. This is amusing to pastry chefs, who know that making sorbet is amateur hour. It’s one step up from a smoothie. If you are thinking that sorbet is the same as sherbet, you are close but wrong. Sherbet is fruit-based, but unlike sorbet, it contains a dairy product, giving it that tell-tale “Miami Vice” pastel color. (Sherbet is the same thing as sherbeRt, which is not at all how it is spelled, but often how it is pronounced, usually by Bostonians with spare R’s left over from saying “pahking the cah in the yahd.”)
Easier still is icy granita, a frozen dessert that is both simple and impressive. Best of all, it can be made without an ice cream machine. Thin liquids, traditionally coffee or wine, are placed in the freezer and stirred gently with a fork every 10 minutes to keep the ice crystals loose and prevent a solid block of ice from forming. (This is not — I repeat, not — a snow cone). It’s great fun to play with novel flavors of granita. Try freezing teas, exotic juices, soda pop and cocktails. (Careful! Too much alcohol will prevent the freeze and may induce erratic behavior.)

Creating new flavors is where the fun comes in. I appreciate any flavor, as long as it is delicious. I just read about an ice cream in Tehran made with pistachio, saffron and roses that I am ready to book my flight for. I am a sucker for the interesting and unusual, but, in my experience, weird flavors are more about shock value than any sort of long-lasting culinary contribution. That said, I know it is only fair that I try your Roasted Garlic and Bacon Ice Cream if I want you to try my Dark Chocolate Pasilla Negro Ice Cream. And yes, I do make Dark Chocolate Pasilla Negro Ice Cream. It is not only delicious, but frightening. (I like serving food that people hesitate to eat.) Of course, those who dare to taste it always pronounce it scrumptious. It tastes like a combination of a Fudgsicle and Red Hots. The pasilla chilies have a subtle, stealthy heat that sneaks up on the back of the tongue after you swallow. The juxtaposition of spicy hot chilies and creamy frozen chocolate is fun. And isn’t fun exactly what ice cream should be?

So, yes, you can spend your summer with Ben and Jerry. Or you can forgo the usual summer barbeque and throw an ice cream social. Get the kids crankin’, provide an array of toppings and get your friends all hopped up on sugar. Now that’s a party!

Bilderback is a certified master chef and baker, a former executive chef of Pasadena’s California School of Culinary Arts and the author of “The Everything Family Nutrition Book” (Adams Media; May 2009) and six cookbooks in Alpha Publishing’s “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to...” series. A South Pasadena resident, Bilderback teaches her techniques online at culinarymasterclass.com.