Ice Cream

A few years back, I visited Tokyo for the first time, and while there I detected a curious flavor in one of the desserts I tasted. None of the pastry-chef students I was there to teach was able to tell me exactly what it was. But later, when a couple of the students and I were poking around at the 100-yen shop (the fabulously fun Japanese equivalent of a 99¢ store), I randomly picked up a packet of beige powder with a colorful riot of Japanese lettering. My easily enthused guides got even more enthused, letting me know that I’d found exactly what I was looking for. When I got home, I discovered kinako in my local Japanese food shop and learned that it was roasted soybean powder. It has a taste similar to roasted nuts but more elusive and certainly more exotic.

There seems to be no agreement as to the origin of the word “butterscotch.” Some culinary scholars argue that its name is taken from “butter-scorched,” a theory worthy of consideration, since the process does indeed require cooking butter. Yet others academically assert that the term is derived from the word “butter scoring,” as in “cutting.” Not as in, “Dude, I scored some awesome Butterscotch Pecan Ice Cream from David!” S0 I’d like to offer my own theory, one that’s a bit simpler: It’s because buttery butterscotch always tastes better with a shot of scotch in it.

There’s something about the slightly smoky, potent, and fruity flavor of black currant tea that makes it the perfect complement to chocolate (see Perfect Pairings, below). But if black currants aren’t your cup of tea, substitute another aromatic infusion, such as Earl Grey, scented with bergamot, or smoky oolong instead.

Spicy cinnamon sticks give this ice cream a stronger, far more complex flavor than ground cinnamon does. Around the winter holidays, skip the bowl of whipped cream to accompany pumpkin pie or apple crisp and treat your lucky guests to cinnamon ice cream instead. It is also very good alongside any favorite chocolate dessert, such as devil’s food cake or perched atop a homemade Brownie (pages 220 and 221).

Green tea powder, called matcha, is found in tea shops and stores that sell Japanese products, which I’m always looking for an excuse to visit since they’re great places for poking around. Matcha has a slightly pungent yet powerful taste, but its color is the real showstopper. Frothing the tea turns the custard a vivid green color.

If you’ve never tasted anise and chocolate together, prepare yourself for an unexpected treat. I don’t even like anise, but for some improbable reason this is one of my favorite ice creams, especially when nestled alongside a slice of dense chocolate cake or used to fill profiteroles doused in warm chocolate sauce (see the Perfect Pairings at the end of the recipe).

Sometimes I’m afraid to admit that I love white chocolate. Purists argue, “It’s not real chocolate.” Although that may technically be true, who cares? (French fries aren’t “real chocolate” either…yet they’re pretty darn good.) So I don’t compare it to dark chocolate, since it’s a whole other ballgame. White chocolate’s creamy-smooth, delicate cocoa butter flavor is perfect when melted and stirred into ice cream, and the result makes a truly outstanding dessert when topped with Sour Cherries in Syrup (page 185). And I’ve yet to come across any chocolate cake that couldn’t be improved by a scoop of white chocolate ice cream melting seductively alongside.

When I was a kid growing up in puritanical New England, dessert was a seldom-seen treat. When temptation raised its devilish head, a few scoops of unadulterated ice cream were allowed and served forth without much fanfare. Our reward was often coffee ice cream, curiously one of the few “adult” flavors that kids seem to like as much as grown-ups. And in case you’re feeling sorry for my dessert-deprived childhood, not to worry; I’m definitely making up for lost time nowadays.

Vietnamese food is perhaps my favorite of all the cuisines in the world, and I would eat it every single night if I could. At the start of every Vietnamese meal, I order a Vietnamese coffee. A glass with a sweet dose of condensed milk is brought to the table with a well-worn stainless-steel filter balanced on top, dripping steaming hot coffee into the thick, sweet milk. Once brewed, it all gets stirred up and ice is added. I thought the flavors would make an excellent ice cream, and I was right.

If you like the hearty taste of Guinness Stout, this is the ice cream for you. I was curious as to whether the beer flavor was too strong, so I asked my friend Heather, a knockout whose microscopic waistline belies the fact that the girl really knows her beer, to come by and taste. She gave this one a big thumbs up, so I sent her home with the whole container. The next day the phone rang. It was Heather, telling me that she offered some to her good-looking new neighbor, whom she’d been looking for an excuse to approach, and he was smitten enough to ask her out on a date between spoonfuls. While I can’t promise that sharing this ice cream will wind up being an icebreaker for you, I don’t see any reason not to give it a try.

Two great tastes—smooth, creamy peanut butter and pure unadulterated cocoa—merge together to make one terrific ice cream.

I finally understand the allure of milk chocolate. While writing a book exploring the world of chocolate, I became determined to get over my skepticism, and I taste-tested as many milk chocolates as I could. Yes, it was tough work, but I felt compelled to do it. I became a convert after sampling premium milk chocolates made with a high percentage of cocoa solids, and a whole new world opened up to me. Mixing in cocoa nibs adds a crunchy counterpoint to this milky-smooth ice cream. I like biting into the little bits of pure, unadulterated chocolate, but I’ve made them optional, since you may not have them readily available (you can substitute chocolate chips). But once you taste a few, you’ll find yourself adding them to chocolate desserts all the time, like I do. (See Resources, page 237, for online sources.)

If you’re one of those people who finds the combination of raspberries with dark chocolate the ultimate luxury, you’ll adore this ice cream. It’s the perfect indulgence: rich, dark chocolate with the bright flavor of tangy raspberries.

Unsweetened chocolate provides the maximum chocolate flavor in this non-custard-based chocolate ice cream. But bitter chocolate can be stubborn to melt, so whiz the mixture in a blender until it’s silky smooth.

The Aztecs were such trendsetters. Although it’s become fashionably chic, from Soho to South Beach, to spice up chocolate with a bit of chile pepper, in fact it’s a custom that goes back more than a thousand years. And I wonder if, even back then, there were paparazzi stalking luminaries in Central America, hoping to catch them in spicy situations. When your guests taste this decadent, zippy chocolate ice cream, you’ll understand what all the fuss is about—and perhaps develop a few overzealous followers yourself.

My search for the ultimate chocolate ice cream ended the day I opened my ice cream maker and took a taste of this version. And before I knew it, I’d licked the dasher as clean as the day I bought it! Intense cocoa powder blended with unctuous dark chocolate results in a perfect chocolate ice cream that’s so irresistible you won’t be able to wait to dig in either. I don’t know why, but homemade ice cream always tastes best scraped (or, if no one’s watching, licked) directly from the machine.

Philadelphia-style ice cream is made with no eggs, so it can be mixed together in a New York minute. It gets it name because at one time there was a proliferation of dairy farms around Philadelphia. I’ve made this vanilla ice cream successfully with all heavy cream as well as with a mixture of cream and milk, and I like it both ways.

Some folks tell me they don’t like white chocolate. “It’s not chocolate!” they’ll say with a bit of smug certitude. True, but that’s like saying “I don’t like Champagne because it’s not white wine.” Both have merits and to say you don’t like one because it isn’t the other isn’t very logical. I fall into the camp of white chocolate lovers. To convince people of how good white chocolate can be, I often make ice cream with it and add fresh ginger for spicy contrast. And if that’s not enough, I stir in shiny, dark chocolate–covered roasted peanuts to give it nice crunch. If anyone still has any resistance to white chocolate, I call it their loss and am happy to eat the ice cream all by myself.

My parents were pretty strict with desserts. I wasn’t completely deprived, but sweets were few and far between. (I’ve since made up for lost time.) One treat they did keep on hand was a bag of store-bought pecan shortbreads, which were quite thick, had a sandy texture, and seemed a bit more sophisticated and “adult” than most other supermarket snacks. Whenever these cookies were in the house, I ate as many as I could and left a seriously plundered bag for my parents to discover. Times have changed and I’m sure the quantity of pecans in those cookies has dwindled since the good ol’ days. Now that I’m all grown up, I can enjoy pecans in any way I choose, and that doesn’t mean just pecan shortbread, but also this rich pecan-studded ice cream.

This is the world’s easiest ice cream. It takes literally a minute to put together, and doesn’t require an ice cream maker. You just toss everything in a blender, then pour the mixture into a container and freeze it, so there’s no excuse for even the machineless not to enjoy homemade ice cream. The one caveat is that the generous amount of alcohol is necessary to prevent the ice cream from freezing too hard. The good news is that all that booze means you don’t have to share your ice cream with the kids.