Perfect Bliss: Malted Milk Ice Cream

I'm afraid I ought to warn you. This is probably NOT the place to be if you're serious about that new year's resolution to lose that last ten pounds.  I could wax apologetic for you, but it wouldn't be genuine.  Cuz I believe with every last ounce of my soul that this ice cream is worth the couple more hours minutes on the elliptical that you'll have to spend sweating it off.

And, in the spirit of full disclosure, I must confess to you that I, Lo, am an absolute FIEND for malted milk powder. I grew up sprinkling the stuff right on my vanilla ice cream. Drinking it mixed into my milk. Heck, I've even eaten it straight from the jar (yeah, it's powdery, but so is cocaine are pixie stix) It's true. I'll settle for a chocolate shake. But, make it a malt (double thick) and I'll be yours forever.

But, even so -- when I sent Peef out to find malted milk balls so that we could make this recipe (yes, I'm working diligently on another blog post entitled "Why My Husband Rocks" -- but that will have to wait, I'm talking about ice cream here), I had ABSOLUTELY no idea that a single ice cream recipe would have such a profound impact on me.

Because I'm not normally a "sweets" person.  I'm a "salty" sortofa gal. My junk food fantasies consist of things like salt & vinegar potato chips, Flamin' Hot Fritos, and loaves of buttery garlic bread. 

I'm also a big veg-head.  But, trust me, right now the vegetable kingdom is virtually dead to me. I could care less about kale. Broccoli. Beets. Brussels sprouts.

Honestly, I may eat nothing else for the remainder of the week.

And you don't have to take our word for it. It also gets Michael Ruhlman's stamp of approval. And Amateur Gourmet, Adam Roberts, even wrote a SONG about it.

Malted Milk Ice Cream
Adapted slightly from: The Perfect Scoop (David Lebovitz)

1 cup (250 ml) whole milk
2/3 cup (150 g) sugar
2 cups (500 ml) heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2/3 cup (90 g) malt powder
6 large egg yolks
2 cups (350 g) malted milk balls, coarsely chopped

Warm the whole milk with the sugar in a medium saucepan. In a large bowl, whisk together the heavy cream, vanilla, and malt powder. Set a mesh strainer on top.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour the warm mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly, then scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan.

Stir the mixture constantly over medium heat with a wooden or heatproof plastic spatula, scraping the bottom as you stir, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. Pour the custard through the strainer and whisk it into the malted milk mixture. Stir until cool over an ice bath (or out in the snow, which is what we did here in Wisconsin in January)

Chill mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. As you remove the ice cream from the machine, fold in the chopped malted milk balls.


©BURP! Where Food Happens

Poetic Disappointment: Raspberry Chocolate Ice Cream

Really? How could ice cream be bad?
I'm still asking myself this very question. After all, it seemed to have everything going for it -- chocolate, cream, awesome raspberries. But, somehow, it just fell... well, flat.  I'm still perplexed.

The sad story began on a Saturday in August. The raspberries were as close to perfection as they come -- big, ripe, juicy and local. We'd just procured them from the market, and had nibbled a few out of hand just to be sure.  Sheer perfection so far as we could tell.
And we had a nice, fresh container of whipping cream, just begging to be made into something wonderful.
A bit of sugar, some cocoa powder -- the anticipation began to mount.

We cooked up all the good stuff on the stove until the sugar was fully dissolved, and then we took everything off of the heat and added those luscious raspberries to the mix.  The pan sat on the stove, covered, for a while -- giving the raspberries just a smidge of time to soften.

And then everything went into the blender...

... where it was whipped into an oblivion.

It was gorgeous stuff -- light, fluffy, silky.  It looked like a dream.  We scraped it into a bowl, chilled it, and then gave it over to the ice cream machine.

It looked pretty perfect when it came out. 
But the flavor?
Flat. Strange. Not-quite-right.


We tasted. And retasted.  And scooped. And licked.
It didn't really get better.

But, we really HATE wasting food. So we made the best of things. It took us a number of weeks -- but we ate every last bit of the ice cream. The second round was "enhanced" with a bit of chocolate syrup (which made it passable).  The third (and final) round accompanied a batch of seriously fudgy brownies (so good, we almost didn't notice the ice cream).

As you might have noticed, we were so disappointed, we didn't even take photos of the final product... but we did write a little bit of bad poetry.

Ode to Chocolate Raspberry Disappointment
Oh you --  brown creamy treat,
For which we had high hopes.
We sacrificed ripened fruit in your image.
We whipped you in our blender,
Praying for whirled peace.
In exchange, you gave us Brain Freeze.
And an appetite for disaster.

Cold and sweet, but not satisfying.
Like a winter day in August.
We masked you in chocolate syrup.
And still you would not satisfy.

Oh you --  brown creamy creamy treat, 
You are not worthy of our pleasure.
Your looks deceive and taunt us.
Chocolate Expectation flaunts
What it can never hope to deliver.
Your whipped creamy goodness
Is but a facade.

And so, we sing of your deceit.
And warn our neighbors.
We spare even the landfill your presence --
And eat what we cannot savor.


©BURP! Where Food Happens

Plain Jane Vanilla Ice Cream Days

I'm in a serious slump.
Despite all the bounty at the farmer's market (and the great food we seem to bring home each week), we've both been working pretty hard and haven't had a whole lot of time for cooking. When we do cook, it's been "nothing to blog about"... or at least that's what I've been telling myself. We throw together salads. And sammiches. And odd assortments of veggies. And we call them dinner.

I haven't even been all that inspired to take pictures of what's out in the garden... although I did get a great shot of this lovely mutant cherry tomato. He's a twin... but (as you can see) he's also not very modest.
Fortunately, David Lebovitz knows just what I'm talking about.
And I know this because he included a recipe just for me in The Perfect Scoop.
Now, I'm from Milwaukee, so I'm a custard girl.
Lebovitz would probably say that I'm really a French custard girl, but I'm going to be true to my local side and stand on principle here. I'm a Milwaukee Custard Girl. And that's final.

If you've never been to Kopp's Frozen Custard (home of the most heavenly frozen treats imaginable), then you might not know what I mean. But, I'll be the first to tell you that you've really been depriving yourself... and it's such a shame... and that you really ought to come out here for a visit... and soon.

Considering all that, I could be a complete snob about things and claim that there's simply NOTHING LIKE a good custard. At that point, I could stand on principle (again) and refuse to make things like Philidelphia style ice cream. But, that would be downright silly. Because, my friends, there is a place and a time for Plain Jane Vanilla Ice Cream that doesn't take hours of effort or complicated recipes. And that time is now.

You will need a bit of stove time for this recipe - but I promise you the effort will be minimal. Just a bit of cream, some sugar, and a split and scraped vanilla bean and you're good to go. Warm the mixture just until the sugar is melted.
Then add some additional cream, a splash of vanilla, and a bit of whole milk.
Technically, that cools things down almost to the point where you could toss the mixture right into your ice cream maker. But, leaving it in the fridge for a while is a good thing. First -- it gives that vanilla bean a bit more time to swim around in the cream and impart his delicious goodness. Secondly, it gives you time for an afternoon nap -- which, as far as I'm concerned, is never a bad thing.
So, pour it into a bowl (with a cover), give it a good stir, and leave it sit in the fridge for a while. We forgot about ours for two whole days (that's how inspired we were) before it ever saw the inside of our ice cream maker.
It could be that the extra-long brew time was the secret to this creamy, dreamy, ultra-vanilla ice cream. But, I doubt it. I'm pretty sure that a couple of hours would do. So, you needn't make up excuses for not trying this.

After all, it makes an excellent root beer float (especially with a locally brewed rootbeer, like the one from Sprecher Brewing Company).
Vanilla Ice Cream, Philadelphia Style
adapted from David Lebovitz, The Perfect Scoop

2 cups heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
pinch of salt
1 vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise
3/4 tsp vanilla extract

Place cream, sugar, and salt into a medium saucepan. Carefully scrape seeds from the vanilla bean into the saucepan and add the pod to the pot. Warm over medium heat, stirring, until the cream is warm and the sugar is dissolved.

Remove from the heat and add the remaining cream, milk, and vanilla extract.

Chill the ice cream base thoroughly. Before churning, remove the vanilla bean (you can rinse it and reserve it for another use, if desired) and then freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.



©BURP! Where Food Happens

Butt Kicking Aztec "Hot" Chocolate Ice Cream

OH YEAH.

David Lebovitz has done it again. I am swooning over yet another delicious ice cream creation. And I foresee this being Very Bad for the width of my hips.

Really -- if you can take a little heat -- this ice cream has a little bit of something for just about everyone.

Chocoholics, you'll love the deep dark smoothness and the not-too-sweet homage to the cocoa bean. Chile-heads, you'll adore the slow, smoky burn of the chipotle powder on your tongue. Spice fiends, if you like what a bit of nutmeg does for alfredo sauce, you'll agree that the cinnamon in here ROCKS. Overall ice cream fanatics, you'll appreciate the ultra smooth texture of this ice cream. And no, there are no fussy egg yolks involved.

Of course, it never hurts to start with some good quality ingredients -- like milk from the Sassy Cow Creamery. And bittersweet chocolate from the Omanhene Cocoa Bean Company.

The recipe is really quite simple. You start with a bit of cream and some good quality cocoa powder.
Place it on the stove and whisk it together until it comes to a nice rolling boil.
Be sure you've got the rest of your ingredients ready -- cuz you'll want to add them just as soon as you take this off the heat. If you're not fond of heat, you can downsize on the chile powder. Or use ancho chile powder -- which imparts a nice smoky flavor without so much bite.
Whisk everything (especially the chocolate) until smooth.

Add some whole milk. Then pour it into the blender and whizz it around for a while -- just to make sure it's REALLY smooth.
While you'll be tempted to drink the stuff right then and there (and you could... really), you should just put it in a bowl and place it in the fridge until it's really cold. Trust me, it's worth the wait.
When it's all nice and cold, you can put it in your ice cream maker. If you're lucky, you'll hit the jackpot in about 25 minutes or so. I'd advise tasting it right away -- but you can definitely put it in the freezer for a bit if you like your ice cream a bit more firm.

Whee.
This stuff is zippy. Like a little bitofa buzz for your tongue. And your throat. And your stomach. But you don't care. Cuz it's smooth. And chocolatey. And you can't help but think that this would make seriously kick *ss fudgecicles. If only you had some popsicle trays... Oh, well.

Yeah -- it's really that good.
You won't even want to share.

Aztec "Hot" Chocolate Ice Cream
adapted from David Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop

2 1/4 cups heavy cream
6 T unsweetened cocoa powder
3/4 cup sugar
3 oz bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1 1/4 cups whole milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
pinch of salt
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
2-3 tsp chipotle powder
2 T cognac

Whisk together the cream, cocoa powder, and sugar in a large saucepan. Whisk frequently until the cream comes to a full, rolling boil.

Remove from the heat and whisk in the chocolate, stirring until it is completely melted. Add the milk, vanilla, salt, cinnamon, chipotle, and cognac, stirring to combine. Pour the mixture into a blender and blend for 30 seconds, until very smoooth.

Chill mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, then freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.


©BURP! Where Food Happens

More Figgy Delights: Fresh Fig Ice Cream

Everybody loves icecream, right?

That's what I thought when I entered to win David Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop over at Warm Olives and Cool Cocktails. Kate is short on space and sick of clutter, so she's giving away all but her very favorite cookbooks... to the benefit of her readers. But, there is a catch. The winner of each cookbook needs to make one recipe from the book and blog about it within 30 days of receipt. Little did I know, when I entered, that I would actually win the book (yay for me!).

I received The Perfect Scoop last week. I'll admit that it was pretty difficult to pick the first recipe to try. The malted milk icecream was calling my name. The Guinness Milk Chocolate icecream looked truly intriguing. The Aztec "Hot" Chocolate icecream sounded right up my alley. And the Salted Butter Caramel sauce looked absolutely divine.

But, then my "eat seasonal" brain kicked in. I realized that we had fresh figs sitting right on the counter. And how glorious would fresh fig icecream be?? We didn't know. But we were eager to find out!
The fresh figs on the counter ended up going into a fabulous pizza (with bacon, caramelized onions, and bleu cheese). However, I went back to the market the next morning to procure more. The recipe calls for 2 lbs of fresh figs. Unfortunately, I could only find about a pound of the black mission figs Lebovitz suggests are best, since they give the ice cream a "lovely deep violet color." Since I didn't feel like driving around the city searching for figs, I settled for Turkish figs instead, and crossed my fingers that the final product wouldn't be TOO ugly.
I chopped up my figs, added a bit of sugar and the zest of one lemon to the pot. Easy, no?
Turns out the most difficult part of this recipe is the cooking of the figs. All told, it took me about 40 minutes to get my fig and sugar mixture cooked down to a "jam-like consistency." Fortunately, it was well worth the effort.
After adding a bit of lemon juice and a cup of cream, and whirring everything around in the blender, the ice cream base was looking pretty darned good. And I could hardly wait. Twenty minutes in the icecream maker, and we were pretty much set. I did give the ice cream a bit of time in the freezer to firm up -- but maybe not QUITE long enough, as it was still pretty soft when we ate it.
But, OH! the delight. Although this ice cream wasn't as creamy as those made with a French custard base, it was absolutely delicious. Sweet (but not too sweet), figgy, and fabulous. And not even such a bad color!

We were so impressed we've decided to continue making ice creams from the Lebovitz book for the rest of the summer (and possibly beyond). And heck, we'll even blog about them.

Which recipe should we try next??
If you have any opnions about the next recipe we choose, let us know! We'll take the suggestions in the order received (and/or give priority to the most requested flavors).

Oh -- and stay tuned for BIG news later this week.
We've been asked to participate in a recipe challenge that's going to put all our skills to the test... and we're totally stoked!


©BURP! Where Food Happens