Continuing the ice cream saga . . .
I ran across an article about the science of sorbets last week. It had a link to a peach sorbet recipe. I’d bought some of the most luscious freestone peaches at Wegmans, but my son and I ate most of them before I found the recipe. So instead, I went to Scholl Orchards, a farm stand around the corner. Sadly, they only had cling peaches, but I got two pounds of yellow peaches and one pound of white.
This weekend, I made the peach sorbet, mixing yellow and white peaches. The white are sweeter and juicier, and because the yellow aren’t as ripe as they could be, their color’s not very rich, either. I had to tweak the recipe a bit (1 teaspoon lime juice, an extra 1/4 cup of sugar), but it is incredible, even if it isn’t as pretty as the picture on Serious Eats. In fact, I’m going to have to make more within the next couple of days.
One of my earlier memories is when my dad first got his ice cream maker — a huge (it seemed to me) wooden thing that ice and salt went in the outer ring of while the electric motor churned ingredients into ice cream. I think it was a Father’s Day present, and I was younger than my daughter is now. (At least, I’m pretty sure he got it while we were in Tonopah. I’m sure Mom will tell me if I’m wrong.) He had that same ice cream maker for decades; it moved across the state with us. I think it may even have still been around when he died. Strange how I’m less certain of that.
But ice cream was something my dad made, not something I ever did. He made it seem mystical, as if the slightest wrong move would mean no ice cream would result.
When my husband and I got married, among our gifts, we received a Cuisinart ice cream maker — also electric, but much smaller, and with no ice and salt requirement. We also got an ice cream cookbook, Ice Cream! The Whole Scoop That summer, we must have made two or three different flavors a week, and we had one party where we invited friends over for pizza (grilled!) and homemade ice cream. There was nothing magical about ice cream after all. Sort of. Continue reading