I’ve been feeling too old these days, so I’ve decided to play a game. It’s a lot like that childhood game “Simon Says.” Just this time, I’m getting rid of socially constructed masculine dominance, and making Lyz, Simon.
Lyz says: Read Fergus Henderson
I inter-library-loan it in my College’s library and get both of his books. I fall in love with the second one, published in 2007, Beyond Nose to Tail.
Lyz says: Make ice cream
I decide that I want to make a dessert from Henderson’s book, so why not choose ice cream.
I choose Honey Brandy Ice Cream, realize Lyz didn’t say this, but I can’t help myself. It’s five o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and I’ve been working since ten with a lunch break. I should put my books down, put on comfortable clothes, and do what every spring semester senior does: start to have a beer or two.
But wait, I don’t want to. More than anything, I’ve been caught up in Henderson’s recipes, and readings on Southern food for the past five hours, now I have to complete one. Since I chose to make this ice cream, I have to run to the store and pick up the brandy and heavy cream. Then back to the apartment and instead of dinner preparations – oh no, those can wait – I start to make my dessert. Before I can get anywhere beyond compiling all of my ingredients on the counter, I have to decode the metric system back into US measurements. Grams? How about tablespoons, Fergus? Oh, the whole world uses metric? Right, I forgot about that.
Once I got the measurements for the sugar down (my measuring cup thankfully had milliliter markers on the side), I was on my way. First was the egg separating. Then beating egg yolks with honey and sugar. Not too bad, since I was just looking for a “pale and fluffy” consistency. This was subjective enough as to not over-exert my right forearm. Oh, I forgot to mention. I did all of the beating by hand. No electricity.
The whipped cream was a little harder to bring to soft peaks. I had two pints of whipping cream and about 200 mls of brandy to beat. It took about twenty minutes. First I thought it was easy, since bubbles almost immediately appeared.
But after five songs on a CD I had just purchased, I was just starting to see soft peaks.
It was worth it, since the next step seemed like a walk in the park: bringing egg whites to soft peaks. That was only like four songs. Or five. I lost count. I was meditating by this point.
I have to say it was all worth it, though. Once I saw that all I had to do was fold all of this together and freeze it, it seemed like a miracle.
The recipe says to wait for it to freeze overnight. I tried some after three hours in the freezer, and it’s the most divine ice cream I have ever had. I don’t like to brag. I promise. But it’s like folded, frozen, whipped cream with a significant Brandy flavor, slightly sweetened with honey. I’m sure the pot-luck goers will appreciate my sore forearm. Here’s to you, Fergus.