Childhood games, Adult spirits (a post by Josh)
February 20, 2010
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.
Ok, first of all this is delicious. Second of all, I understand your metric system quandary. My current problem is that all the measurements on things like bags of rice or couscous are in grams. Go ahead, measure out 300 grams of couscous, add 745 ml, then go jump off a cliff. I think I’m going to buy a scale. Third of all, whipping by hand. Last summer when I was in Sweden with Simon, I decided to make chocolate mousse cake for his birthday. First, whip cream by hand. Then fold in a whole bunch of shit… delicately. I nearly lost my right arm in the endeavor. Fortunately, I came through it with all limbs intact (glad I didn’t start my glass of wine until AFTER the cooking began), and Simon loved the cake. Another endeavor with great results even if not required by Simon says. bah ha ha.
i. love. you. i laughed lots. what a lovely morning read. and i’m so jealous. i might just have to play a game of “josh says” and make this.
When we come down, are you going to make this for us? Sounds fantastic