• Homemade Basil Berry Ice Cream

    by  • August 13, 2012 • Cook, Culinary Therapy, Food & Recipes • 0 Comments

    I think I’m having a quarter life crisis.

    Yeah, okay, so I’ve only been 25 for a week, but I like to think I mature at an accelerated rate. (As clearly evidenced by the voices I use to speak for my dogs. I can’t help that they have such personality.)

    In any case, I am beginning to contemplate some serious questions of life.

    Some more serious than others.

    Fuck it, let’s just call them questions.

    Question 1: In a bar on Saturday, my friend an I were persistently approached by a couple of men. One was stout, 4’11” , Asian, and  potentially wearing platform sneakers. The other was a lanky white boy wearing wizarding glasses and a matrix-like trenchcoat. Keep in mind that it was 90 degrees outside.

    “If these characters think they have a chance,” my friend wondered aloud, “are we significantly less attractive than we think we are?”

    With the way things are going, I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.

    Question 2: I scan a bar and consistently veto men arbitrarily. It’s shallow and bitchy and pretty much what every drunk girl in the universe does. It has reached the point where I see a man from the back and I can already decide whether or not I’d be attracted to him. The problem comes in when he turns around and every single time, it’s someone I have already hooked up with or dated. Don’t go judging, it’s not that many men. But that small pool appears to be the only ones I ever find myself attracted to. Have I really exhausted (and scared off) all of my potential suitors in less than a year?

    Chances look good. Guess that will teach me to be such a needy little biatch.

    Question 3: I found out that half of my office is moving to New York City. Though I have been excessively vocal about not wanting to live there, I was surprised to feel oddly jealous. There are more career opportunities there. More writing opportunities. Men I haven’t repelled. Should I move to New York while I’m still unattached?

    I really and truly don’t know. Maybe?

    All of these questions are exhausting me. It is a good thing that I have friends who will make homemade ice cream to take my mind off of things.

    Okay, so she was planning to make the ice cream anyway. But it helped.

    Everything seems clearer now: those men were hopelessly brave, I should wear a wig to bars, and I should probably take more than five hours to make a decision on whether to move to New York City.

    I think that was enough worrying for one day. Though perhaps not enough ice cream. To make me more, follow the instructions below, inspired by this recipe.


    1 ¾ c heavy whiping cream
    2 eggs
    ⅛ tsp salt
    2 Tbsp fresh basil, chopped
    3 peels of lemon rind, ~3 inches thick
    ½ c sugar
    ½ c strawberries
    ½ cup blueberries
    1 c peaches
    ½ Tbsp lemon juice
    ½ Tbsp vanilla
    ½ Tbsp sugar


    Combine cream, rind, basil and salt in a heavy saucepan and bring just to a boil. Remove from heat and discard zest.
    Whisk eggs with 1/2 cup sugar in a bowl, then add hot cream in a slow stream, whisking. Pour back into saucepan and cook over moderately low heat, stirring constantly, until slightly thickened and an instant-read thermometer registers 170°F (do not let boil).
    Immediately pour custard through a fine sieve into a metal bowl, then cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally. Chill, overed, at least until cold, about 2 hours, and up to 1 day. To cool custard quickly after straining, set bowl in a larger bowl of ice and cold water and stir until chilled.

    While custard is chilling, purée the fruit with remaining  1/2 Tbsp sugar and lemon juice in a blender until smooth, then force through fine sieve (to remove seeds) into chilled custard. Stir purée into custard.

    Freeze custard in ice cream maker, or freeze and continue to stir every half hour. Transfer ice cream to an airtight container and put in freezer to harden.

    Use to relieve worries, waste time, and grow thighs.

    Enjoy, my little monkeys.

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    I'm a 25-year-old ex-wife who spends most of her time cooking and chasing silly men around.

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