Ice Cream Machine

Green tea powder, called matcha, is found in tea shops and stores that sell Japanese products, which I’m always looking for an excuse to visit since they’re great places for poking around. Matcha has a slightly pungent yet powerful taste, but its color is the real showstopper. Frothing the tea turns the custard a vivid green color.

When my father was in the army, he and his bunkmates would eagerly anticipate the care packages that would arrive from home, filled with cookies and cakes. But in lieu of homemade goodies, their Brazilian bunkmate would get sacks of aromatic coffee beans. He’d carefully prepare single, tiny cups of coffee by crushing a few of the highly prized beans between two metal spoons and then drizzling boiling water over them, creating perhaps the most labor-intensive cup of coffee ever. But I’m sure the effort was well worth it. Make sure the espresso you use for this recipe is excellent; your effort will be appreciated as well.

If you’ve never tasted anise and chocolate together, prepare yourself for an unexpected treat. I don’t even like anise, but for some improbable reason this is one of my favorite ice creams, especially when nestled alongside a slice of dense chocolate cake or used to fill profiteroles doused in warm chocolate sauce (see the Perfect Pairings at the end of the recipe).

Vietnamese food is perhaps my favorite of all the cuisines in the world, and I would eat it every single night if I could. At the start of every Vietnamese meal, I order a Vietnamese coffee. A glass with a sweet dose of condensed milk is brought to the table with a well-worn stainless-steel filter balanced on top, dripping steaming hot coffee into the thick, sweet milk. Once brewed, it all gets stirred up and ice is added. I thought the flavors would make an excellent ice cream, and I was right.

Sometimes I’m afraid to admit that I love white chocolate. Purists argue, “It’s not real chocolate.” Although that may technically be true, who cares? (French fries aren’t “real chocolate” either…yet they’re pretty darn good.) So I don’t compare it to dark chocolate, since it’s a whole other ballgame. White chocolate’s creamy-smooth, delicate cocoa butter flavor is perfect when melted and stirred into ice cream, and the result makes a truly outstanding dessert when topped with Sour Cherries in Syrup (page 185). And I’ve yet to come across any chocolate cake that couldn’t be improved by a scoop of white chocolate ice cream melting seductively alongside.

When I was a kid growing up in puritanical New England, dessert was a seldom-seen treat. When temptation raised its devilish head, a few scoops of unadulterated ice cream were allowed and served forth without much fanfare. Our reward was often coffee ice cream, curiously one of the few “adult” flavors that kids seem to like as much as grown-ups. And in case you’re feeling sorry for my dessert-deprived childhood, not to worry; I’m definitely making up for lost time nowadays.

I finally understand the allure of milk chocolate. While writing a book exploring the world of chocolate, I became determined to get over my skepticism, and I taste-tested as many milk chocolates as I could. Yes, it was tough work, but I felt compelled to do it. I became a convert after sampling premium milk chocolates made with a high percentage of cocoa solids, and a whole new world opened up to me. Mixing in cocoa nibs adds a crunchy counterpoint to this milky-smooth ice cream. I like biting into the little bits of pure, unadulterated chocolate, but I’ve made them optional, since you may not have them readily available (you can substitute chocolate chips). But once you taste a few, you’ll find yourself adding them to chocolate desserts all the time, like I do. (See Resources, page 237, for online sources.)

If you’re one of those people who finds the combination of raspberries with dark chocolate the ultimate luxury, you’ll adore this ice cream. It’s the perfect indulgence: rich, dark chocolate with the bright flavor of tangy raspberries.

Philadelphia-style ice cream is made with no eggs, so it can be mixed together in a New York minute. It gets it name because at one time there was a proliferation of dairy farms around Philadelphia. I’ve made this vanilla ice cream successfully with all heavy cream as well as with a mixture of cream and milk, and I like it both ways.

Up until a few years ago, white peaches and nectarines were an oddity in America and finding them was nearly impossible. Happily, they’ve now become fairly common, and you can spot them in grocery stores and farmers’ markets across the land. Their flavor is not as intense as their yellow counterparts, but their delicacy is part of their appeal. Also appealing is how when white nectarines are cooked with their skins and then puréed, the finished mixture is an ivory hue with a faint touch of rosy pink. I came up with this dessert when I was the pastry chef at Monsoon, an Asian restaurant run by Bruce Cost, one of the best cooks I’ve ever met in my life. Unlike American dinners, most Asian meals don’t end with a full-on dessert. So my challenge was to create desserts that customers would find appealing enough to order after sharing spicy, authentic, and sometimes challenging fare—like the turtle soup served with raw turtle eggs floating on the surface, or the sea slugs that tasted (slightly) better than they looked. I had to make sure the desserts would bring people back from whatever culinary precipice we took them to. This fruit sorbet, resting in a five-spice cookie cup and served with berries steeped in sweet plum wine, was the perfect landing pad.

Many consider the area behind the Gare du Nord in Paris rather dubious. Yes, it’s home to the Paris headquarters for the Hell’s Angels. But lots of amazing ethnic foods can also be found there, for which I’m happy to brave the bikers and travel a bit out of the way. Of the various cultures that have opened restaurants and grocers in that part of Paris, Indian is the most prominent. At night, the blue neon–illuminated stands of the Indian épiceries feature all sorts of odd-looking produce that remain a mystery to me. But I do know mangoes. During their season in late spring, I head to that neighborhood and buy them by the case. I use them in everything, from tropical fruit salads to mango daiquiris (which I’m sure aren’t as popular with the Hell’s Angels as they are with my crowd). But a few invariably get churned up into a batch of this sorbet, along with a basket of strawberries from my local market and a dash of rum, which even the gruffest biker couldn’t resist.

I know you’re going to be tempted to use seedless watermelon here, but don’t. I’ve never tasted one that I particularly liked. And because I have a penchant for making things harder than they should be, I don’t mind plucking out the seeds. For some reason, the harder something is to make, the better it tastes. (And I wonder why I spend a majority of my life in the kitchen.) Don’t worry about using a fancy sake—inexpensive brands work really well in this recipe. And unless you read Japanese, you’re not likely to be able to ascertain the difference trying to read the labels at the store.

Lots of people eat grapes out of hand, but they don’t quite know what else to do with them. Well, I do. I use them to make sorbet. Though seedless grapes are great for snacking, they’re the least flavorful varieties. If you’re lucky enough to live near a farmers’ market, or if you can get your hands on grapes that are good for wine making, like Chardonnay, Merlot, or Zinfandel, you’ll find they make the most amazing sorbets. I have a few older Jewish aunts who swear that Concord grapes make good wine (that comes in a square bottle). I’m not so convinced about the wine, but Concord grapes do, indeed, make one of my favorite sorbets.

There are some very strange people out there who claim not to like coconut. I don’t know how on earth a person couldn’t love something that’s naturally sweet, creamy, and the ideal companion to any and all tropical fruits—and a perfect mate to chocolate, too. This sherbet drizzled with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce (page 243) will make a coconut convert of any nonbeliever.

This ice cream is fabulous drizzled with hot fudge sauce—a decidedly sophisticated treat for adults.

Let the others turn green with envy. This pistachio ice cream is a reduced-fat version, but has all the taste and texture of the classic.

This is a must-have in the Catalano home. The flavor of this sorbet is intense, and the color is gorgeous. This versatile dessert is a light, refreshing way to end any meal. Melted, it makes a delicious complement to vanilla ice cream or scrumptious sauce for chocolate cake.

To achieve a rich chocolate taste, use a high-quality cocoa powder.

Another of the treats of summer was making ice cream, cracking up the big block of ice and taking turns with the crank—hard work that was rewarded by getting to lick the dasher when the ice cream was ready. Today we can buy convenient small ice cream makers that allow you to put the freezer bowl into the freezer so there’s no chopping of ice and the churning goes much faster. I particularly like making my own ice cream because I can use pure ripe seasonal fruits and berries and pure cream, without all the additives of candies and cookies that go into the commercial varieties today. Also, it’s a good way to preserve berries if I’ve been tempted to stop at a nearby farm where you can pick your own—and I inevitably pick more than I can eat up.

Tomatoes are technically a fruit, and that’s how I treat them. This sorbet, which should be made at the height of tomato season with the ripest fruits, showcases that characteristic sweet-acid tomato flavor in its coldest form. A scoop of this sorbet can be the start of a not-so-traditional Bloody Mary, and it could also find its way into a bowl of gazpacho. Try pairing it with the Raspberry-Rose Water Soup (page 62), too.