Wednesday, August 21st

Ice Cream Lady

[Note: This week marks the appearance of littleplate's first guest columnist: my sister, Anna Levy. Enjoy! - Ed.]

There are very few foods that I find truly irresistible. Being the second daughter in my family, and looking always for ways to distinguish myself from my older sister during our shared childhood, I never took much interest in the process or delicate details of food. Since her first cooking class at the age of 3, food was my sister's THING, and that was fine with me. I was happy to sit back, watch, and eat the results of her kitchen experiments.

As I've gotten older, though, I've realized a couple of things. One, I could have learned a LOT about food from my sister for years. And two, I have some food passions of my own. I now readily admit it: I am a chocolate addict, a Mexican food devotee, a sushi freak. But there's one food that has worked its way through my life, that has truly created its own spot in my heart and mind: ice cream.

All my life, I've loved the stuff. My elementary school years were written in between bowls of lucky Texas' Blue Bell, with Peppermint and Rocky Road, Dutch Chocolate and Pecan Pralines n' Cream. (It remains, by far, my favorite grocery-store brand.) Today, a couple of time zones away, I'll reach for Ben n' Jerry's delightfully eclectic combinations, a Haagen Dazs bar, or, if I'm feeling truly indulgent, some of that incredible Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake. And I've noticed that beyond the grocery aisles, I have a knack for finding the best Shoppe around. It's kind of like radar. Visit the Big Dipper in Missoula, Montana, for example, or the Marble Slab in the southern half of the country. You'll see what I mean.

But regardless of where I am, or how much I adore the flavors in those sweet little pints and hearty half-gallons, I have to say that nothing compares to making your own. And, as summer quickly winds down, I have to ask, Why not go out, this very night, and experience homemade ice cream for yourself? Use an old-fashioned crank and ask your kids, your friends, your neighbors to join in for an unforgettable treat.

Growing up, my family made peach ice cream at least once every summer. Fresh Texas peaches dancing in the thickest cream we could find was the perfect end to hot August days. The flavor is nostalgic, recreating a time that now exists only in memory. These days, the moment the first spoonful touches my tongue, I close my eyes in pleasure and am transformed to a time of great simplicity, of childhood ignorance and bliss; for a moment, I am six years old again, laughing with my family as crickets begin serenading the sun to sleep. It wasn't just the taste, though; it was the delight of knowing that we had made the ice cream ourselves that made it so special and memorable.

Today, I'm fortunate to live on a farm in California that invites people to come for a week at a time and experience good, simple, delicious living. As a result, and because of the belief that it really is becoming a lost pleasure, we make fresh ice cream several times a week. No matter how many times I've had ice cream at the farm, regardless of what flavor it is, I am thrilled when that time of the week rolls around again. Judging by the faces of our guests, it's easy to see they feel the same.

On ice cream nights, we take turns cranking, always encouraging the kids milling around to try it. We instruct them on the gentle art, stressing the importance of not cranking too quickly, or too slowly, ensuring that the base has time to freeze. We remind them to always turn in the same direction, because even though the other direction is faster and easier, it isn't working to scrape the base off the sides of the middle container. The children, for their part, take the task very seriously, particularly when the ice cream nears completion and the crank becomes almost impossible to turn. Their little eyebrows nestle down close to their lashes and wrinkle their foreheads, their mouths form straight, concentrated lines and they use every bit of their strength to finish turning. Exhausted and triumphant, they stand again (for they're almost always leaning over the maker at this point) and relish the admiration coming from their peers. It is a sight to see.

It is, however, the moments after the ice cream is finished that are the most fun. The children watch as the lid is removed and the flavor is revealed, waiting to see if the rumors of vanilla or coffee were correct. Truthfully, it doesn't matter if they were or not. Whatever flavor is announced quickly inspires the formation of lines, the collection of bowls and spoons. My favorite, avocado, with its texture so creamy and its name so obscure, draws the strongest reaction from the crowd: a shout of YES! from someone who has had it before, a recoiling novice, a disbelieving chlid shaking his head to make sure he heard right. But it isn't long before they are all lining up for seconds.

There are a lot of traditions that fall by the wayside of our hurried lives. Making ice cream, unfortunately, has become one of them. But for a moment of pure summer delight, full of simplicity and joy, it is unparalleled. And it is a magic, a love affair even, that I invite you to try. Perhaps, as you turn the crank in these waning moments of summer, you'll be transformed to a time that is just a little bit different, a little bit better, a little bit smoother than ours. And maybe, in that space, making ice cream will become a tradition all your own.