A Cone, a Swirl and a Smile

Sure, artisanal ice cream is all the rage, and I would never pass up a scoop of Brown Butter Makers Mark Bourbon Ice Cream.  But, in the end, my heart belongs to Carvel.  Vanilla.  In a coronet sugar cone.  It’s hopelessly suburban, and about as “vanilla” as you can possibly get, but something about soft swirl ice cream just makes me swoon.

Recently, we were in America’s heartland for a family wedding, and my brother stopped at a competing ice cream franchise for a cone.   The guy at the counter said to him, “You have Carvelli back east, don’t you?”

Um, that would be CARVEL, please – home of vanilla, chocolate and pistachio cones, Strawberry Bonnets, Flying Saucers and the Fudgie the Whale ice cream cake.  I don’t think we ever tasted Fudgie the Whale, (for Father’s Day and a Whale of a Dad) but the name was legendary.

The roadside Carvel store was the local ice cream parlor of my youth. In that Mad Men era of booming commercialized food products, it was actually the McDonalds of ice cream.  Carvel stores dotted Long Island.  While the name lives on in commercial ice cream products available in grocery stores, there are actually very few stand-alone stores still around.  Sadly, our original family Carvel on Broadway eventually went out of business and the building became a barber shop.  I still drive by and find myself craving a cone.  

A trip to Carvel was a special family treat.  My little brother, who’s no longer little, still believes that Memorial Day marks the start of Carvel season. After dinner, we’d pile in the station wagon and head for the store.  We’d order our cones at the counter and sometimes sit in the car, or stand in the parking lot and lick them silly.  If you really wanted to splurge, you’d get a cone with sprinkles (chocolate or multi-colored) but somehow those sprinkles messed up the perfect spin of swirls that graduated to that jaunty spit curl of ice cream at the top of the peak. 

A Carvel vanilla cone was that perfect balance of slick, chilly refreshment and luxurious creamy goodness, with just a touch of a pleasing lactose coma when the experience was done.   

Perhaps it’s no surprise that when I bought my own home, there happened to be a Carvel store located less than a mile away.  This holiday weekend, I’ll be celebrating with a cold one!

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Pretty in Pink

I rarely keep ice cream in the house, but reminiscing about early cravings for fresh bread got me thinking about other childhood favorites. From there, it wasn’t a big leap to ice cream.

In our family, ice milk was an everyday dessert. On occasion, Neapolitan ice cream was sliced in rectangular slabs so each member of the family could get an equal serving of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. Friendly’s Ice Cream was the stuff of family celebrations. My brother Jim’s favorite flavor was Mint Chocolate Chip. Ken’s top choice was Butter Crunch. My favorite was Peppermint Stick, usually available around Christmas. As for John, he was, and remains to this day, a diehard Carvel fan. Whenever he’s in town, we make a special trip.

But, oh, that Friendly’s Peppermint Stick Ice Cream! So festive, so sweet, so pink, and studded with bursts of peppermint candy shards! I wasn’t sure if it was still available, but then I think, “Hey, I can make this myself.” So I pull out the Krups La Glaciere and get to work.

The recipe is simple. One cup of milk is warmed on the stove. Two eggs are whisked separately with ½ cup of sugar. The hot milk is slowly added to the sugar and then the total mixture is heated until thickened. Let cool to room temperature and add two cups of cream. The final two ingredients are key – two teaspoons of peppermint extract, and a couple of drops of red food coloring to get that perfect preppy pink color.

Chill in the refrigerator overnight and then process in an ice cream maker according to directions. But don’t forget the most important addition – the real authenticity comes with those shreds of peppermint candy that pop in your mouth like little sugary blasts. I smash a handful of peppermint “starlight mints.”

The ice cream maker revs up, creating gorgeous pink waves.

As the ice cream thickens, the candies are added in the final step.

And, what could be better than serving a perfect scoop in a Comet Cup cone?

This stuff isn’t gonna last long. Fortunately, I rarely keep ice cream in the house. Self control is an important attribute for an adult.

©2010 T.W. Barritt all Rights Reserved

Summertime and The Cooking is Easy

It’s August, the thermometer’s been sweating it out in the 90s in New York City, and my culinary muse is taking things slow. While I’m usually an “over-achiever” in the kitchen, right now I’m quite content to wander the Farmers Market in Rockefeller Center, admire the succulent summer produce, and concoct some simple menus that allow for plenty of time to prop up my feet and enjoy a glass or two of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, lush with notes of herbs and citrus.

The Everyday Food “Great Food Fast” cookbook is a fantastic resource for the summertime chef who is looking for more time to dip his toes in a cool mountain stream, literally or figuratively. Broccoli, Chickpea and Cherry Tomato Salad assembles in minutes. The broccoli can even be steamed in the microwave, and the colors are as bright and inviting as a farm stand on a country road.

Roasted Salmon with Lemon Relish from Everyday Food pairs glossy pink salmon with intensely-sweet raisins, tart lemon zest and crunchy pine nuts. Aromas of lemon and fruity olive oil tickle the nose.

A colleague shares tomatoes, garlic and leafy basil from his garden. The tomatoes are full of savory juices and the basil tempts me with smells of licorice. I turn it all into summer pasta garnished with the raw chopped vegetables, herbs and a splash of olive oil.

The baskets of peaches at the greenmarket catch my eye immediately. The pinkish-amber fruit would make a scrumptious pie, but that just feels too strenuous. Instead, visions of peach ice cream dance through my lazy head. The peaches are soaked with sweet nectar and the recipe is simple, requiring no stove-top cooking. Just cold, crisp, sweet peaches and cream.

Summer produce is sublime and just one embellishment can be miraculous. Such is the case with the sensual combination of strawberries and balsamic vinegar. I use the exquisite Balsamic Vinegar “A La Fig” from O&CO Mediterranean Food Merchant in New York’s Grand Central Terminal. The drops of balsamic splash onto the fruit and are thick, like mahogany syrup. The liquid coats the strawberries with a dark glossy sheen until they are almost an iridescent claret color. The dessert is tangy and almost hot, with notes of smoke and black pepper and sunny-sweet floral strawberries.

Although I’ve managed to cut my kitchen time considerably, my often demanding “to-do list” is effortless – listen to classic music at the botanical gardens, feel the summer breezes, watch the clouds dance across the evening sky and admire the sunset. Ambition can wait for a while. It’s summer.

©2007 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Getting Emotional about Cinnamon Ice Cream

I’M SCREAMING!!! Yes, summer is here, and I’M SCREAMING FOR ICE CREAM!!!

OK, it’s the biggest cliché going about one of the world’s most uncomplicated treats, but you’re paying attention now, right?

Who knows where the phrase came from, but it sure is rich with imagery and calories. Ice cream can evoke all kinds of emotions and memories. Ice cream inspires wild creativity, as in the Garlic Ice Cream on the menu at the Stinking Rose in San Francisco, the Basil Ice Cream I tasted at the restaurant, La Madeleine in Burgundy last autumn, or the sinfully-smooth gelato at the Bar Vovoli Gelateria in Florence, Italy that claims to be the best ice cream on the planet.

Ice cream can evoke a memory of times past, a season or a place. My brothers and cousins always knew that Sunday Dinner at Nana and Grandpa’s would conclude with Nana stealing away to the kitchen to beat fresh whipped cream by hand that we’d plop in generous dollops atop absurdly tall ice cream sundaes. As a youngster, I always associated Friendly’s Peppermint Stick Ice Cream with Christmas, and my little brother would inevitably request a trip to Carvel for soft vanilla ice cream in a cone the minute Memorial Day arrived and signaled the start of summer. Of course, he called the holiday, “Remorial Day.”

Ice cream is the stuff of legends. There are unsubstantiated tales of Marco Polo discovering ice cream in China and bringing it to Italy. First Lady Dolly Madison was said to have served ice cream at the inauguration of her husband James in 1813. Perhaps more historically accurate, President Thomas Jefferson gets lots of credit for popularizing ice cream in the newly formed United States of America, particularly because there is a recipe written in his own hand for Vanilla Ice Cream, a popular dessert at his Monticello home.

For me, this humble concoction of milk, eggs and cream can instantly transport me to the “Happy Dimension.” When things get tedious at the office, I escape to the Mister Softee truck on 51st Street for a touch of frozen custard therapy. This past “Remorial Day” weekend, I ventured out to the North Fork of Long Island and enjoyed a lovely outdoor lunch at a restaurant called The Lobster Roll. Their signature chunky lobster roll is worth the price of the trip, but their Cinnamon Ice Cream is a dairy delight and sent me soaring into the summer season.

What could be better than this combination of balmy spice and cool cream? The deeply aromatic cinnamon comes from the bark of tropical trees and is one of the oldest spices in recorded history.

Back home from the North Fork and facing the harsh realities of daily life, I was convinced I could recreate that sweet, sun-drenched moment at the Lobster Roll. The recipe is incredibly simple. You just need to commit to a little time at the pot stirring the custard, and carefully watching as it thickens. Plan ahead. The custard should be extremely cold before you put it into the ice cream maker, or it may not firm up as needed. Your best bet is to make the custard the night before, so it has a good eight hours to chill in the refrigerator before you churn it into thick, tawny mountains of snow. Be prepared. A mere two teaspoons of good quality cinnamon is intense and will send your palate on a whirlwind expedition on the Spice Route of antiquity.

The luscious, honey-colored peaks invite exploration. The taste – silky, extravagant and exotic, yet at the same time comforting, evoking Mom, childhood and warm cinnamon-sugar toast.

I can hear you SCREAMING right now…

© 2007 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Corner Ice Cream Parlor

I’m feeling a bit nostalgic for those neighborhood institutions and establishments that, one-by-one, seem to be slipping away. In most communities the family-owned, corner ice cream parlor is an anachronism, having long been replaced by drive-through or national chain restaurants.

The idea of an old fashioned ice cream parlor conjures up images of Archie Comics and “Happy Days.” Believe it or not, one actually still exists not far from my home. OK, maybe it’s not my corner, but Krisch’s Ice Cream is located on a corner in the slightly drowsy town of Massapequa, Long Island. The family-owned business has been operating on Long Island for 87 years, originally in Queen’s, before eventually migrating to Massapequa. They are famous for their homemade ice cream.

It’s been years since I’ve visited Krisch’s, so I locate their menu online which promises retro 50s style burgers, fries and many luscious flavors of ice cream. If that’s not tempting enough, there’s also meatloaf, milk shakes and cream pie. Meatloaf, ice cream and pie??? That’s the food of the gods in suburbia. It seems like a visit is in order.

I recruit Cousin Steve to join me. Cousin Steve is an edgy graphic illustrator and comic book artist who knows far more about four-color printing than four-star restaurants. I can confirm that he has an identical twin brother named Frank, which can cause some wacky mix-ups at family gatherings. What better person to take to a restaurant that may only really exist in the funny papers?

There is a full moon, and it’s a frigid night, a dubious time to sample homemade ice cream, but we’ve come too far to turn back. As we approach Krisch’s, I take note of the fact that there is outdoor seating available. “Let’s try that … next summer,” Cousin Steve shivers.

Inside, I see that Krisch’s has had a bit of a makeover since my last visit, in basic primary colors of red, turquoise and black, but the booths and swivel stools at the counter remain a staple. Most of the wait staff is about a third of my age. We are seated in a back corner in the “cheap seats” as there is a line for the cushier booths in the center of the restaurant. There’s a glass case filled with homemade chocolates, and some kind of Valentine’s Day decorative theme going on with lots of hearts, flowers and stuffed bears. I scan the main dining room for any sign of Betty and Veronica. “Are you hungry for Wonder Bread, yet?” Cousin Steve asks.

Cousin Steve checks out the authenticity of our booth, and holds up an old-fashioned glass sugar dispenser that sits with a bottle of Heinz on the gray Formica tabletop. “No Splenda here.”

The theme from “Hawaii Five-O” is playing in the background and we are handed oversized laminated menus to peruse the endless selection of entrees. Cousin Steve comments that the logo has recently been updated to the 1980s. I’m torn between the Corn Dog Platter and the Pizza Burger, but Cousin Steve seems fascinated by two karmic options: The Twin Burger or the Mt. Steven Burger Deluxe.

“Did you see that there’s also Mt. Steven Chicken on the menu?” I ask.

“What’d you call me?” retorts Cousin Steve. He’s a little put off by the fact that “Mt. Steven” is not spelled “Stephen” but when he learns that the deluxe burger entree comes with two burgers, he’s convinced. “Two burgers!” he cheers. “Biology is destiny.” I settle on the less ambitious Pizza Burger.

As an appetizer, we split an order of potato pancakes and applesauce, and I order Krisch’s famous milk shake. At the risk of seeming too Vanilla, I order … well, Vanilla. The drink arrives in a tall silver “frappe can.” The thick, chilled milkshake crawls up the straw and tastes sweet and silky-smooth.

On the wall is lots of Massapequa and malt shop memorabilia. There’s a poster of “Monkey Mountain,” a peculiar roadside tourist attraction that was part of the Massapequa Zoo in 1954, and there are signed photographs of Jerry Seinfeld and Alec Baldwin – Massapequa’s first sons of comedy and theater – hanging just over the cash register.

Our entrées are delivered and Cousin Steve is aghast at the sheer volume of his burger. “It’s got its own zip code. Even my mouth’s not that big!”

The Mt. Steven Burger is a double stack of beef sirloin, bacon and cheese (“real cheese, not that orange goo,” according to my cousin) that sits about eight-inches high once you’ve figured out how to cap it with the pile of shredded lettuce, pickle and Kaiser bun that sits to one side. Cousin Steve slaps the two parts together like cymbals, and clutches it tightly. “With the Mt. Steven Burger, you have to commit,” he explains. “Once you’ve got the two parts together, you can’t put it down.”

I try the same technique with my Pizza Burger, and a river of marinara sauce floods out of the other end of the bun. On the other side of the table, Cousin Steve is trying to conquer Mt. Steven. “It’s smirking at me,” he proclaims. “It’s daring me to finish it.” Finally, the man triumphs over the mountain, and the Mt. Steven Burger is no more.

But, Cousin Steve is in search of another conquest. He orders a Mini-Waffle Sundae with Cake Batter Ice Cream, real whipped cream and hot fudge, topped with a maraschino cherry. I regress back to childhood and order a huge scoop of Fluffer Nutter Ice Cream. The Cake Batter Ice Cream tastes like something Betty Crocker just popped out of the oven, “but colder,” as Cousin Steve points out, “despite the hot fudge.” The Fluffer Nutter Ice Cream is a super-soft and creamy blend of Marshmallow Fluff and Peanut Butter, although after several spoonfuls, I start to crave Welch’s Grape Jelly.

Cousin Steve’s dessert platter is close to squeaky clean. “There may be some volcanic activity in Mt. Steven Burger tonight,” he groans. As he is consuming the last bit of Cake Batter Ice Cream, an entire Pee-Wee Basketball Team enters for some post-game refreshments.

“Kids in shorts, hopped up on sugar, and a full moon?” asks Cousin Steve in horror.

We decide it is prudent to pay the bill and make a quick exit.

©2007 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved