We’ve gotten our first whiff of fall in New York City this week. This morning, I actually put on socks. But now that summer is beginning to fade (and soon, too, will my flip-flop foot tan), it’s officially okay to start thinking about baking, specifically pies. There is so much good fruit around.

Fresh, tree-ripe peaches, plums and apricots make a superior pie, and this is the only time of year to get them. I can’t tell you how sad it is to try a canned peach-filled pie after trying one made with the ripest fruit, fresh. Another great reason to make pies from these fruits — as tempting as they are to just gobble up fresh — is that it’s a great way to use up fruits that have gotten a little bruised, or are soft and overripe, just like turning them into jam.

multi-colored plums from Red Jacket Orchards

So that’s what happened with a bunch of apricots and plums recently, for me. Though I’ve been eating plums incessantly ever since I signed up for Red Jacket Orchard’s fruit CSA, I can’t seem to down enough of them before they get a little soft and squishy. I prefer eating plums that are slightly firm, when the skin’s tight across its ruby flesh and super tart. A couple of pints of apricots, too, went the way of soft and slightly shriveled, as if they were on their way to drying themselves out in the sun on their own. Not even the brewers at Sixpoint could finish all the fresh fruits that I had stocked the fridge with. So one day, for a post-lunch dessert, I made this pie.

making a quick pie pastry from butter, flour and water

It was the quickest pie-making mission I think I’ve ever done. I didn’t try to get creative with the flavors in the filling, like adding herbs or browned butter or nuts. Just this good fruit would be sensational enough, I figured. Since there was a hoard of plums and apricots, I went with those for my theme, and left the skins on as I pitted and cut them all into wedges.

fresh (overripe) apricots and plums tossed with sugar form the filling

The good thing about this mix, plums and apricots, is that apricots are a little on the dry side, and plums can be way too mushy when baked. Combined, they make not only a great flavor, but a nice consistency in your pie. Just be sure to add a little touch of cornstarch (or flour) to the fruit mixture, so that the runny plum juices thicken up a bit into a delicious sauce.

the top crust is assembled (and I forgot to poke holes for ventilation!)

an egg wash is prepared (from one of Beaker’s miniature eggs)

and brushed on, followed by a sprinkle of sugar

Something about cooked apricots and plums, too, is just delicious in a way that completely differs from how they taste fresh. You don’t need to add lemon juice to this pie filling, either — it’s tangy and very intense in flavor alone. I don’t know why people invented candy sometimes.

If you find yourself in a predicament of too much fruit, too, or just want to try out this combo for a ride, please do so before stone fruit season’s over. It might just warm you up to colder weather soon to come.

Plum & Apricot Pie
(makes one 9-inch pie)

for the filling
6 cups plums and apricots, pitted and cut to wedges
1/2 cup sugar
2 teaspoons cornstarch

for the crust
1 1/2 sticks cold unsalted butter, cubed
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
2-3 tablespoons cold water
optional: 1 egg and sugar to brush on top before baking

Make the crust: Combine the flour and salt. Using a pastry blender, your fingers or a food processor, cut the butter into the flour. If using the food processor, pulse several few times until the pieces of butter are no larger than a pea. The mixture should resemble coarse crumbs. Add water one tablespoon at a time and stop when the dough is malleable enough to form a ball. (If using food processor, slowly add water one tablespoon at a time to the mixture while pulsing it just until a ball is formed). Break into two balls. Cover them with plastic wrap and chill at least 30 minutes. (Crust can be made several hours beforehand.)

In a large bowl, combine the fruit with the sugar and cornstarch and mix well. Roll one pastry ball out and transfer to the bottom of a 9-inch pie pan. Fill with the fruit. Roll out top crust on a sheet of waxed or parchment paper, and carefully transfer peel off on top of the pie. Crimp edges to seal the pie shut, and poke holes throughout the top with a fork to ventilate the filling. Brush top of pie with the beaten egg mixed with a little water, and sprinkle the top of the pie with sugar. Bake at 375 degrees for about 40 minutes, or until lightly browned on top.

Cost Calculator
(for 1 9-inch pie, or about 8 servings)

6 cups apricots and plums (from a CSA half-share at $13 per week of lots of fruit): $5.00
1 1/2 sticks butter (at $3.50/8 oz.): $2.63
2 1/4 cups flour: $1.50
1/2 cup sugar: $0.25
1 teaspoon salt, 2 teaspoons cornstarch, sugar for sprinkling, egg for eggwash from rooftop chicken): $0.25

Total: $9.63

Health Factor

Seven brownie points: A rich pie pastry filled with sugared, cooked fruit is what it is, no matter how fresh and full of vitamins the fruit is to begin with. Still, they retain a good share of Vitamin C, telling by the pie’s tartness, and by keeping the skins of the fruit on you’re keeping more flavor as well as nutrition, so don’t go through the hassle of peeling! One piece of this treat is a good way to reconcile with an overload of fruit, but whenever you can, eating them fresh is the best way to go for your health.

Green Factor

Eight maple leaves: Know thy farmer, they say, and it’s been a great pleasure getting to know the farmers and staff at Red Jacket Orchards, which doesn’t spray chemicals on their Finger Lakes-based orchard and is fond of cultivating rare varieties of fruits to keep them alive. The butter, from Ronnybrook, is also created with care by the upstate dairy. I’ll just need to join a grain CSA next in order to benefit from all the great flour made in this region.

My boyfriend tells me that I’m going to have to take my ice cream-making to new levels after a trip to his home state of Wisconsin for Christmas. There, I’ll get to try Kopp’s Frozen Custard, the fabled foodie destination that I have never visited. Heck, I’ve never been to Wisconsin, or anywhere in the Midwest, either (except for a wee little wedding excursion way back, in Cincinnati. Remember that?). Apparently, in Wisconsin more eggs is more when it comes to making ice cream — I mean, custard. The dairy state? The stuff might have more yolks than cream.

cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves and orange peel to steep the milk in

So until then, I’m churning out a few batches with my favorite formula. After so many different recipes, so many trials and tribulations, I’ve pinned down my own recipe for an ice cream base. I use it for every flavor, with some adaptation (if it seems necessary, for instance, to amp up the egg or cream if carrots are steeped in it, which will lend liquid, or to lessen these if something like peanut butter is going in). I’m not sure when it all came together, there was no Eureka moment or stroke of lightning, just lots and lots of experimentation (and saturated fat grams). A milestone was made, I think, with an anise and chocolate flavor, and from then on I’ve always used more yolks than previously. Which is to say that my current recipe is egg-heavy to begin with:

beating the eggs and sugar

It’s five egg yolks, and one egg white. So that’s one whole egg, and four yolks. And only good eggs, cage-free eggs that are fresh, fresh, fresh from the Greenmarket, so the yolks are plump and deep orange like a tangerine. One cup of cream, one and a half cups of whole milk, and likewise, this is the best organic milk you can find. Then, two-thirds to three-quarters of a cup of sugar, depending on how sweet you want it, or if there’s something else sweet going in. That’s it. What’s your way?

The next part of this recipe is for a little garnish or optional add-in to your ice cream, if you don’t mind a chunky texture. It’s candied orange peel, and it’s simply delightful — like an orange Fruit-Roll-Up. It’s also a great way to use up orange peel instead of tossing it in the can or compost (if you haven’t stabbed it with a million cloves, that is). Free candy! Well, almost. Now, making candied orange peel is tedious, but it isn’t hard. It involves changing boiling water five times, peeling pith away carefully, and getting stickiness on your surfaces. If you’d like to bow out now, I accept. But it’s a fun project and well worth the effort once in a while.

scraping the pith from quintuply-boiled orange peels with a serrated edge

candied orange peel

I actually meant to finely slice the candied orange peel when it was finished and sprinkle it into the ice cream as it was churning in the machine. But I forgot to when that was happening. So here it’s used as a garnish, and you can use these shreds as garnish in many other things: toss them in salads for a chewy-sweet touch, or put them in homemade granola or trail mixes. I’ll probably be doing many of these things in the aftermath, thanks to my oversight. That, and eating lots of egg whites (reserved from the yolk-separating task). I’ve been dropping them into hot soup a lot lately.

Spiced Orange Ice Cream
(makes about 1 quart)

1 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cups whole milk
4 egg yolks
1 whole egg
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon orange extract
5 big strips ginger, peeled
about 1/2 tablespoon whole cloves
1 whole nutmeg
2 cinnamon sticks
(note on spices: you can use ground spices if you prefer, and you can use additional ones too, like allspice and cardamom; try adding 1/4 teaspoon each ground spice first and add more to taste.)
zest of 1 orange, cut off in strips with little to no white pith left on
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Combine the milk and cream with the spices and orange peel in a medium saucepan. Bring just to a boil, stirring, then reduce heat to very low and continue heating for 20 minutes, without any boiling. Turn off heat and keep covered another 20 minutes. Strain the milk mixture and return to the saucepan.

Beat the egg yolks with the sugar and orange extract until light in color and fluffy. Temper the egg yolk mixture by adding a small spoonfuls of the hot milk mixture at a time, while whisking, until about half a cup has been added. Transfer the egg mixture to the milk mixture in the saucepan and stir constantly while cooking over medium heat until the mixture is just thick enough to coat the back of a spoon (about 8 minutes). Do not let boil. Chill in an airtight container overnight. Follow your ice cream maker’s machine to churn the ice cream. Halfway through the churning, pour in the fresh lemon juice (to keep it from curdling the milk mixture beforehand).

Candied Orange Peel
(makes one orange peel’s worth of candy)

1 orange, cut in half and juiced (reserve the juice for drinking or something else)
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup water

Bring orange halves to a boil in a small saucepan. Drain, and fill again with fresh water. Repeat process four times. Remove orange and let cool. Slice into quarters and scrape away the pulp and white pith from the zest; get as much of it off as you can without tearing the peels. Slice peels into fine chiffonades (note: in the photos above I went ahead with the next step without slicing them as indicated; I think it’s better to slice here rather than at the end).

Dissolve the water and sugar in the small saucepan to make a simple syrup. Add the orange shreds and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and let simmer for 30-40 minutes. Remove the candied orange carefully with tongs and set in a sheetpan to dry. Keep chilled in an airtight container for up to a few weeks.

Cost Calculator
(for 1 quart of ice cream and candied orange)

2 oranges: $1.00
1 cup heavy cream: $2.00
1 1/2 cups whole milk: $1.00
5 egg yolks and 1 egg white (so, half of 4 eggs and 1 whole at $4/dozen): $1.00
1 1/4 cups sugar: $0.30
2 cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, ginger, 1 Tb cloves, 1/2 tsp extract, 1 Tb lemon juice: $1.25

Total: $6.55

Health Factor

Eight brownie points: It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas… calorie-wise. Ice cream may be ice cream, unavoidably rich and sweet. But as long as I can be satisfied with the outcome I’ll opt for less fats being more. This gets harder each time I try a richer ice cream and don’t want to turn back, but everything with moderation, as they say.

Green Factor

Six maple leaves: Why are we messing with oranges, in the cold of winter in the Northeast? Well, because it’s fun, and I can’t resist a little non-local flavor once in a while. Aside from that slip, the eggs, milk and cream are local and organic, and they really do turn out the best-tasting outcome.

My favorite ice cream base ratio had been very simple: a cup and a half each cream and whole milk, 4 egg yolks. Adjust if your flavor addition is rich or liquid-y. Neither five-star anise (steeped in the milk just like vanilla bean) nor unsweetened cocoa powder would turn the tables, so the recipe seemed routine. Except when I got to my third cup of half-and-half, the cup measure only filled up a few drops. There was no more of it left, the dairy was more than half a cup short of recipe, and I had already beaten my four yolks with sugar. Pushing ahead anyway, I ended up with the smoothest, creamiest, most custardy and intensely flavored ice cream I think I’ve ever made. The chocolate and anise combo is really something special, too (provided you like anise).

five-star anise about to steep in milk and cream

There are proponents of as many as 9 egg yolks to a quart and but I find this unnecessarily excessive and far too rich for my blood. This topic came up in conversation at a recent party, where I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was not the only homemade ice cream-making obsessive (the other tinkerer was no less Kerry Trueman). Ice cream, gelato and frozen custard may be once-in-a-while treats, but if you can create them without frightening fat levels, why not? I always say. Well, I guess one extra egg yolk to a quart can’t hurt too much, and really, it made an impressive difference in the finished scoop. New standard formula.

Eggs aside, a note on this recipe’s main ingredient: milk. Small dairy farms are in a dreadful state. For all the appreciation of their artisanal products, around the country, these small dairy farms are basically closing down like crazy, unable to compete. At the same time, organic dairy operations are losing the battle, too. As described in this recent New York Times article, organic milk distributors like Horizon are scaling back operations and not renewing the contracts of many of their dairy farm suppliers in response to softening demand. This is clearly a pricing issue, since organic milk sales had been growing pre-recession, when so many of these farmers decided to make the switch to organic. And this is a Catch-22 of morally responsible eating — there is the desire, but not always the funds to do so. I just wish it weren’t the small farms who are paying for the public’s inability or unwillingness to buy the product. (Don’t you just feel guilty now! By the way, if you read the sob stories about some farmers in that Times article, there are decent ways distributors are handling the scale-back, like ensuring the same prices for milk while requiring farms to reduce their output.)

I am not a fluid milk drinker, so I don’t buy milk all the time. Rarely, in fact. Given this, I’ll happily spend the extra on organic milk. But it also means that I’ve got to finish it, before it goes bad. So whenever there’s a half-carton left and it’s about to turn for the worse, I turn it into ice cream — definitely for the better. And that’s exactly what I was doing with this quart of half-and-half, incidentally Organic Valley.

This is a childishly facile, naïve, infantile daydream, but since I’m on an ice cream high, I wonder: instead of thinning their herds, what if all organic milk farms and suffering small dairy farms simply made ice cream with their excess stock, too?

Chocolate and Five-Star Anise Ice Cream
(makes roughly 1 quart)

1 1/4 cups heavy cream
1 1/4 cups whole milk
5 egg yolks
3/4 cups sugar
4 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
8-10 five-star anise pieces

Combine the milk and cream and add the five-star anise and cocoa powder in a medium saucepan. Bring just to a boil, stirring, then reduce heat to very low and continue heating for 20 minutes, without any boiling. Turn off heat and keep covered another 10 minutes. Remove the five-star anise pieces from the milk.

Beat the egg yolks with the sugar until light in color and fluffy. Temper the egg yolk mixture by adding a small spoonfuls of the hot milk mixture at a time, while whisking, until about half a cup has been added. Transfer the egg mixture to the milk mixture in the saucepan and stir constantly while cooking over medium heat until the mixture is just thick enough to coat the back of a spoon (about 8 minutes). Do not let boil. Chill in an airtight container overnight. Follow your ice cream maker’s machine to churn the ice cream.

Cost Calculator
(for 1 quart of ice cream)

2 1/2 cups organic half-and-half: (at $3.99/quart): $2.50
5 egg yolks (at $4/dozen): $1.25
3/4 cup sugar: $0.25
handful five-star anise pieces (easily found cheap in Chinatown): $0.20
4 tablespoons cocoa powder: $0.50

Total: $4.70

Health Factor

Eight brownie points. The “health factor” of an ice cream recipe is sort of taboo any way you slice it. It’s rich in calcium and it’s got some protein from those (extra) egg yolks, but bottom line, enjoy it in moderation (unlike I did the first night).

Green Factor

Six brownie points: So this half-and-half, purchased at the supermarket one day for some purpose that I cannot remember, was organic. However, it was not necessarily local and as admitted, not very fresh. In any case, I’m sure anyone could tell in a blind taste-test that fresh milk from pastured and/or grass-fed cows on small, local farms is not only greener, but tastes better than conventional. So when you’re making something like ice cream, it really pays. Same goes for the yolks.

Now if only I could miniaturize myself after this string of cook-offs the past two weeks. Brooklyn Kitchen‘s 3rd Annual Cupcake Cook-Off, held Monday night at Union Pool, was the last straw — yes, the Risotto Challenge is still on, and yes, it will be still awesome, and will help raise money for our friends at Just Food. But until then, folks, I’m staying away from the trays and snaking lines of homemade eats for a while.

This is my parting gift, then, for the next two weeks (until May 23rd). For this cupcake cook-off, I was neither a judge nor an organizer, just a plain old, regular contestant. But I still wanted my cupcakes to be anything but. Dreaming of tapioca bubble-bottomed cups of lychee-sweetened, cool green tea, my original intent was to merge these two flavors in a cupcake: green tea cake, lychee frosting, bubbles on top. Fun all around. But running around from Tofu Takedown to baking mode did not allow for a trip to Chinatown, to get lychees. I ended up swapping in coconut, which was tasty but ultimately less exciting, in my mind at least. I almost didn’t even make them, either — from starting to beat the batter at 5pm and dashing into a cab at 7, I arrived at the cook-off five minutes late, with these bite-sized guys safely in tow.

Brooklyn Kitchen proprietor Harry Rosenblum welcomes the contestants

I am just happy to have survived. The back patio of Union Pool was already akin to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory by then with its parade of eye-catching cupcakes. Each frostinged creation was wildly different, decadent, and begged you to taste it, or at least take a photo of it. I did both.

dulce de leche cupcakes (by Robicelli’s of Brooklyn)

coral reef cupcakes?

“pass the potatoes” (carrot) cupcakes

a cupcake with fresh strawberry frosting

key lime cupcake, anyone?

For the record, there were 57 cupcakes, so it was impossible for any one person to try them all — or photograph them all, though many cameras were swirling about the patio. I am told there were two types of cupcakes made with parsnips, caught glimpse of a ruby red and kelly green watermelon-looking cupcake being eaten, and overheard there were no less than three cupcakes named after Elvis, for various reasons. There were some cupcakes made by professional bakeries and caterers, and others made by food bloggers, like Alex of Blondie and Brownie. To even the playing field between contestants with a commercial kitchen and without, Brooklyn Kitchen owners Harry and Taylor roped off the professional bakers in a separate category for the judges. Somehow, I got stuck serving along the same ledge as them. This may have proved beneficial to my tastebuds, but not necessarily to my curbside appeal, comparatively.

Actually, there were three people who had to taste them all, the brave judges. Rachel Wharton, Edible Brooklyn Deputy Editor, and two others (names coming) spent at least an hour in a corner of the patio tasting and critiquing each one. The rest of the judging was up to the audience. The Brooklyn Kitchen cleverly devised the cook-off as a fundraiser for the Greenpoint Soup Kitchen in such a way that each person could purchase a “vote” for $1. The more votes (hence, dollars to charity) a cupcake garnered, the closer it would come to being named the ultimate winner of the evening.

That vote went far in favor of one certain cupcake entry. But before we get to that, here is what the judges had to say.

Karol Lu’s classic red velvet cupcakes took props

this contestant’s cupcakes won first place in the “plain flavor” category

Melissa of Cake Hero’s cupcakes placed in the decoration category

as did this contestant (I know, this is terrible reporting but a final list is coming)

and Karol again for her superfluous second batch of “mashed potato” cupcakes (above)

Indira claims the professional prize

In the special category for the best effort by a professional baker, Indira “the sweet” Wiegland won for her dual-flavored mini cupcakes: almond and lemon custard, and carrot-ginger. Now these were two cupcakes that I did try and thoroughly enjoyed, well beyond my fullness point.

But after the judges had spoken, and bags of various cooking tool prizes were handed out, the patio was drawn to a low hush. The final award of the night — the real one, for the annual event — had been decided by a landslide audience vote. That cupcake variety garnered 235 votes and that many dollars for the Greenpoint Soup Kitchen. And heroically, the cupcake belonged to Kate Brown, the winner of last year’s Brooklyn Kitchen Cupcake Cook-Off. Her cupcakes had peanut butter, fried bananas and Southern Comfort frosting and were named after Elvis — no idea why!

Kate Brown snags the top prize

But she won a huge stand mixer for rocking the competition again. That’s alright, momma!

And in lieu of Kate’s winning cupcake recipe, I offer this humble entry by myself. It’s the second time I entered the Brooklyn Kitchen’s cupcake-a-thon, and second time not placing in it, either. What can I say? The competition’s rough. Harry announced at the beginning of the contest that the first year of the cook-off, there were about 15 cupcakes to judge; the second year, there were thirty. Following that math, it was only natural that this year, their third, about 60 cupcake bakers signed up and 57 made it to the event. “Next year, we’re going to need a bigger venue,” he said, standing atop a concrete booth backing’s ledge. You can bet I’ll be there, wherever it is.

Green Tea Coconut Mini Cupcakes
(makes about 24)

1 cup sifted cake flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
1/2 cup coconut milk
1 tablespoon matcha (green tea powder)

for the frosting:
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
2 cups confectioner’s sugar
1 tablespoon coconut milk
1/2 cup sweetened flaked coconut
24 or more green tea tapioca pearls, softened according to directions on the package and drained

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cut butter into cubes. In a large bowl, beat 1 stick of the butter with the 1 1/2 cups sugar. Separate the eggs and beat in the yolks well, until fluffy and lighter in color. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking power and salt.

While beating, alternate adding the flour mixture and the coconut milk. Add the matcha and continue beating until well blended. Meanwhile, beat the egg whites in a stand mixer or rapidly with a whisk until light and foamy. Gently fold in egg white mixture to cupcake mixture. Fill into miniature sized cupcake liners in a mini cupcake pan. Bake for about 20-25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cupcake comes out clean.

Meanwhile, make the frosting: beat the cubed butter with the confectioner’s sugar and coconut milk. Add the coconut flakes. Once cupcakes have cooled completely, frost each one. Top with a green tea tapioca pearl and serve.

Cost Calculator
(for 24 mini cupcakes)

1 cup flour: $0.50
1 1/2 cups sugar: $0.50
2 eggs: $0.40
1/2 cup coconut milk: $0.55
1 tablespoon matcha: $1.00
2 sticks butter: $2.00
2 cups confectioner’s sugar: $0.75
1/2 cup flaked coconut: $0.35

Total: $6.05

Health Factor

Eight brownie points: Cupcakes are no healthivore’s dream come true, and folks had better know it if they plan to attend a cupcake cook-off. Sure, there are some antioxidants in green tea, even in powdered form, but it’s mostly sugar otherwise, and a lot of it at that. I don’t imagine there are many things as sugary as the all-American cupcake. (And I had been thinking about rolling the tapioca pearls in granulated sugar for a gumdrop-looking effect! Too bad there was no time for it.)

Green Factor

Two maple leaves: Almost no props whatsoever. The dairy and protein in these cupcakes — butter and eggs — come from local sources, but the highlights of the recipes are largely imported. Tropical coconut milk and shredded meat doesn’t come from very close quarters, and neither did the Japanese store-puchased satchel of matcha powder. What will happen to the state of dessert flavors if we were to stop for a moment and go local and seasonal, all the time?

I often browse the Asian cookbooks at Kinokuniya Bookstore in Midtown, but rarely buy them. This discovery was a very special case. The book’s introduction reads like a sweeping, romantic poem about the author and founder of u Ice Cream in Hong Kong — in third person and entirely in Engrish. Within the first few lines, our hero leaves his good job in telecom to study in England, where he was “arrested by a pretty girl,” but his crush was unrequited. So, he decided to lure her by learning how to make the most exceptional ice cream in the world. I’m not going to give away the ending, but it goes on for four more pages, and is killer. Then the really good stuff begins, the ice cream recipes.

In addition to the flavor that initially captured my fancy, these recipes include flavors based on soy beans, Chinese rice, sake and ginkgo. (My head nearly exploded by the time I flipped to the end.) I’ve never made the proper recipe for “Japanese Curry Ice Cream” in it, but used it as a rough guideline for the dessert we served at the Hapa Kitchen‘s May Day debut dinner. Because in each dish, we wanted to incorporate both Eastern and Western elements, we added shredded carrots (a la a previous Carrot Cake Ice Cream experiment), making it Curry Carrot Ice Cream.

served alongside ginger whipped cream and a deep-fried cinnamon-sugar “dosa” (photo by Joe DiStefano)

The recipe I eventually honed it to is fairly simple — one cup of heavy cream, one cup of whole milk, one cup of coconut milk, carrots, egg yolks, brown sugar and spices. However, this is the only dish from the dinner menu that I tested at home twice, to satisfactory results, but the one I had the most difficulty with the night of the dinner. I’ll save you the string of disasters, but it ended with one of our crew members making a mad dash to Brooklyn two hours before service to borrow an ice cream maker from a dear friend, Winnie.

Thanks to her, the venerable Mr. Liu, and everyone else on the kitchen team, this ice cream turned out being the food I heard the most compliments on, and requests for its recipe. One diner wrote in a thank-you note that she she felt “a little violated by the juxtaposition” (I’m assuming that pertains to curry in ice cream), but that it was “super delicious” and “badass” with a double underline. An unusual compliment for an unusual ice cream flavor, I suppose.

So to violate even more people, here’s how to make it.

Curry Carrot Ice Cream
(makes about 1 quart)

1 cup heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
1 cup coconut milk
1/2 cup packed finely shredded carrots
4 egg yolks
3/4 cup light brown sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons Indian or Japanese curry powder
squirt of lemon or lime

In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks and brown sugar until fluffy and the lighter in color. Set aside.

Combine the milk, cream, coconut milk, carrots and curry powder in a medium saucepan. Bring mixture just to a boil, then reduce heat to very low. Let simmer, stirring occasionally, for 25 minutes. (Do not let boil.)

While beating the egg yolk mixture, pour in a small spoonful of the hot milk mixture and continue to beat. Repeat process with a larger spoonful, while beating, then repeat again, and again. (This will temper the eggs, so that they don’t cook lumpy.) Next, scoop all the egg yolk mixture into the hot milk mixture. Return heat to medium-low. Cook about 8-10 minutes longer, stirring frequently with a spatula to scrape all corners of the bottom of the pot. Do not let boil. The custard should be just thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, but have no lumps.

Let custard cool completely, then transfer to an airtight container and completely chill in the refrigerator at least 2 hours. Add the squirt of lemon or lime juice. Follow your machine’s instructions for churning length. Add the chopped nuts in the last minute of the churning process. Transfer ice cream to an airtight container and freeze for 2 hours to “ripen.”

Cost Calculator
(for 1 quart)

1 cup milk: $0.65
1 cup heavy cream: $1.50
1 cup coconut milk: $0.80
4 egg yolks (at $4/dozen): $0.50
1/2 cup shredded carrots (at $3/big bag): $0.20
3/4 cup brown sugar: $0.40
1 1/2 tablespoons curry powder: $0.50
squeeze of lime: $0.10

Total: $3.85

Health Factor

Eight brownie points: I’m considering omitting the Health Factor rating from all ice cream recipes from here on. It’s too unsettling. Anyone who’s serious about ice cream would no doubt balk at any attempt to “lighten up” the dessert, or at least demand it be called something else, as real ice cream has a rich, custardy base to give it its quintessential texture and, well, richness. The addition of coconut milk in this one is no saving grace either; it’s naturally high in saturated fat, one of the “bad fats” along with cream and eggs, too (though there are many claims to its various benefits).

Green Factor

We bought all our dairy for this dish from Ronnybrook, the Hudson Valley dairy farm ubiquitous at the Greenmarkets, and our eggs from Queens County Farm Museum. That’s pretty much the bulk of this batter, aside from all that coconut milk, which was shipped in from somewhere tropical to the shelves of grocery stores in Chinatown.

Not that lemon bars necessarily need a lot of sprucing up. Fresh-squeezed tart juice with zest and bits of pulp suspended in a cloudy custard atop buttery shortbread never fails to hit the spot. I don’t think I’ve ever made these before, with or without thyme, nor really knew what the lemony layer on top was supposed to consist of. It’s eggs that give it that sunny color, for the most part, and the consistency of a thick gel. Most recipes advise to dust lemon bars with confectioner’s sugar, maybe to cover up the unmistakably eggy-looking crackled top. But since I’d already blended the herb into the crust, I just sprinkled some more fresh thyme on top.

my least favorite task: picking thyme leaves from the stem

sugar dissolves in the gently beaten egg mixture

It was a last-minute call to come up with this dessert and a last-minute flourish for the thyme. My friend Gino celebrated his twenty-eighth birthday last night, and I already knew someone was making an extravagant cake. Another friend was bringing cupcakes, too. I didn’t want to crowd the table with another frostinged thing. Now that the method behind making these lemon bars is down pat, I’m curious to try it out with other fruits next. What about strawberries when they arrive in June? Melons much later on in the summer? I’m thinking tart gooseberries, currants and blackberries are another viable option. We’ll see what my CSA has in store.

thyme gives the crust batter savory kick

just-baked and bubbly

For now, I’ll allow that while lemons are neither local nor seasonal, somebody really struck gold when they came up with this dessert. As usual, my friends gobbled them up at lightning speed, and wondered afterward what those savory sprigs of something were on the surface.

Lemon Thyme Bars
(makes about 24)

for the crust
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cubed
1/3 cup confectioner’s sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons thyme leaves

for the custard
1/2 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice (about 3 large lemons)
finely grated zest from the 3 lemons
4 eggs
1/4 cup milk
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
3 tablespoons flour
1-2 tablespoons thyme leaves for garnish

To make the crust, combine the ingredients in a food processor and pulse until mixture resembles coarse crumbs (or cut in butter with a pastry cutter or your fingers). Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Press mixture into a slightly greased 9 x 13″ casserole. Bake for about 15 minutes or until the edges are lightly browned. Remove from oven.

In a large bowl, combine the eggs and flour and gently beat with a fork until there are no lumps. Stir in the rest of the ingredients. Pour mixture on top of the baked crust and return to the oven to bake at 350 degrees for another 15 minutes, or until the top has just set. Let cool completely. For neatest results when cutting, cover and chill at least 30 minutes before cutting into squares. Sprinkle tops with thyme for garnish.

Cost Calculator
(for 24 lemon bars)

1 1/2 cups plus 3 tablespoons flour: $0.50
1/2 cup butter (at $4/lb): $1.00
4 eggs (at $4/dozen): $1.33
3 lemons: $1.00
1/3 cup confectioner’s sugar: $0.25
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar: $0.45
1/4 cup milk: $0.15
4 tablespoons thyme leaves (at $2/bunch): $1.25
salt, 1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch: $0.05

Total: $5.98

Health Factor

Eight brownie points: While half a cup of fresh lemon juice definitely adds a good dose of Vitamin C, and a sprinkle of thyme is a great alternative to more sugar for garnish, this dish definitely has its share of sugary calories, and the shortbread crust is no less buttery than any cookie or pie pastry.

Green Factor

Three maple leaves: Not looking good. As lamented above, lemons come in fossil fuel-burning cargoes from California. But the good thing is that while they’re definitely the highlight flavor-wise, much of the stuff in the dessert — eggs, butter, a bit of milk — can be sourced locally.

Once upon a time, I thought that ice cream “flavors” were just flavoring added to plain, perhaps vanilla, ice cream. “Chocolate” was dabbed in from a vial labeled so along with some fudge-colored dye, and “Strawberry” got its juice in much the same way, save for a few streaks of seeded fruit in some versions of the ice cream. Of course there were the chocolate chips and chopped nuts of Rocky Roads and other stuff-studded ice creams, but the bases would be flavored all the same. It’s funny how even in naiveté, you get some things right.

I’m talking of course about so-so, run-of-the-mill, not “all-natural” ice creams that I ate as a kid, sometimes from those blossom-shaped cups with the wooden peg spoon in the lunch room, not the premium, artisanal best-of boasting brands. And certainly not homemade ice cream. I didn’t dream ice cream could be made by people at home. (This disbelief was stamped for many years after an ill-fated Christmas when I asked for and got the Barbie Ice Cream Shoppe, which was supposed to make ice cream, but it did not. Sad, slushy memories.) We’ve come a long way since then.

Good ice cream (and frozen yogurt) should be flavored with the stuff that the flavor is actually named for. It couldn’t be more clear to me now, after making several kinds. Vanilla? Steep the milk in vanilla beans. Basil or chai tea? Ditto with leaves, spices and tea. Add peanut butter, and stir for “Peanut Butter” flavor. Oh, it’s so elementary. For the fruity flavors this can be trickier, since you don’t want too much extra liquid, so I like picking a  flavorful fruit that has some density when mashed up, so it doesn’t mess up the texture of the finished ice cream too much.

So for “Mascarpone” ice cream, we’ve got ice cream and… mascarpone. If you’re not familiar with the incredibly dense, creamy Italian soft cheese pictured at top, it’s a bit like cream cheese, only more subtle and fresh-tasting, I’d say. It’s easier on sweetness, and has maybe a hint of tang, since it’s made from creme fraiche. All my friends just adore it.

It’s also a main component in the Italian dessert tiramisu, which is one of my friend’s favorites. So when it was her birthday a few weeks past, I decided to reinvent the treat in some hopefully memorable fashion. Now, I’m a fan of eating complicated layers of flakiness next to creaminess next to flakiness next to syrupyness that meld in your mouth just as much as the next person. But I wasn’t too gung-ho about my chances of pulling it off right. Tiramisu is a tiered dessert that’s got to be done perfectly to stand proud when sliced up and served. So instead of doing that, why not just bulldoze the tower, conceptually speaking, and serve the separate components in a flashy pile of ruins on a plate? I thought. Simplify, simplify, simplify.

The plating could have been done a little prettier, and this photo taken in better light, but the end result wasn’t such a bad play. That’s a ladyfinger cookie sticking out of the cup of espresso on the left, which I followed a basic recipe to make. Tiramisu pits layers of ladyfingers dipped in coffee with mascarpone, or mascarpone-flavored custard, drizzled with sweet liqueuer and topped with chocolate powder. So moving along from the espresso with a ladyfinger, I brushed a Marsala syrup on the bottom of the plate, in hopeful floral designs. This was basically sweet Marsala wine cooked with a 50% ratio of sugar until thick like syrup. We placed a soft-centered chocolate cake in the center of each plate to oomph the chocolate contribution of the dessert, and beside it, a canelle of that mascarpone ice cream (instead of a custard — who can resist ice cream?). A few crumbles of ladyfinger crumbs sprinkled on top for texture, and “Deconstructed Tiramisu” was done. As you can guess, the ice cream was my favorite part.

sweet Marsala syrup goes aflame for a moment

I switched over from speaking from a singular first-person to “we” at some point in that last paragraph, because I was actually joined with most my supper club crew when serving this dessert to my friend on her birthday. A Razor, A Shiny Knife put together a four-course menu for the dinner before this dessert went down, catered specifically to the birthday girl’s vegetarian diet and tastes. It was spectacular. Though I wouldn’t necessarily say “simple.”

And just before the recipe, I thought I’d close with some found footage from the night, of the plating of this dessert. I had no idea that a friend was taping the kitchen for the short duration of this clip. So it’s a true, unbridled glimpse of how we supper club it up. Although, since we were practically done with service, I must say that this is an incredibly serene moment — usually food is flying and elbows are jabbing into one another’s faces while plating a course.

Mascarpone Ice Cream
(makes about 1 quart)

1 cup whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup mascarpone
3/4 cup sugar
3 egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks with the sugar until fluffy and lighter in color. Set aside. Combine the milk and cream in a medium saucepan and just bring to a boil over medium-high heat.

While beating the egg yolk mixture, pour in a small spoonful of the hot milk mixture and continue to beat. Repeat process with a larger spoonful, while beating, then repeat. Next, scoop all the egg yolk mixture into the hot milk mixture. Return heat to medium-low. Cook about 8-10 minutes longer, stirring frequently with a spatula to scrape all corners of the bottom of the pot. Do not let boil. The custard should be just thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, but have no lumps.

Chill the custard 4 hours or overnight. Whisk in the mascarpone and vanilla until smooth in texture. Follow your ice cream maker’s instructions to churn into ice cream. Transfer  to an airtight container and freeze for 2 hours to “ripen.”

Cost Calculator
(for 1 quart of ice cream)

1 cup whole milk: $0.50
1 cup heavy cream: $1.29
3 egg yolks (at $4/dozen): $0.50
8 oz. (1 cup) mascarpone: $2.99
3/4 cup sugar: $0.25
1/2 tsp vanilla: $0.20

Total: $5.49

Health Factor

Eight brownie points: This is one of the richest ice cream flavors I’ve ever made, owing to the fact that its “flavor”-maker is already as rich as heavy cream in its own. There’s little saving grace here, except a redundant reminder to enjoy it in moderation.

Green Factor

Three brownie points: The whole milk, but not the cream, had been locally sourced for this batch, and the egg yolks cage-free. Since mascarpone has such a short shelf life before turning sour, the container I found was domestic, but that’s as far as the details went in how it was made.

The red velvet vote was less of a shocker. They’re red, they’re classic. They’ve even got a dash of cocoa in them — they’re perfect for Valentine’s Day. Recently, I had gotten some experience making a red velvet and cream cheese frosting cake for someone’s birthday, so it seemed a cinch to translate this into stuffed cookie form. I was also pleased to hear so many readers’ feedback on romantic meal ideas. Always handy. I may not be putting any into practice tonight (it’s a girls’ night out), but there’s a little something up my sleeve coming up in regards.

intense green tea powder, matcha

sweet red bean paste fills these green tea cookies

To make both variations, I began with the same basic cookie dough, something in between shortbread and sugar cookies. I used a little less sugar than in sugar cookies, since both the fillings would be so sweet. For the green tea cookies, the simple trick was just adding a dash of matcha for that beautifully floral green tea flavor. This stuff smells great once it’s popped open, and especially while the cookies were baking. I can’ t wait to use it in ice cream next. The red velvet cookies received a hefty dose of blood-red food coloring along with a sprinkle of dark cocoa powder.

The red bean paste filling is likewise simple to make; it involves cooking down red beans to a gooey, pulpy mush, mashing them up a little bit, and sweetening them with sugar (brown sugar in this case). It’s time-consuming, but once you have the paste all ready to go it can be tightly packed in an airtight container and kept for days, or frozen. I have to say, it’s not the easiest consistency for smashing into between two delicate, crisp cookie layers. It’s much denser than frosting; the cookies broke when I tried to press them together unless I was very careful. Next time I might try to invent some cross between buttercream frosting and red bean paste, as a sort of red bean-flavored frosting. Next time.

red velvet cut-outs

almost-green tea cookies await baking

Which cookie did I like best? While I was kind of routing for the one that barely anyone picked, the sour cream and butterscotch-drizzled heart cookies, as well as #4, which came in healthy third place as the sesame and fresh ginger version, I thought that the red velvet-inspired cookies really took the cake. Not only did they come out much prettier than the green tea ones (which were only marginally green after baking — best to use green food coloring, again next time… ), but I couldn’t resist tasting one, and have to say the crisp red cookie and creamy white frosting combo is pretty irresistible, any day of the year.

So now that the (powdered sugar) dust has settled (on my floor), and the cookies are stacked primly on their tray, I want to wish everyone a happy Valentine’s Day, whatever you do. Not to get too cheesy, but as it’s a day that people tend to either love or hate, like red beans, or feel swayed to open their wallets, dress up, get all romantic without reason, or get all miserable for lack of romance, I just hope it’s spent doing something you love. Whether that’s a love for baking, for someone else, or for throwing anti-Valentine’s Day bashes. Life’s too short for moping, my fellow lonely hearts. And that, in essence, is why I’m not cleaning the kitchen ’til tomorrow.

Green Tea Heart Cookie Sandwiches with Red Bean Paste Filling
(makes about 12-14 sandwich cookies)

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon matcha (Japanese green tea powder)
1-2 drops green food coloring (optional)
1 cup red beans, soaked overnight
1/2 cup light brown sugar

To make the bean paste, cover beans with two to three inches of water in a pot. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 2 hours or until beans are very tender and mushy. Drain and transfer to a food processor (or use a hand blender) to blend to a smooth, or slightly chunky, paste. Return to the pot and add the sugar. Add a little more water and cook on low, stirring constantly, until sugar is dissolved.

Cut the butter into cubes and combine with the egg yolk. Cream with the sugar, matcha and optional food coloring and gradually stir in the flour. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and roll into an even, flat sheet. Using a cookie cutter, cut about 24-28 hearts. Place at least 1/2 inch apart on a cookie tray and bake at 325 degrees for about 8 minutes, or until just lightly browned in patches. Remove carefully with a spatula and let cool.

Once cookies are cool and crisp, carefully line the back of one cookie with a small pat of the bean paste. Very gently press another cookie to its back (if not they will break, all too easily). Repeat with the rest of the cookies.

Red Velvet Heart Cookie Sandwiches with Cream Cheese Frosting
(makes about 12-14 sandwich cookies)

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
12-15 drops red food coloring
1 teaspoon cocoa powder
1/4 cup butter (for the frosting)
1/4 cup cream cheese
about 2 cups confectioner’s sugar

Cut the butter into cubes and combine with the egg yolk. Cream with the sugar, cocoa powder and red food coloring and gradually stir in the flour. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and roll into an even, flat sheet. Using a cookie cutter, cut about 24-28 hearts. Place at least 1/2 inch apart on a cookie tray and bake at 325 degrees for about 8 minutes, or until just lightly browned in patches. Remove carefully with a spatula and let cool.

To make the frosting, make sure your butter and cream cheese is completely softened. Whisk together in a large bowl and gradually add in the confectioner’s sugar while whisking until soft peaks form.

Once cookies are cool and crisp, smear a dollop of the frosting on the back of one cookie and press the back of another cookie to it. Repeat with the rest of the cookies.

Now, I was not the inventor of the apple dumpling executed Chinese potsticker-style. Five or six years ago, in my brother’s old, old apartment in Inwood, he and his roommates threw a dumpling party. It was an epic night of sticky fingers. It was awesome. I haven’t forgotten it, nor have I forgotten the most interesting twist (food-wise, that is): informed that it was a make-your-own dumpling affair, one girl showed up with a bag of apples, a canister of cinnamon sugar and a jar of caramel sauce. We looked at her, totally confused. Did she get the right address?… Unfazed, she joined the kitchen full of other (meat and veggie) dumpling makers, and chopped her apples into very small pieces. I can’t remember if she added sugar to them, but this was stuffed into the plain old flour dumpling wrappers that were provided, folded just as the others were, and then browned and steamed in the same pans, just like the rest. Once they were out of the pan, she topped the apple dumplings with a dollop of caramel sauce and a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar. And they was fabulous.

I can no longer remember who might remember who this person was, the genius of the sweet Chinese potsticker, but I have her to thank for the version I came up with at Karol, Saha and DJ’s birthday party. Bringing just a few apples and a pack of premade dumpling wrappers, I stole some brown sugar from the pantry, grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge, and asked around for booze. The first bottle that was pushed toward me was rum. And that’s how these buttery, brown sugary, crispy-on-the-bottom, sticky-on-the-top, and warm and gooey as an apple pie-in-the-middle dumplings were born.

the filling station

dumplings get sizzling in butter

brown sugar swirls with rum and butter a few seconds for the sauce

In true dumpling party fashion, I merely showed one or two guests how to fold the wrapper closed, then left that station. The method was passed on by teachees turned teachers, and I went ahead cooking the dumplings in a pan, with butter this time, instead of oil. Once the were browned and turned onto a plate, I swirled some butter, brown sugar and a splash of rum in the same pan and stirred until a thick sauce was produced. This was drizzled on top of the plate of dumplings. The guests seemed to enjoy making dumplings, I hope, and everyone who got a taste seemed to like the result. I’ve been asked for the “recipe” by one of the birthday kids himself, so here you go, Saha. And have a happy, dumpling-filled New Year to all.

Apple Dumplings with Brown Sugar Rum Sauce
(makes about 50 dumplings)

5-6 medium tart apples, peeled and very finely chopped
1 pack of 50 dumpling wrappers
1/3 cup plus about 3 tablespoons light brown sugar
about 3 tablespoons rum
about 6 tablespoons butter
squeeze of lemon juice (optional)
pinch of cinnamon (optional)

Combine the apples, 1/3 cup brown sugar, optional squeeze of lemon and optional cinnamon in a large bowl and stir. Place a spoonful of apple mixture in the center of a wrapper. Trace a line of water around the edge of the wrapper and crimp the edges shut (see this recipe for more on folding/pinching). You should end up with a crescent-shaped dumpling that stands upright, with the seal along the top.

Heat a tablespoon butter over medium-high in a large, nonstick pan. Working in three batches, arrange one-third dumplings around the edge of the pan in a tight circle; fill remaining space in the middle with more tightly packed dumplings. Cook for about 2-3 minutes, or until bottoms are lightly browned. Pour about 1 cup of water into the pan and cover immediately. Cook another 5-7 minutes or until water is cooked off and skins are translucent and cooked through (remove lid to cook off water quicker if you’ve added too much). Turn dumplings onto a serving platter.

Reduce heat to low, and add about a tablespoon each of the butter, sugar and rum. Stir quickly to dissolve sugar and just bring to a boil. Drizzle sauce on top of the plate of finished dumplings and serve. Repeat twice for two more batches.

Cost Calculator
(for 50 dumplings)

5 apples (at 6/$2 in Chinatown): $1.67
1 pack 50 dumpling wrapper: $1.40
1/3 cup plus 3 Tb brown sugar: $0.75
6 tablespoons butter: $0.75
3 tablespoons rum: $1.00
1/2 lemon: $0.17

Total: $5.74

Health Factor

Six brownie points: Unlike apple pie, apple crisp, apple turnovers, apple strudel, and most any cooked apple dessert in the world, this one has no rich pastry or crumbs to accompany it. Because the dumpling skins alone are completely fat-free (and flavorless), they’re cooked in butter here, and doused with a little more in the rum sauce. But in comparison, it’s a less fatty way to produce something that tastes (in the words of one eater), “like little apple pies.”

Green Factor

Three maple leaves: Once again, not looking good; the apples were purchased at the last moment, as I passed through Chinatown on my way to the party. There I picked up wrappers and other ingredients for Sunday’s “real” dumpling feast. No idea where these apples were shipped from, but it’s too bad, since apples are in season locally. Next time, the Greenmarket…

Two winters ago, I bought myself an ice cream maker. It cost $50. It has a bowl that needs to stay in the freezer overnight before attempting to use it (trust me, I’ve tried without), and it has a plastic insert that churns the cream into ice cream when the electric motor rotates the bowl around and around. It’s a simple machine, and it’s pretty cheap. And I honestly don’t know why everyone who likes ice cream doesn’t get one!

I had a honeymoon period with this thing during the first year or so of owning it. Not to rehash too much for anyone who was there and read those posts, but there were ice creams with root vegetables, liquors, fresh coffee, basil and mint. Tangy frozen yogurts and fruity sorbets. Not blogged about were plenty of batches of good old vanilla bean, chocolate, Melissa Clark’s strawberry sour cream and brown sugar ice cream. There was a string of green tea, Earl Grey and Chai ice cream making. Then, I turned my attention to newer kitchen toys like the pasta crank while leaving the ice cream maker on the dust-coated cabinet top. But in that heat of passion, I never thought to try one of the most delicious flavor combinations known to mankind with it: peanut butter and chocolate.

Then, over the holidays, a happenstance binge with a bag of mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups left out on the office kitchen counter triggered my lust for that delightful combo in frosty form.

I’m a fan of natural peanut butter, which doesn’t have the emulsifying agents that keep the oils from naturally separating from the solids. This might sound like a problem, a layer of peanut oil on top when you open the jar. But once you stir it, and refrigerate it, they stay where they’re supposed to be — mixed in! I prefer natural simply because most brands that sell it tend to use less sugar than the brand names I grew up with (Skippy, Jiff and Peter Pan), and it seems to have a more prominent roasted peanut taste. I usually get Trader Joe’s natural peanut butter since it’s so cheap, but recently bought a jar of Smucker’s and am loving the rich flavor and slightly grainy texture of the creamy version. (Making peanut butter — now that might just be the next DIY quest!)

peanut butter gets whisked into the egg yolks and sugar

and the heated cream and milk tempers the custard

There really is nothing else to peanut butter-flavored ice cream than adding some peanut butter to your favorite ice cream base. Mine incorporates a few egg yolks, a lighter touch of sugar than normally suggested, and in this case, I used light brown sugar which I thought would go nicely with the peanut butter. Dark chocolate chips, or rather, chunks and shaved bits from a nice bar of it, went into the ice cream maker during the last churn or so to provide the classic chocolately component. I like getting a surprisingly big chunk of this in a bite and having my mouth temporarily consumed with potent dark chocolate.

chopped chocolate chunks, not chips

There is another legendary flavor duo, at least for ice cream, that I haven’t dabbled with yet. It’s butter pecan. I love this flavor and will probably try it out sometime soon, maybe roasting the pecans in a caramely crust first. Also, this month only Ben & Jerry’s is renaming the flavor “Yes Pecan,” describing it as “Amber waves of buttery ice cream with roasted non-partisan pecans.” And they’re donating proceeds from every scoop of it sold in its stores to the Common Cause advocacy nonprofit. Inspirational? In more ways than one.

Lastly, in case anyone was wondering, the plate beneath the ice cream bowl in the top photo is the Curious George plate of my pantry — for some reason, peanut butter and Curious George just seemed to go together.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Ice Cream
(makes about 1 quart)

1 1/4 cups whole milk
1 3/4 cups heavy cream
3 egg yolks
1/2 cup peanut butter
2/3 cup light brown sugar
2 oz. chocolate (I like 60% cacao dark), chopped into chunks

Beat sugar and egg yolks well until fluffy and pale yellow in color. Gradually beat in the peanut butter until smoothly incorporated. Meanwhile, heat the milk and cream in a medium-large saucepan until it just begins to boil. Turn off heat.

While whisking the peanut butter, egg yolk and sugar mixture rapidly, pour in a spoonful of the hot milk mixture. Add another spoonful while whisking, and another (this will cook the yolks, or temper them, evenly). Once you’ve added about half a cup of the hot milk while whisking, transfer it into the saucepan with the rest of the hot milk and cream. Cook, stirring, over medium-low heat. Once custard is just thick enough to coat the back of a spoon (about 6-8 minutes), remove from heat. Let cool, and refrigerate at least 4 hours (or overnight) to completely chill it before putting it into the ice cream maker. Follow your ice cream maker’s instructions to make ice cream, and in the last minute of churning, add the chocolate chunks. Transfer to an airtight container and freeze 2 hours to let it “ripen”; alternately, it can be served immediately at a softer texture.

Cost Calculator
(for 1 quart)

1 1/4 cups cream (at $2.50/pint): $1.56
1 3/4 cups whole milk (at $2.29/quart): $0.60
3 egg yolks (at $3/dozen): $0.38
2/3 cup sugar: $0.25
2 oz. dark chocolate (at $2.99/4 oz. bar): $1.50
1/2 cup peanut butter (at $3.09/16 oz. jar): $0.76

Total: $5.05

[Health Factor: 9 brownie points]

Nine brownie points: Eat in moderation, and it’s best to consult your hungerness factor before each use. If you could eat a horse, I might recommend doing that over opening a tub of this peanutty, buttery, chocolately, creamy goodness. America’s peanut farmers have been doing much in the way of marketing in the last decade, as if we didn’t know nuts had protein. There are many surprising health benefits to peanut butter, but just keep in mind that this food is mostly a fat.

[Green Factor: 5 maples leaves]

Five maple leaves: There isn’t much to say for the ice cream ingredients that hasn’t already been said before: the dairy and eggs can be bought locally from farms with environment and animal-friendly values, so that’s always the best start. Organic peanut butter and chocolate are common creatures of the supermarket these days, and though I didn’t have either of these this time around, these options as well as fair trade chocolate are widely available.