The Muddy Kitchen: Save Your Screaming

Few things are forbidden at Backyard University. Screaming isn't actually forbidden, but it's strongly discouraged. We have a couple of students here, I'm not naming names, and they scream a lot. It's part of their current state of neurological development, so they get a pass. For now.

Anyone else caught screaming will get A Look. Perhaps a "HEY! Cut that out.". But never, in a million years, can you expect that screaming will get you a bowl of ice cream around here. We don't play like that, so don't even start the little chant. Don't I scream, you scream, etc., because that's only slightly less annoying than screaming, and it's not helping, so why say that? Why give little ones ideas? Why? Do you have extra time and energy? If so, go clean your room.

And now, a moment of reverent silence for the PleasureChug

I just named it that, although I have been thinking the word PleasureChug since we bought this little beauty two years ago. Before that, an ice cream maker was something I would get Someday. I had hazy memories of cranking, and salt, and things taking forever when I recalled homemade ice cream from my childhood. However, I had more vivid memories of the fabulous taste and texture of right-out-of-the-machine ice cream, which helped steel my resolve. I would make it Someday, when I was better at having machines, and buying rock salt, and making stuff without getting a big drippy mess everywhere, and when the kids aren't so young that waiting an hour for ice cream doesn't feel as epic, and ..well, I guess I'd do it Never. Or when nobody would really enjoy it anymore because, who are those people anyway; who aren't restless and messy? They aren't us and more and more, I kind of don't want to become them.

I just want ice cream, and I want it weird. I want it with coconut milk, sweetened with honey, and anything else you can throw in there. Chocolate, for real. Fruit, yes, and lots of it. Nuts, maybe, but toast them first. Candy, oh, yeah., but chop it up a little, because chewing big pieces of frozen candy can feel like attempting to eat gravel.

So, make your mix. There are lots of recipes out there in the world. To make our famousChillberry Chocolate (mad propz to Henry for the name), warm and whisk together four cans of coconut milk, baker's cocoa (to taste) and honey (to taste). Maybe a pinch of salt. Let it cool and add coarsely chopped chocolate chips and frozen or fresh blueberries until it looks right to you. This is You Scream. But don't.

Now we get to it. iLa Maquina!

This is the cheapest simplest model, bought at an end-of-summer sale from my local big box store. It cost $20. It's easy to put together, and it, plus a box of rock salt and two bags of ice can make the sloppy mix recipe above into the stuff of fantasies.

The best way to start is with a cold chamber, and a cold mix, so put the metal can in the freezer, and bring the temperature of your mix down before pouring it in and revving up the PleasureChug. Also, make sure you leave some room at the top. Liquids expand as they freeze, and if the ice cream leaks out of the top, it will also allow the salty water into the mixture.

Of the utmost importance is the delicate layering of ice and salt. There should be a 5:1 ice to salt ratio, which I attain by sprinkling salt heavily on every five (or so) handsful of ice I add. It's very interesting science, how this works. Salt lowers the freezing temperature of water, making the ice melt into ultra-cold slush, also known as a briny solution. The briny solution absorbs warmth from the ice cream mixture, making it freeze quickly, as it's churning.

From there, you just run the machine for about an hour, checking the ice level, and adding salt and ice to keep it topped off. It's true, it makes a mess. I put the machine in a large receptacle to catch the condensation and stray salt and ice that drops during refills. I also make sure I have a large clear surface with a big bowl or tray nearby, to set down the bag of ice while I add salt. Prepping my area makes the work easier, the product better, and just takes a minute. After about an hour it looks like this.

It's too thick to keep running the machine at this point, but it is still very soft, almost like a milkshake. So into the freezer with it, to let it cure into real, scoopable, ice cream.

As soon as we finished our last bite of last night's batch of Chilberry Chocolate, this one started crying.

Not just a little whiney cry either. I said, "Last bite. It's all gone." and Mae unleashed a torrent of grief that made all of us sorry we weren't circling her with ice cream trucks, at her beck and call with whatever frozen treat would pacify her.

There was some list-making, and some grocery shopping, and um, we're having ice cream for dinner.

I don't know what happened. I used to be in charge here. Now, I'm just grateful there was no screaming. I find myself squinting at the top of the ice cream maker, muttering to myself, "I just said no screaming. I didn't say anything about full-bodied wailing. I have only myself to blame."

Tonight we're having strawberries and vanilla.