Is This You? Screaming For Ice Cream

A couple of things about ice cream: recently, I had the pleasure of having some of that magic summer homemade ice cream. Is there anything better than that? On the table with the bowls and spoons were toppings—fresh strawberries and sauces to choose from. Lynford and Sue Miller have the ice cream pleasure factory down to a science. If you have not had the pleasure of having homemade ice cream, well find somebody that loves to make it and attach yourself to their hip.

The other thing about homemade ice cream is, for some reason, it causes brain freeze quicker than any store brand that I have come across. At the doings I went to the other day, there were men and women grabbing their foreheads, slamming eyes shut, some even bent over until the freeze thawed. But! Yes, a smooth creamy frozen “but.” I attribute the higher number of brain freezes to the fact that the ice cream was SOOO good nobody said no to a heaping dish of the white clouds of frozen cream.

Just what is the difference between any of the hundreds of flavors of boxed ice cream in the freezer section of the grocery store and that luscious luxury of homemade ice cream? First, let me tell you the best story I have about homemade ice cream.

I admit I was a city girl. When I married and was taken away to the farm, I met a whole new array of men and women. Over the years, I was lucky to learn all about making things homemade: noodles, quilts, crocheted hair bands, and ice cream. I must tell you though, I have never made the frozen concoction. Yes, all the frozen concoctions in my house tended to lean towards the Margaritaville variety. I did have a friend who was a wiz at many things made at home, and one was ice cream.

One warm summer night, we were invited over to the home of some friends for dinner, and the jewel of the dinner was going to be homemade ice cream. After dinner, out came the ice cream freezer. Then, out of the house, my friend came with the magic stainless steel cylinder that held all the makings, ready to be frozen into our after-dinner treat. Next was the ice and the salt. I watched with interest as the cylinder was placed in the wooden freezer, then surrounded by cubed ice and then covered with rock salt. This was my first time in not only seeing how the whole she-bang of making ice cream came about, but it was also to be the first time I would have ever gotten to get a taste of the frozen goodness. 

After it was all set, the handle was attached to the freezer, and we all took turns out on the back lawn cranking to take part of the ice cream experience. It really didn’t take too long, with four people cranking away, two men who, of course, got more than their share of cranking time. Soon, it was deemed that we must have made the desired number of cranks and created the yummy frozen prize.

My friend unscrewed this part and lifted that bar thingy, and soon out came the little shiny tube that apparently held the desired treat. Now, here things went askew. I had no idea there was a problem, as this was my first homemade ice cream experience. The top came off the tube and the spoon went in to dig out the treat hidden in the bottom. Out came the spoon with the thickest, sugary, syrupy stuff. I was ready to dig in, but my friend, her husband, and my husband, all ice cream aficionados from way back, kept saying they had no idea what happened. Why the ice part of the ice cream didn’t ice up to make the finished product. Me? I just ate what was handed to me and loved the oh-so-sweet concoction in my bowl. What was the problem?

Well come to find out, in the kitchen, when the ingredients were placed in the tube, one important ingredient was left out. Yes, the cream to make the ice cream. I still love that story. It taught me that life is full of surprises. Things that go awry can be some of the best things of life. Those things? Those are the best memory-making times of your life. 

Yes, I can attest to the old saying, “I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream!” 

Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at [email protected].

Really!