Brad’s going uptown to get some chocolate ice cream.
RATS!! (Trying out new non-cussword exclamations. Might keep this one.)
This is my second ice cream failure in as many tries this summer. I think it’s because I’m not employing my usual level of stressed-out meticulousness. I’m just not good at doing things with casual self-assurance. That’s Brad’s department.
Last time, on the Fourth of July, the blueberry cheesecake recipe I tried at my mom’s turned out pretty well, but the company and bullshittery were extra good that evening, so we kind of let it sit in the maker for a little while while we finished dinner, and by the time we got to it, it was on the very soft side of soft serve. Besides, blueberry cheesecake? My heart really wasn’t in it. I tend toward the browner shades of ice cream–your chocolates, your mocha almond fudges, and the like. The purplish hue of the blueberry cheesecake mixture made me feel like I should be painting an accent wall with it, not enjoying it for dessert.
Tonight I followed the recipe to the letter, but I think the problem was more in the bucket/ice/salt/water department. I left out a crucial step–soaking the bucket for a couple of hours to swell up the wood and prevent the water from running right out. Hence, the water ran right out. At least I hope that’s what it is. I don’t see what I could have done wrong with the mixture. Regardless of what the problem was, all the helium is now out of my National Ice Cream Day balloon.
Anyway, I finally pulled the canister out of there and stuck it in the fridge. I’ll soak the stupid “cute wooden bucket” (as I think I referred to it before) tomorrow and try again. If it doesn’t work, I’m done for the summer. The letdown of failed homemade ice cream is just too devastating to risk going through it again.
Gotta go. Brad’s back, singing Van Halen‘s “Ice Cream Man.” He shall henceforth be known as The Man Who Saved National Ice Cream Day.