Ten days in LA weren’t enough.

As the plane lifted, I caught my last looks at California through the gauzy clouds. I was already thinking about the restaurants I couldn’t try, the neighborhoods I hadn’t seen, and the gems I didn’t discover. The state was simply too big to experience in a mere week and a half. When we’d parted, my friend and host C- said, “But you’ll get to see Seattle!” I rolled my eyes and told him, “I live in Seattle.”

During this summer, I’ve lived up north by the bluest water in Maine. In Atlanta, I embraced the heat in sundresses, the warm air dampening my skin in minutes. And in California, I rummaged through antique cast iron skillets and pearl rings at farmer’s markets and artisan festivals. I’ve visited more places in the past year than ever before. But the few days I spent at home? I sat around, spinning the dusty globe in our office.

By the time I unpacked my suitcase and fell onto my bed, I’d decided to make things different. I needed to change my perspective. What would I do if I only had ten days in Seattle?

We live slightly outside the big city, enough distance that it can feel foreign or familiar depending on my mood. I tackled Seattle with a fearlessness I’d never shown.

Downtown, I drove in circles trying to find parking before giving up and walking a good distance to reach any kind of store. I explored the U District alone, the little boutiques and second hand shops. I ducked into the independent theaters, painted seafoam green and dusty pink, outlined in bulbous lights, signs cracked with age… Somehow, the same movies come alive in a new way inside a theater with character.

My favorite sweets come from Seattle. In Boston I craved bullseye donuts from Top Pot, sticky with sugar glaze and raspberry jam, and Molly Moon’s Theo chocolate ice cream, so thick it’ll snap your spoon. I’m realizing just how much is still undiscovered. Last week I walked into a Middle Eastern restaurant the size of a closet and ordered something I couldn’t pronounce. I still don’t know what it was, but it was tangy and spiced, followed by a slice of cake drenched in honey.

If I approach summer in Seattle as an extended trip, the potential is incredible.

When I exit I-90 after an afternoon in the city, I’m filled with a strange appreciation for home. I pass my favorite old school diner, the one with the dumpy sign and the bad coffee. I like to drive slowly around the gentle, winding curves of my neighborhood.

Inevitably my eyes are drawn up to the unbelievable trees. Until I spent time out of Washington, I never knew how special our evergreens are. They tower, so tall and old, so richly green you can smell the color. In other cities the trees feel planted for decoration – but here, the houses have been nestled where the trees allow space. And when the sun is at the right angle, the light filters through in hazy planks, and suddenly my life is breathtaking.

My house is green, from the soft moss carpeting our cement patio (Mom hates this, I sort of like it) to the homegrown lettuce patch beyond my bedroom window. Our family doesn’t have the greenest thumb, but plants line our living room window, stems bowing towards the glass. My favorite of the bunch is the fragrant pot of basil.

Basil is my favorite herb. I like it sautéd with pasta, baked onto pizza, layered in sandwiches and churned into ice cream. With bunches of fresh basil at my fingertips, it’s hard to resist experimentation. When it results in something as lovely as basil olive oil, can you blame me?

We had a bag of bright lemons, so olive oil cake was necessary. I love the way this cake gently rises and falls, the way the sugar-sprinkled crust cracks, the way it perfumes the mouth. Each bite tastes like sunlight and comfort and dare I say it… green.

[Unsure about the 4th? Why not tackle my 4th of July Flag Cake? People have been making it ever since its creation 2 years ago. It's deceptively simple and always impressive. Check out the post for instructions, plus a video of me making it. Have a great weekend!]

This cake is a little tough to describe. It’s dense, the way that egg cakes are dense, but tender and pillowy at the same time. I’m awed by the short list of ingredients and simple techniques that bring this batter together. For all its simplicity, I think it also looks elegant, good with after dinner tea.

Lemon Basil Olive Oil Cake
Slightly tweaked from Gourmet
Makes a 9” cake

3/4 cup basil olive oil (recipe below)
Zest of a large lemon
1 1/2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 cup cake flour
5 egg yolks
4 egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup white sugar
2 tablespoons raw sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Use oil to grease a 9” springform pan. Line the bottom with a round of parchment paper, then oil the parchment.

Whisk the lemon zest and cake flour in a small bowl and set aside.

Beat the yolks and 1/2 cup white sugar in an electric mixer at high speed for 3 minutes, or until thick and lightened. Reduce the speed to medium and add the basil olive oil and lemon juice, beating until just combined. Use a wooden spoon to gently stir in the flour-zest mixture until just combined.

In a new, clean bowl, beat the egg whites and salt at medium-high speed until foamy. Gradually add the remaining 1/4 cup white sugar, a bit at a time, beating until the egg whites hold soft peaks (about 3 minutes.)

Fold a third of the whites into the batter to lighten it, then gently fold in the remaining whites until no streaks remain.

Transfer the batter to the springform pan and gently rap it against the counter once or twice to release air. Sprinkle with the raw sugar. Bake until the cake is puffed and golden and a toothpick comes out clean, about 45 minutes. Let the cake cool 10 minutes in the pan before running a knife around the edge and removing the sides of the springform. Cool completely to room temperature, about 75 minutes, before peeling off the bottom parchment and transferring cake to a plate.

Basil Olive Oil

2 cups fresh basil leaves, washed and dried
1 cup virgin olive oil

In a food processor or blender, puree the basil leaves and olive oil until completely smooth.

Printer-Friendly Version - Lemon Basil Olive Oil Cake

I spent my last day in Seattle with my parents. We woke up early and got pancakes at one of our favorite dives, a run-down little restaurant near the airport. I spent the afternoon at home with Dad and the dogs, looking through old photo albums. We shared some good sushi for an early lunch, and ice cream sundaes for dessert. Even though sleet fell and dirty puddles collected, damp leaves sticking to our soles, I couldn’t have felt happier about my last afternoon.

At home after dinner, I watched my mom boil water for tea, facing away from me. I sat at the table and checked my email as she talked, only half listening. She stopped mid-sentence, and I finally noticed that she’d been crying – so quiet I hadn’t heard from three feet away.

She left the kitchen and I heard the closet open down the hall. She came back with a white cloth napkin with sky blue trim. “Recognize this?”

The last time I saw my parents before winter break was in Boston, a few days before classes started. We had dinner at a fancy seafood restaurant in the North End, a light meal before I left in near tears and caught the next train to my dorms. We didn’t say goodbye for very long because I didn’t want my parents to see I was upset.

“After you walked out, I started crying,” my mom said. I unfolded the napkin and turned it around in my hands. It was so neatly folded and wrinkle-free that it looked new.

“Your father and I left soon after you. We walked down the street and he gave me the napkin – he stole it from the restaurant. He said he thought I might need it.”

And here it was now, a seeming lifetime later, in our chipped little kitchen.

“We walked a little further and went into some of the stores. Your dad, he picked up this jar of something and said ‘Oh – Elissa would really like this.’ He just kept looking at it and finally he bought it. He said, ‘We should give it to her.’”

“The fig spread?”

I remembered this. I thought I’d said goodbye to my parents for the last time, but later that night, my dad stopped by the lobby of my dorm. He had a box of water crackers, a thick wedge of creamy brie, and a small glass jar of an incredible fig jam. It was the last real quality food I had before I settled into my routine of café sandwiches and dining hall chicken fingers. It was the last little bit that felt like Seattle as I settled into Boston.

The first week of school, I passed it around the common room and shared it with my floor. Nobody had eaten anything like that fig spread before, and I saw people right, left and center falling in love. Between my roommate E- and I, the jam lasted a few weeks. When it was gone, I washed out the jar and set it on the windowsill. That’s where it is now, catching the fleeting light that filters into my room.

When it was gone, I craved more, but I wasn’t about to buy more on my college student budget. One afternoon E- came into the room with a grocery bag. She pulled out a package of crackers. “I keep thinking about that fig spread,” she admitted. With or without it, the crackers satisfied us, and now our room is always stocked with a box or two.

(Left to right: Parmesan Cheese Crackers, Orange Sugar & Spice Crackers, Lime Thyme Crackers)

Mom was smiling now. “After the hard time your dad gave me about being upset, he was the one buying stuff for you half an hour later. He said we should go to Whole Foods and get something to go with the jam. I thought he was being ridiculous but he was so stubborn about the idea.”

They didn’t know where Whole Foods was, but they took a train and managed to find it. I can picture Dad walking up and down the cheese aisle, like he used to when we shopped together, looking for the particular brie I’m so smitten with. I imagine him looking at shelves and shelves of crackers, deciding which box would go best with the spread.

As I thought about all the work behind that simple gesture, a paper bag with a last-minute snack, I started to feel sad for the first time about winter break ending. I gave my mom a long hug and told her not to cry. I folded up the napkin, following the creases, and handed it to her.

“Hang onto this. I’m serious. Keep this forever, okay?”

“Okay.” She paused, and then smiled. “I’ll use it at your graduation.”

She put the napkin back in the linen closet, Dad came and sat down, and the two of them talked at the dinner table as I finished packing.

Boston, here I come.

Homemade crackers are the kind of thing that look and taste ultra-fancy and gourmet, but really, they’re pretty easy. This recipe is flexible, forgiving, and addictive. It’s as simple as combining a few ingredients in a bowl, letting the mixer do the work, and getting creative with toppings. Indecisive as ever, I made three different crackers. The first batch I sprinkled with lime zest, lime thyme, and black pepper. The second batch got grated parmesan cheese, cayenne pepper, and a healthy dose of salt. I made a sweeter cracker with the last batch, topping them with orange zest, vanilla sugar, ground ginger, cinnamon, chili powder.

The three varieties were all different and all good. The one thing they had in common was a thin, crispy texture, and a tendency to disappear fast. They’re good with all sorts of dips and spreads, like hummus, and a whole lot of toppings, like brie and fig spread.

Crackly Crackers
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks
Makes roughly a dozen extra large crackers

1 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
1 cup warm water
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
Toppings for sprinkling (ex: salt, pepper, grated cheese, dried herbs, spices, citrus zest, seeds, flavored oils, etc)

Whisk the whole wheat flour, all purpose flour, and salt together in the bowl of an electric mixer. Add the water and olive oil. Mix the dough with the dough hook attachment at medium speed for 5-7 minutes, or simply mix and knead by hand on a floured surface. The dough should be slightly tacky – add water if the dough is too dry, add flour if the dough is too sticky.

Form the dough into a ball and cut it into a dozen equal pieces. Gently rub each piece with some olive oil, shape into a ball and set on a plate. Cover the plate with plastic wrap or a clean dishtowel and let the dough rest for 30-60 minutes at room temperature.

As the dough rests, preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Add a pizza stone if available.

After the dough has rested, flatten a ball of dough into a flat strip. Use a rolling pin or a pasta machine to make the dough as thin as possible. You can use your hands to pull the dough out afterwards, getting it a bit thinner. Cut the dough into whatever shape you want the crackers to be (I baked mine in large, freeform shapes and broke them into smaller crackers afterward.)

Place the dough on a floured baking sheet and poke the crackers all over with a fork. Add any toppings (see above for suggestions) and bake in the oven (or on the pizza stone if you have it) until deeply golden brown. The time will vary depending on your oven and the thickness of your crackers, mine took 5-10 minutes. Let the crackers cool before eating so they reach their full crispy potential.

Printer-Friendly Recipe – Crackly Crackers

When I arrived at school, I came with every intention of getting super involved. I wanted to be that person – the person who squeezes in a few too many clubs and activities, the person who comes home exhausted. I honestly love being busy, and I wanted to wholeheartedly accept new experiences.

It was a valiant effort. In the activity fair my first week, I scrawled my email address onto dozens of sign-up sheets and mailing lists – social justice, poetry, photography club, the college newspaper, book publishing, even freshman government. I walked between the elms and brick buildings back to my dorm, consumed with anticipation, wondering which clubs I’d get into and which ones I’d fall in love with.

More than anything else, though, I wanted to be accepted to my school’s radio station. It’s prestigious around here, difficult to get into and fully student-run. Even though my passion is in print, in the weight of an inked word on paper, I’m smitten with This American Life and 107.7 The End (which I stream online here across the country.) I missed listening to NPR  every morning in the carpool to high school. I missed radio in general.

I’d seen the students involved with the college station, and found everything about it appealing. I wanted to carry heavy headphones in my bag and hear my voice, weirdly foreign, emerge from the radio. I picked up an application.

Four weeks later, I’m even busier than I’d hoped to be, even though I slowly withdrew from most of the clubs I’d signed up for. Instead, I got a job at a bakery, which I’m so excited to start. I clung to photography club, which is one of the highlights of my week – photos will come soon, promise. Add homework, classes, a few minutes for meals and – oh, did I mention? Lots and lots of radio.

I’m a reporter for the news department. I make contacts and conduct interviews, which I edit into sound clips and adjust until the levels are right. I research. I’m learning to project my voice and breathe properly on-air. I now search for potential stories everywhere, breathing in information and exhaling headlines. I rewrite press releases and post stories to the web. And at least several nights a week, I’m underground at the station past midnight, rerecording my script over and over and over… trying to pronounce all the words correctly.

I had no idea it would be this hard, or this demanding. I didn’t realize it would take me two hours to produce a 45 second clip, and… well… a lot longer to create an eight minute one. And I couldn’t have anticipated how much I’d adore it.

To be sure, it has its downs. We were expected to hit the ground running, and my first week was rough. I’m starting to learn the terrain, but that doesn’t make it easy. I’ve had afternoons where nobody answers my calls, where I say, “Hi, I’m Elissa Bernstein and I’m a reporter with–” only to be cut off and dismissed. There have been nights where I spent more than twice as much time editing and writing than sleeping. (Which is easier than it sounds when you’re running on 4 hours of sleep.)

I remember the shift where I couldn’t figure out how to work the dashboard, with all its dials and buttons. Once, I accidentally bumped the microphone off its stand. Another afternoon, I hung up the phone after a great interview, only to realize I’d improperly recorded the conversation (in other words, hadn’t recorded the conversation) and had to start from scratch.

As a new staff member with no previous experience, everything is trial and error.

Even though I’m only seriously involved with a couple activities, they’re full of so many unfamiliar skills and unexplored subjects, my education extends far beyond the classroom itself. This radio position is more than an extracurricular, it’s a part time job and the wholehearted acceptance of new experiences that I craved. Who knows what I’ll be able to do in the future after this? Every time you acquire new knowledge, you can funnel it into the creation of something incredible.

Like smoked grape and rosemary focaccia.

My parents and I discovered smoked grapes one summer night a few months ago. We used to spend hours sitting in lawn chairs around our home-built fire pit, roasting hot dogs and watching marshmallows molt. One evening, long past sundown, when the whole world was crackling logs and faraway pinpoint stars, my mother brought out a bowl of grapes.

I think it was my dad’s idea. He skewered a grape onto a thin branch still sticky with marshmallow sugar, set it over the fire. It was smoking when he pulled it away from the flames. He popped it into his mouth, and a look of surprise took over his face. He made one for Mom, and I tried the next one. The grape was warm, but not hot, with a smokiness that caught you off guard. It was so strange, so good, so full of possibility.

We tried to brainstorm how best to showcase this miracle. I thought they would be good with anything and everything. Baked into a tart. Tossed with mixed greens in a salad. Or maybe sliced with bright, fresh jimaca and mango, served over fish? That’s when it came to me – I knew what I wanted to make first.

“Focaccia,” I said.

Last Mother’s Day I gave my mother a gorgeous book on tomatoes. The book is filled cover to cover with some of the loveliest food photography I’ve seen, and descriptions of dozens and dozens of tomato varieties. In the back, a recipe for cherry tomato focaccia, which I had mentally bookmarked from the first time I saw it. The page swam hazily to mind as I blew smoke away from another fireside grape.

I forgot that I’m not confident with bread-making. I was too excited. Instead I found a recipe for focaccia and bought a bag of grapes. I wanted to find another smoking technique, just in case not everyone has access to a firepit, or the time to individually skewer each grape. My dad said it could be done on the grill. He snipped bundles of sturdy, fragrant rosemary and burned them under the grill’s cover with a big bowl of the grapes. Soft grey smoke streamed steadily from the grill’s sides, like bubbles rising in a fish tank.

I can’t get enough of these grapes. After smoking, their color changed from deep red-purple to burnished gold, as if you could literally see the fragrant rosemary smoke swirling under the skins. My dad had to stop me and my mother from snacking on them as the bread dough rose. I spread the focaccia into a sheet pan, brushed it with olive oil, dimpled it with my fingertips and gently pressed in halved grapes.

It was an experiment, since I wasn’t sure if the loaf would be too watery, if the grapes would keep their flavor, if it would need a touch less rosemary. We pulled the sheet out of the oven. I cut the first slice, and oh, my gosh – that crackle as I broke the crust, the lightness of the center, one or two grapes nestled in with wrinkled tops… That bread was perfection. We ate it so, so quickly we almost felt sick. And it’s one of my favorite memories from this summer, keeping me warm as the temperature drops.

This focaccia is worthy of making twice, three times, over and over again. It’s light, not moist, but soft with a lightly crisp crust. The grapes stay juicy without making the bread soggy, and I just can’t get enough of their flavor. I wanted to put more on, but my dad liked that they were spread out because it made each one more special.

The loaf is also very delicious with blue cheese.

Here are my dad’s instructions on smoking the grapes:

The Bernstein Family’s Smoked Grapes

3 small bunches red seedless grapes
1 to 1 1/2 cups Alder wood chips, soaked in water
4 sprigs rosemary

Wash and dry grapes thoroughly and place in an all metal strainer or smoker suitable container.

I used our BBQ that has an interesting feature. The flame shield over the burner can be inverted and it becomes a cup, shaped to hold the wood for smoking.  If your BBQ does not have a smoker attachment for wood then put the wood chips in aluminum foil directly over the burner. Place the wood over the HIGH flame and keep the BBQ open so it does not get too hot, we are trying to smoke the grapes not cook them.

When the wood begins to smoke, add the rosemary sprigs and reduce the heat to as low as possible.  Place the grapes in the strainer on the opposite end of the BBQ and close the BBQ lid and leave it closed until the wood no longer produces smoke (the wood should all be consumed).  Remove the grapes from the BBQ immediately.

Rosemary Smoked Grape Focaccia
Adapted from Gourmet
Makes a 15”x10” focaccia loaf

1/4 ounce package (2 1/4 teaspoons) dry yeast
1 2/3 cups lukewarm water
4 1/2 cups all purpose flour, divided
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus 3 tablespoons for brushing
1 tablespoon finely chopped rosemary needles
Small bunch of rosemary smoked grapes, cut into halves lengthwise
1 teaspoon sea salt for sprinkling (I used black lava salt)

Stir together the yeast, water, and 4 cups flour in the bowl of an electric mixer and let stand 5-10 minutes. Add the 1 1/2 teaspoons salt and 1/4 cup olive oil and beat with the paddle attachment on medium speed until a dough forms. Add the remaining 1/2 cup flour and switch to the dough hook. Knead dough at high speed for 3-4 minutes, or until soft, smooth, and sticky.

Transfer it to a lightly oiled bowl, turning the dough so that it is completely coated with oil. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Gently deflate the dough and press it into a well-oiled 15” by 10” rimmed baking pan [I used a rimmed half sheet. It didn’t reach all the edges, it was fine.] Let dough rise in a warm place, covered with a clean kitchen towel, until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees F and combine the chopped rosemary and remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil. [I didn’t do this, because there was already rosemary flavor in the grapes, but you could heat the oil and rosemary together with some garlic to amplify the flavor. You could also try mixing some rosemary into the dough itself.]

Using your fingertips, make shallow indentations all over the dough. Brush with the rosemary olive oil, letting it pool in the indentations. Press grape halves, cut side down, evenly into the dough. Sprinkle with sea salt.

Bake for 6 minutes, then reduce the oven temperature to 475 degrees F. Bake until golden. It’ll depend on the size and thickness of your focaccia, but the total baking time will be around 20-25 minutes. Immediately transfer to a cooling rack and eat at room temperature, or if you can’t resist, piping hot and ripped into hunks.

Printer-Friendly Version – Smoked Grape and Rosemary Focaccia

We don’t spend hours in the kitchen every evening.

Sometimes, I just pop a bowl of cold fried rice into the microwave for a quicker than quick dinner. On Tuesdays my mother and I steam broccoli, chop watermelon into chunks, sit down to watch Chopped and call it a night. I’ve even leaned against the fridge and eaten cold chicken salad straight out of the tupperware. Our kitchen is always stocked with enough leftovers to make us low-maintenance weeknight diners.

Weekends, though… That’s an entirely different matter. Sometimes the whole day revolves our food. My mother often wakes up before me to brush her bread with an egg glaze, and we juggle the oven so I can bake biscuits. She’s the queen of scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed juice, and I can press any berry into a special maple syrup.

My parents and I frequently head to the farmer’s market right after breakfast to shop for dinner, usually without a meal plan in mind. We pick whatever’s fresh and seasonal and bright, whatever inspires hunger even though we just ate. My family has been known to spend an afternoon rolling out pasta directly on our dinner table, marinating fish, picking through sun-warmed herbs. Then, we feast.

Don’t be fooled, though. There are plenty of awful mistakes, pain in the rear ingredients, and even the occasional temper. Our kitchen is what my dad likes to call a “two-butt work area.” The three of us barely fit inside it, and with the two dogs brushing against our ankles, it’s a very tight squeeze.

Usually, it’s chaotic frustration. As the sky darkens, my dad works from both the stove and the cutting board, on opposite ends of the kitchen. My mother can’t help but clean dishes in real time, sometimes whisking bowls off into the sink before we’re through with them. And me? I’m just trying to get to the oven, which is between the two of them. Add Tilly, who begs at your feet until you step on her, and Otis, who grunts whenever you drop a scrap – it’s an experience.

Yet once we carry plates to the table, settling down in our usual chairs, it’s calm. It’s relaxed. It’s all about passing plates and trying a bit of everything. It’s the subdued “Mmm!” at first bite. Cooking together is hectic, but it’s always worth it. There is something intangible about a meal created with your family… an hour of satisfaction, and a lifetime of memories.

Usually when I’m in the kitchen, I’m alone. Sometimes I’m even the only one in the entire house, especially now in the summer. I love baking in the serene calm of morning, with light streaming from the window above the sink and the French doors. It’s quiet, except for blue jays rustling in the backyard pines and the faint rhythm of my breath. It’s silent enough for me to sense the song of the kitchen in my ears and in my soul.

When I’m baking by myself, the kitchen is perfect for one person – spacious, even. I can’t help but feel that there’s no better way to spend life than alone with my thoughts and my Kitchen Aid. That is, until the weekend rolls around again. Then I’m weaving between my parents, half laughing and half exasperated, five minutes away from “dinner’s ready.” And at that moment, there’s no other place I’d rather be.

They’re opposite situations, and I like that. I like the contrast, and the fact that such distinct experiences can occur in the same room. The differences make each experience memorable and sweet, even if they don’t seem to complement each other at first glance.

I love juxtaposed differences, in life and in food. Sweet with salty, hot with cool, creamy with crunchy… Enter these watermelon bars, the perfect example of just that.

The bottom layer is the simplest watermelon sorbet, a snap to whirl together. It freezes somewhat hard and icy, but it’s utterly refreshing. The sorbet is spread with a basil-lime semifreddo, which is one of the most delicious things I’ve ever made. The semifreddo makes up for all the richness the sorbet lacks, whisked with sweetened condensed milk and lightened with whipped cream. It’s so thick and creamy, it should be illegal. The zing of lime and smooth, floral aroma of basil pair gorgeously with melon.

It could be a clash of flavors and textures, but I think they make a beautifully balanced combination. Together, they pack the epitome of summer in every melting bite.

I’d had these chilled bars in the back of my mind since I first saw them in Gourmet magazine two years ago. I finally froze a batch because I had a hunk of watermelon in the fridge and a bag of limes perfuming the counter. I threw in basil, my favorite herb, since it reminds me of everything summer.

My dad didn’t like the bars as much as I did, but only because he felt the two frozen desserts could be paired differently. He suggested multiple, thinner layers of sorbet and semifreddo, for a multi-layered bar or perhaps for a swirled scoop of ice cream. Both great potential variations on this dessert.

The flavors in the bars are very bold, especially the citrus. Don’t be afraid! If you know you’re not a fan, leave out the lime zest in the semifreddo. I liked everything as is.

Frozen Watermelon Basil-Lime Bars
Concept and Semifreddo layer adapted from Gourmet
Watermelon Sorbet layer a 17 and Baking original
Makes a 9”x9” pan

Watermelon Sorbet
1 1/2 pounds (24 oz) seedless watermelon, rinds removed
1/2 cup sugar
1 tablespoon Grand Marnier (or tequila, rum, etc) (optional)
Juice of a small lemon

Basil-Lime Semifreddo
One (14 oz) can sweetened condensed milk
3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil
Zest of a small lime
Juice of two small limes
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream, chilled

Line the bottom and sides of a 9”x9” pan with plastic wrap so that there is some overhang on all four sides. (I used aluminum foil, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It flaked later on when I cut the bars.) Place the lined pan in the freezer while making the watermelon sorbet.

To make the sorbet, blend the watermelon in a blender or food processor until smooth. Add the sugar, Grand Marnier, and lemon juice and blend until very smooth. Chill the mixture in the freezer for 30 minutes or until very cold, then churn in an ice cream maker. Spread the churned sorbet in the prepared pan and freeze at least 2 hours, or until the sorbet has hardened.

To make the semifreddo, heat the sweetened condensed milk with the basil in a small saucepan over medium heat until it steams. Remove from heat and let cool to room temperature. When cool, whisk in the zest and lime juice until smooth. In another bowl, whisk the whipping cream until it just reaches stiff peaks. Fold it into the sweetened condensed milk gently with a rubber spatula.

Smooth over the watermelon sorbet in the 9”x9” pan and freeze until solid, preferably overnight. I also recommend putting plates in the freezer at this point so when you’re ready to serve the bars, you can use chilled plates and the bars won’t melt as quickly.

When ready to serve, use the overhanging plastic wrap to lift out the bars. Cut into squares and serve on chilled plates.

Printer-Friendly Version – Frozen Watermelon Basil-Lime Bars

Where to begin the story of this chocolate-mint ice cream cake? Sure, it technically begins with a cool carton of cream and a stack of cracked egg shells. But I think it really starts two years ago, when my mother decided she wanted to remodel our backyard.

Our yard is L shaped, wrapping around our house. One of the strips is nice, just cool green grass and evergreen trees. But the other strip of yard, the one visible from the kitchen window and the dining room, was once utterly unimpressive. It was brimming with uneven grass, moss that squished under each footstep, and unappealing patches of yellow. My mother began sketching out designs, writing down ideas, until she’d come up with an ambitious blueprint.

She wanted to remove all the grass in that section and fertilize it. Then she wanted to transform it into something stunning, a rainbow of growing, breathing plants. Lime-green creeping bugleweed, black stemmed rhododendrons, pink-throated lilies, pure white bleeding hearts in the shade… And a natural stone path weaving through it all. Maybe a birdbath in the corner.

I thought it was wishful thinking, but my dad told her, “Let’s do it.”

We did it all ourselves that summer, and it was more work than any of us expected it to be. I imagined the process of removing grass to be a very simple, straightforward one. I didn’t realize that we’d have to lift up the sod, like heavy strips of carpet. We sifted through all of the rocks and roots by hand, which is every bit as laborious as it sounds, and turned the soil with fertilizer.

Forming the stone path felt like the bane of my existence. It needed to be nine inches deep, three feet wide, curving like a snake from one end of the yard to the other. After that, we had to smooth it out, fill it with gravel (wheelbarrowful by wheelbarrowful) and then with dirt (shovelful by shovelful.) By the time we began to fit in the rocks, I had complained enough for the whole summer.

We went to the nursery every week and drove home with a lush jungle spilling out of the car trunk; I’d sit in the back seat with silvery leaves and purple flowers brushing my cheek. We planted hummingbird-friendly flowers near the kitchen window and spindly ferns in the shade. We carried in an old stone bird bath. We even dug out a fire pit at the end of the path and built it with leftover slabs of stone.

We’d turned our backyard into something so much more than an offhand glance out the window.

The next spring, despite an unusually freezing winter, my mother’s garden grew back like some kind of miracle. It’s even fuller, even greener, and there’s a palpable buzz, a pulse. It’s bursting with life. I remember the thrill of our first hummingbird, hovering in the air like a jewel. The first time we saw a blue jay sipping cautiously from the birdbath. The first baby green leaf in a vine we though had been choked by the cold.

We have already gotten so much from our yard, it’s easy to forget how much work went into it. We cuddle up in lawn chairs around the fire pit, setting pumpkin spice marshmallows on fire and running out for hot dogs. We look up between sips of coffee at breakfast to see the flowers shaking off dew and waking up with us. Oh, and the herb garden…

It might be my favorite spot in the whole yard now. I squat down and just rub my fingers over everything: pebbly sage leaves, then the gold-edged leaves of lemon thyme, then the thick, soft stalks of rosemary. The fragrance of fresh herbs is so comforting. It smells like handwritten recipes and golden midafternoon sunlight and “Let’s eat on the patio tonight.”

And ever since the chocolate-mint plant has taken root, it has clung to life vivaciously. It’s spread faster than any of our other herbs, growing rounder and rounder, so that we’re forced to pick leaves and pull roots to keep it in check. It’s no surprise that ever since last summer, I’ve wanted to make mint ice cream.

I finally got the chance a couple weeks ago. One of my best friends, M-, has a thing for chocolate mint ice cream cake. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make one for his 18th birthday, using the freshest, sun-kissed mint I could find?

I brought it to school and we devoured it in the cafeteria. I stole a slice and a plate from the teacher’s lounge and took these photos in the courtyard. When I came back, only half of the cake was left, and by the end of the day the only evidence that it had ever existed was my camera full of photos and the lingering grin on M-’s face.

Mom and Dad two years ago, taking a break from an afternoon of yard work

Mom last year, drinking tea into the twilight on the patio. Someday, you won’t even be able to see the ground – all of those green plants will spread out to the stone path winding through them.

[PS: My camera is finally fixed! I got it in the mail today and went a little crazy. It's been three weeks and I've missed it like a picked peach misses the sunshine. And I finally hit 1,000 fans on Facebook, thank you all!

PPS: Dad, I know I didn't get your permission to publish a photo with you in it, but mom said it was okay.]

I found David Lebovitz‘s recipe for mint ice cream, which uses the same base as the incredible vanilla bean ice cream I made a few months ago. It’s so thick and creamy, but it’s smooth, too, and it scoops like butter straight from the freezer. I used our chocolate-mint, a type of mint that has a distinct chocolate scent and a more delicate flavor. It came out the palest green. When M- cut the cake, he was surprised that the ice cream was nearly white in the sunshine, but the flavor is clear with the first bite. It doesn’t just taste like mint, it’s saturated with the fragrance of it, and it fills your mouth with every spoonful.

I found a cake recipe that sounded perfect for an ice cream cake: it’s moist, easy to work with, has good chocolate flavor and stands up to freezing and refreezing. I wanted to make a small cake, so I used little 6″ pans, and just sort of guessed as I went. I’m giving the recipes below as I originally found them, so they don’t quite mesh together, but you can alter how much cake/ice cream you make to make it work.

The method of making an ice cream cake is still the same. You line your pans with plastic wrap and spread softened ice cream in them. Then you freeze until the ice cream is completely solid, remove them, and use those pans to bake the cake. Then you stack them one on top of the other and freeze until cold enough to frost. I frosted the cake with a cocoa whipped cream frosting. A word of warning, this frosting isn’t sweet. I wanted to balance the sugar in the ice cream and cake, and this frosting isn’t sweet on its own. But with everything else, it’s perfect.

Chocolate-Mint Ice Cream
From David Lebovitz via Orangette
Makes 1 Quart

1 cup whole milk
¾ cup sugar
2 cups heavy cream
Pinch of salt
2 cups lightly packed fresh mint leaves [I used chocolate-mint]
5 large egg yolks

Heat the milk, sugar, salt, and 1 cup of the cream over medium heat. Stir occasionally until it begins to steam. Then stir in the mint leaves so that they’re covered in liquid. Cover the pot, remove from the heat, and let steep at room temperature for one hour.

Strain the mixture into a medium saucepan, squeezing on the mint leaves to get out as much juice as possible. Discard the mint leaves. Pour the remaining 1 cup cream into a large bowl and set aside.

Rewarm the mint-infused mixture over medium heat until it begins to steam. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour the warm mint liquid into the egg yolks, whisking constantly; then scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan.

Stir the mixture constantly over medium heat with a heatproof spatula, scraping the bottom as you stir, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. Pour the custard through a strainer into the large bowl containing the cream. Stir until cool over an ice bath.

Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, then freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Printer-Friendly Version – Chocolate-Mint Ice Cream

Chocolate Cake
From Baking Bites
Makes a 10″ by 15″ Cake

2 cups sugar
2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 large eggs
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup hot water

Preheat oven to 350F. Grease a 10×15-inch jelly roll-type pan with cooking spray and line with parchment paper. Leave some paper overhanging the edges of the pan.

In a large bowl, whisk together sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, buttermilk, vegetable oil and vanilla extract. Pour into flour mixture and stir until just combined.

Pour hot water (not quite boiling) over batter and stir until smooth. Pour into prepared pan.
Bake for about 25 minutes, until cake springs back when lightly pressed and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Let cake cool in pan for 15 minutes, then use the parchment paper to transfer cake to a wire rack to cool completely. Do not remove parchment paper.

Cocoa Whipped Cream Frosting

2 cups heavy whipping cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 tablespoons cocoa powder
2 tablespoons powdered sugar

Whip the cream and vanilla extract with an electric mixer on medium speed. Slowly add the cocoa powder and powdered sugar (I suggest you sift these first) and increase the speed to high. Beat until stiff peaks form. Frost the cake immediately.

Assembling the cake: I didn’t give recipes that mesh with each other, but here’s what I suggest for a 9″ round cake. Line a 9″ pan with plastic wrap and spread a layer of ice cream in it. Freeze until solid, then lift out the ice cream and return to the freezer. Use two 9″ pans to bake the cake. Use the cake recipe as written, and divide it between the two 9″ round pans. I’m not sure what the baking time will be, so just check frequently and bake until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes, then turn out onto wire racks and cool completely.

Take a layer of cake and top it with the layer of frozen ice cream, then the second layer of cake. Return to the freezer and chill until solid. Meanwhile, make the frosting. Spread it all over the cake and chill. Remove 20 minutes prior to serving.

Printer-Friendly Version – Chocolate Cake, Cocoa Whipped Cream Frosting, and Assembly Instructions

I think the first time it happened was near the end of April last year.

I was standing in line for lunch, feeling bored and hungry and a little irritated, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and faced a girl I didn’t recognize, whom I’d never met before. She looked a little nervous and said, “Sorry, I just had to ask – are you the girl with the food blog? My mom and I really like your photography.”

It was such a strange feeling and such an unexpected moment, to be recognized. It didn’t feel like fame, but I had no idea how else to put it. I thanked her, gave a real smile because I was grateful and honored, and went on with my day in a much better mood. But it’s happened over and over again since then.

On Facebook, I have an album called “Food Photography.” It has around 250 comments and is “liked” by 40 people, many of whom I never talked to until they complimented me on my baking. I’ll be sitting in environmental science when someone will quietly complain, “I’m so hungry!” and give me a meaningful look. The sophomores who ride my bus smile at me and ask if I’ve made anything neat recently. And teachers stop me in the hallway to say they’ve heard about my blog, and could I please write down the address for them?

Even though I’m a senior and my high school is relatively small, I’m not well known. I have classes with the same people over and over, and I’ve never been much of a social butterfly. And I know I’ve said this before, but it’s true – when I first created 17 and Baking I didn’t tell anyone about it because I thought it was embarrassing. I didn’t think it would be cool to have a food blog. I thought people would think I was weird. So I kept it to myself and tried to hide it from the world.

I only showed it to one of my friends when I’d written about him, and I thought he would get a kick out of seeing it. To my surprise he ended up making a blog of his own (suited to his own interests) and linked to mine. Unlike me, though, he wasn’t shy about sharing, and soon many of my classmates had seen his blog – and through it, mine. (If you are interested, he has a great economics blog called the Marginalist.)

To my surprise, people didn’t think it was uncool or strange. Food is universal. Food brings people together. Because really, when it comes down to it, who can resist anything warm and fresh from the oven, whether a sweet chocolatey cookie or a soft chive-studded cream cheese biscuit?

As I began to write this post this morning, I received a message on Facebook from an old friend I haven’t talked to in four years, N-. “Hi Elissa,” she wrote. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this before, but my big sister goes to Berkeley and she loves to bake, and she likes your blog.” N- continued on to tell me that her sister decided to have a bake off with her new roommates. One of them suggested a certain cookie recipe from “this blog… seventeen something…” to which N-’s sister (whom I’ve never met) exclaimed, “That’s Elissa!”

It was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever heard, to have spread not only through school and the food blogging world but to college students in California simply having a bake-off. It lifts me off my feet and makes the sun shine out of my heart. Thank you for reading my blog – thank you, thank you, thank you!

Normally I wouldn’t, but I’ve got to ask – if you’re reading this, please leave a comment! Whether it’s your first time visiting or I’m welcoming you back, I’d really appreciate it if you left your location. I’m just curious to know where my readers are. I’ll start… Seattle, WA!

I don’t often opt for savory over sweet, but breakfast is one of those things where I crave salt over sugar. I’d had my eye on these Chive Biscuits for a while when I decided to make them. Part of the appeal was the inclusion of buttermilk and cream cheese. More than anything, that made me think of soft, flaky, and savory biscuits. They didn’t get as tall as I expected, but with chives from our own backyard and a squiggle of clover honey, they felt like home.

Cream Cheese and Chive Biscuits
From Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook
Makes 12 biscuits

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh chives
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, cold, cut into small pieces
4 ounces cream cheese, cold, cut into small pieces
1 1/4 cup buttermilk

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, sugar, and chives. Using a pastry blender, cut in the butter and cream cheese until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with a few larger clumps remaining.

Pour in the buttermilk; using a fork, mix in buttermilk until incorporated and the dough just comes together. The dough will be slightly sticky; do not overmix.

Turn dough out onto a lightly floured work surface. With floured fingers, gently knead about four times, until all the crumbs are incorporated and the dough is smooth. With a lightly floured rolling pin, gently roll the dough to a 8-b-11-inch rectangle, about 1 inch thick. Using a bench scraper or long offset spatula to lift the ends of the dough, fold the rectangle into thirds (like a business letter). Give the dough a quarter turn. Roll out the dough again (to the same dimensions), and repeat the folding process. Wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Return the dough to the work surface. Roll out as before, and repeat the folding process. Give the dough another quarter turn; roll out dough one more time, again into a rectangle about 1 inch thick. Using a sharp knife, divide the rectangle into 12 equal squares or rectangles. Place on prepared sheet about 1 1/2 inches apart. Refrigerate for 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Bake, rotating the sheet halfway through, until the biscuits are golden and flecked with brown spots, 15 to 18 minutes. Transfer the biscuits to a wire rack to cool.

Printer Friendly Version – Cream Cheese and Chive Biscuits

Everyone knows the phrase “random acts of kindness” – and yet, I hardly ever see people do anything without reason or credit for someone else. It’s not that people are unkind or hypocritical, it’s just not something you see every day. And yet, two people in my life went out of their way to make my world even better.

The first is E-, a boy who I went to middle school with. We only had a few classes together and we haven’t kept in touch. However, I post food photos on facebook, so most of my friends know about 17 and Baking. The other day, I received a random email from him. When I saw his name in my inbox I wondered if he’d sent it to me by mistake.

But the email, only a few sentences long, was clearly for me: he’d seen my blog and bought me my own domain. You might notice that I’m 17andbaking.com now instead of 17andbaking.wordpress.com (no worries, the wordpress link will still work.) An hour later I’d made business card with my new address.

D-, is one of my mother’s co-workers. I had never met her before this summer, and I’d never spoken to her except maybe once or twice. Everyone at my mother’s office knows about my baking because a lot of leftovers and excess batches are sent straight to their kitchen.

Imagine my surprise when D- approached me and showed me some emails she’d printed. D- had emailed my blog to a prominent food writer, who had written back that I was a “darling” girl. She couldn’t believe I’m only 17, and that she was very impressed. What a compliment to see it written right in front of me! D- didn’t know this writer at all, but she just felt compelled to pass my blog along. D-, that email made my week, and I can’t tell you how sweet it was.

It’s hard to describe how I’m feeling this summer, but if I had to pick a word, I’d say nostalgic. I’m not sure why, but all this alone time is making me think a lot about old memories. The entire time I made this ice cream – and I’m not going to further the suspense any longer, it’s basil – I thought about the first time I made it last summer.

One of my closest friends came to my house on a whim, and we made this ice cream together. We took a long walk around the neighborhood while we waited for it to freeze, and that twilit walk is one of my favorite memories with him. When we got home, we ate it in cheap sugar cones and stayed up the rest of the night talking, drinking tea, and giggling.

Basil is my favorite herb in savory dishes too. I get funny looks when I say it’s my favorite ice cream flavor, but you’re missing out if you’ve never had it… Mellow, warm, sweet, and utterly summerly. People still look skeptical even after I rave about its beautiful pale green color, its creamy texture, and the surprising way the flavor rounds out in your mouth.

I just shrug and say, “Hey, mint is an herb too, but nobody raises an eyebrow at that.” And even if they can’t wrap their minds around an ice cream flavor you can’t buy at Baskin Robbin’s, I’m sure a foodie like you can!

(PS I shot these ice cream photos in 100 degree weather! :) I’m proud!)

Basil and chocolate are actually fantastic together. I didn’t add chocolate chunks to this ice cream because I didn’t want to distract from the basil, but feel free to add that. Lemon zest might also brighten it up. I used sweet basil but other varieties like refreshing Lemon basil, spicy Thai basil, or sweet Cinnamon basil would make interesting ice creams. I like this ice cream so much I eat it with a baby spoon straight from the freezer, but it would be very good with an almond or lemon dessert.

Basil Ice Cream
Adapted from Gourmet magazine
Makes 3 cups

2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup sugar, divided
1/4 cup fresh chopped basil
Pinch of salt
4 large egg yolks
1/2 cup chilled whipping cream

In a small saucepan over moderate heat, bring the milk, 1/4 cup sugar, salt, and the basil to a boil. Remove from heat and let steep 30 minutes, half covered with a lid. Transfer to a blender, keeping the saucepan, and blend until the basil is ground, about a minute.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat egg yolks on medium speed. Add the remaining 1/4 cup sugar and beat until thick and pale, about one minute. Pour the milk mixture in a slow, steady stream and beat until well combined. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan. Stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, heat over moderate heat until custard coats the back of the spoon and reaches 175 degrees F. Strain into a metal bowl and chill until cold, stirring often.

Stir in cream and churn in an ice cream maker. Freeze in an airtight container at least two hours.

Printer Friendly Version – Basil Ice Cream

“17 and Baking Makes Some Dough,” and I don’t mean dough in the literal sense. I mean that I just did my first paid order. And it was pretty sweet. Bad puns all over the place, I know. I can’t resist, sorry!

A girl from my school wanted cookies for her mother’s birthday, and she offered to buy them! A floaty, unexpected feeling washed over me as I told my parents I’d gotten my first paid order. It felt like the start of something new.

I remember the first “real” cake that I baked – you know, not from a mix or anything. It was a sponge cake with golden raisins and when it came out of the oven, I couldn’t believe that it looked just like the picture! I was so proud and ate the whole thing.

Of course, looking back, I can see all the mistakes. I didn’t know that the butter had to be at room temperature. The cake was uneven and the frosting didn’t come together properly. But I didn’t know any of that at the time, and felt pretty good about myself!

I’ve often thought about baking that cake again, just to see how far I’ve come.

When I bought that cake cookbook from Costco for the pretty photographs, I never dreamed that one day I might actually make money from baking or that people would know me as the girl who likes to bake. Thinking about that first cake I made, it’s incredible to see how much I’ve learned at this point. It makes me anticipate all that I have yet to learn and the happiness I’ll get as I tackle even fancier and trickier baked goods.

It’s only been three years since I became interested in baking. Who knows what the next three years will bring?

Baking has been a learning experience, from my first real baking disaster (during which I actually sat on the kitchen floor and cried,) to the first time I brought cookies to school, to my first Daring Bakers entry. And this simple batch of shortbread proved to be another landmark in my baking career.

My client (!) asked for shortbread but left the flavor up to me. The sun has been good to our little herb garden, so I decided to use our Lemon Thyme in my shortbread. Then I found these cute little heart cookie cutters… and Lemon-Thyme Shortbread Hearts were born.

I wasn’t sure how strong the thyme would be in the cookies, so I decided to throw in some zest to help the lemon flavor shine. I don’t especially care for shortbread, but as it turned out these cookies were really good. Straight out of the oven the cookies were buttery and crumbly, just how shortbread should be.

The thyme really does come through well without being overpowering. I pressed a whole thyme leaf into the center of each cookie and they came out just barely golden. And the hearts… too cute.

I found that chilling the dough before rolling and then chilling the cookies, already cut and on the pan, helped them keep their shape. So I stuck pan after pan in the fridge and freezer between baking.

Lemon-Thyme Shortbread Hearts
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks via The Castle Cookbook
Makes 5-6 dozen cookies

4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 tablespoons fresh thyme leaves (preferably lemon thyme)
Zest of two medium lemons
1 lb (4 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Pulse together the flour, baking powder, salt, thyme, and lemon zest in a food processor a few times. Set aside.

Beat the butter in a mixer with the paddle attachment until light and fluffy. Sift in the powdered sugar and beat again. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and then beat in the vanilla extract.

Add in the flour mixture in two batches, stirring until a thick dough forms. Divide the dough into two halves and pat into two disks, 1 inch thick. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for half an hour.

After the dough is chilled, have ready pans lined with parchment paper or silpat. Roll each disk out with a rolling pin to 1/4″ or 1/2″ thick. Cut into shapes with the cookie cutters and bake 12 minutes, turning the pan around in the middle, until the bottoms are just barely golden.

Printer Friendly Version – Lemon-Thyme Shortbread Hearts

I put the cookies in a pretty tin along with a little card for her mother’s birthday. I hope she enjoyed it!

So much has happened, and in the whirlwind of last week I haven’t been able to get to my blog. (I feel like I’m writing in my diary or something.) Last Friday was my last exam (AP Bio, the hardest one yet) and then Saturday was prom (exciting, as I’m not even a senior yet.) Then school started to pick up, and everything just happened. I even had to miss out on the DB May challenge.

I’m sorry!

Thanks for sticking through with me though. It’s been a record 11 days since my last post – I’ve been counting – and it’s been awful. It’s almost as bad as not baking. But thankfully there is a lot of good stuff to come.

First of all, half of my birthday present has arrived: my camera! A Canon Rebel XTi and it is so beautiful. I want to put on gloves before I touch it. I’ve kept the bubble wrap around it. I can’t believe it’s real! The second half, my lens, should come this week. I am so ready to say goodbye to Kodak!

Secondly, now that testing and prom are both over, I am free to do a lot more baking… and non-baking, like this Lavender Ice Cream. The original creator called it “outrageously sexy and delicious.” He wasn’t kidding.

This ice cream has a great texture. It’s creamy and rich and thick. Good stuff. This might be because the cream is whipped and then folded in, a technique I’d never seen before.

The lavender flavor really hits you, maybe even a tad bit too strong. I wasn’t sure it would come through but 5 minutes steeping is definitely enough. I really liked that the ice cream comes out kind of a pale cream-white, so it might be mistaken for vanilla at a distance. Then people are pleasantly surprised when the fragrance of lavender blooms in the mouth, so to speak. :) You could make the ice cream purple with food coloring, or maybe berry juice…

The original recipe called for chocolate chunks, which I omitted because I didn’t want to distract from the lavender, but by all means add it in. I bet it would be good.

Lavender Ice Cream
Adapted from Food Rockz

1 cup + a couple of tablespoons whole milk
2 tablespoons lavender
1/2 cup sugar
5 egg yolks
1 cup heavy cream

Combine the milk and lavender in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Turn off the heat, cover, and let steep for 5 minutes, then strain 1 cup of milk into a bowl and let cool.

Beat the yolks and sugar together until the mixture is pale yellow and thick. Beat in the cooled milk, then scrape the egg-sugar-milk mixture into a small saucepan.

Stir continuously over low heat until the custard slightly thickens and reaches 160 degrees F and coats the back of a spoon. (Beware, the eggs will scramble at 168 degrees F.) Remove from heat and transfer to another bowl and let cool until 40 degrees F. This will take several hours and the custard can be kept, covered in plastic wrap, in the refrigerator.

When the custard is cooled, whip the cream to soft peaks. Fold into the chilled custard, then freeze the ice cream with an ice cream machine.

Printer Friendly Version – Lavender Ice Cream