I was planning to write something pithy for this recipe that I first posted back in 2016, but I was taken aback by the date of that post. How has it been 10 years already?
There are other surprises - more pleasant ones - from reviewing those old photos which I'd taken while I was in university. I’m still using the Cuisinart ice cream machine, which I picked up for AU$50, and is working just as well in its twelfth year as it did when brand new. Cuisinart really do know how to make a quality appliance. I still have that stainless steel pot as well, and the silicone spatula. There’s my old weighing scale, which unfortunately didn’t last as long (it didn’t last the year). There's that black round table, partially-photographed, where I spent many late nights and weekends prepping food and studying. Those white roller blinds, which I may have stained with beetroot juice and which I could never quite clean off (sorry!)
Moments like this make me grateful for having kept a blog, where I could stumble onto photos from another chapter of my life. I remembered every part of that room, from the kitchen to the bedroom. How nostalgic. I remembered how it felt walking into my old dorm room. I remembered the concrete path that my friends and I trod on between the dorm and the carpark as we headed out for large bowls of pho. The way that the noon sunlight glinted off the windows, how the sun felt on our exposed skin, and how the wind swept sand and dust over us. We’d let the hot air out of the car before we got in, and find a spot to park along the always-crowded narrow streets of Springvale before piling into our usual haunt. Once there, we always get the same thing: a bowl of noodles filled with beef slices, brisket and tendon. What a joy that bowl of pho was: pure umami, with raw beef that cooked in seconds once you stir them into the hot broth, and all the herbs and greens that you could add. I’ve been to Vietnam in the intervening years, but somehow nothing had quite matched up to whatever the five of us had eaten together back in those warm spring days.
Was it just nostalgia colouring my memories? Perhaps. Who can fully trust their memories, after all? Still, it's nice to see that the friendships I've made from university, and most of my kitchenware, had stood the test of time, and I’m glad this recipe also did.
There are other surprises - more pleasant ones - from reviewing those old photos which I'd taken while I was in university. I’m still using the Cuisinart ice cream machine, which I picked up for AU$50, and is working just as well in its twelfth year as it did when brand new. Cuisinart really do know how to make a quality appliance. I still have that stainless steel pot as well, and the silicone spatula. There’s my old weighing scale, which unfortunately didn’t last as long (it didn’t last the year). There's that black round table, partially-photographed, where I spent many late nights and weekends prepping food and studying. Those white roller blinds, which I may have stained with beetroot juice and which I could never quite clean off (sorry!)
Moments like this make me grateful for having kept a blog, where I could stumble onto photos from another chapter of my life. I remembered every part of that room, from the kitchen to the bedroom. How nostalgic. I remembered how it felt walking into my old dorm room. I remembered the concrete path that my friends and I trod on between the dorm and the carpark as we headed out for large bowls of pho. The way that the noon sunlight glinted off the windows, how the sun felt on our exposed skin, and how the wind swept sand and dust over us. We’d let the hot air out of the car before we got in, and find a spot to park along the always-crowded narrow streets of Springvale before piling into our usual haunt. Once there, we always get the same thing: a bowl of noodles filled with beef slices, brisket and tendon. What a joy that bowl of pho was: pure umami, with raw beef that cooked in seconds once you stir them into the hot broth, and all the herbs and greens that you could add. I’ve been to Vietnam in the intervening years, but somehow nothing had quite matched up to whatever the five of us had eaten together back in those warm spring days.
Was it just nostalgia colouring my memories? Perhaps. Who can fully trust their memories, after all? Still, it's nice to see that the friendships I've made from university, and most of my kitchenware, had stood the test of time, and I’m glad this recipe also did.
Chocolate Ice Cream
Original recipe by David Lebovitz
Makes about 3 cups (3/4l)
I have made some adjustments to this recipe over the years. The original recipe is all-milk, but I find substituting half a cup of milk for cream makes for a product with a richer texture. I tried higher proportions of cream, but in the end, this is the sweet spot.
Original recipe by David Lebovitz
Makes about 3 cups (3/4l)
I have made some adjustments to this recipe over the years. The original recipe is all-milk, but I find substituting half a cup of milk for cream makes for a product with a richer texture. I tried higher proportions of cream, but in the end, this is the sweet spot.
Ingredients
1 and 1/2 cups (375ml) milk
1/2 cup (125ml) cream
80g sugar
pinch of salt
1/2 cup (50g) unsweetened cocoa powder
4 ounces (115g) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons Kahluà or other coffee-flavored liqueur (optional)
Steps
80g sugar
pinch of salt
1/2 cup (50g) unsweetened cocoa powder
4 ounces (115g) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons Kahluà or other coffee-flavored liqueur (optional)
Steps
Stir the milk and cream together. Then, in a medium-sized saucepan set over low heat, whisk 1 cup of the milk/cream combination with sugar, salt, and cocoa powder. Bring to a full boil while whisking, then reduce the heat and let it simmer gently for 30 seconds.
Remove from heat and add in the chocolate. Let the chocolate stand for a minute, then whisk to combine with the rest of the ingredients. Stir in the vanilla, Kahluà, and the rest of the milk/cream. If the mixture looks a little grainy, puree it in a blender to smoothen it out.
Chill thoroughly, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.
No comments:
Post a Comment