No Churn-All Burn Super Patriotic Ice Cream for Semi-Lazy Patriots

My dad used to make me churn ice cream on July Fourth. I hated it.

Here’s why. There was this big, nasty, arrogant punk kid on our block named Bruce whom I hated. He was a couple of years older than me, and he had his own posse of other nasty punks, whom I also hated. I called him “Pukes.” He didn’t like me either.

One July Fourth back in the early 1970s, he shoved me off my bike during a race on our street because I was beating him. When I caught up with him, he stood there with his posse, sneering at me with his hands on his hips, and I punched him in the gut as hard as I could. I had all kinds of siblings, cousins, and other relatives, and we pummeled each other all the time, so my response seemed both natural and appropriate.

But then I was on the ground, and they were pummeling me until some adult showed up to drag me away because, somehow, I was the one in trouble because I’d “started it.” My dotty aunts, then just in their 40s, took the cigarettes out of their mouths just long enough to say something about me “not being very ladylike.” I was banished to the backyard where my dad made me churn ice cream as punishment.

It was strawberry, his favorite, and I liked it too up until then. But I refused to eat strawberry ice cream again until maybe 15 years later when he was dying and wanted some, so I offered to make it. By that time, he’d upgraded from the ancient wooden bucket with clamp-on crank to some spiffy electric job.

“I got that after you moved out,” he said. He remembered the whole bloody strawberry fight incident fondly because, to him, my being forced to crank ice cream for the next decade wasn’t a punishment, it was an honor. But I still keep a weather eye and a 9-iron out for Pukes and his miscreants whenever I’m in the old neighborhood.

I’ve still got a thing against cranking ice cream, even with electricity, though there are perfectly sound and civil reasons for doing so. Once my siblings and cousins started producing all kinds of nieces and nephews and other cousins once removed, making ice cream once again became a fun thing to do on the Fourth. As with so many things in life, you can keep it simple or make it way more complicated than it needs to be, but the goal remains a defiant ice cream full of fireworks.

Red, White, and Blue Ice Cream

1 can (14 ounces) sweetened condensed milk. This gunk won’t freeze into a block of ice, so it is an ideal medium.

1 generous teaspoon vanilla extract, or half a vanilla pod or bean (that thing with the seeds in it).

1 generous tablespoon grated ginger. Use candied, powder, or paste if you must, just less of it.

Some good cinnamon. See below.

2 cups heavy whipping cream

1/2 cup each strawberries and blueberries. Frozen is OK, but thaw completely.

1. Gently warm the milk and add all the spices together with a pinch of salt, stirring until they are as dissolved as they’re going to get, which isn’t much. Ginger is a must here, but cinnamon is optional. I always use it because it adds excellent burn. If you’re cinnamon-curious, I’d start with no more than a teaspoon of the best you can find. (Meaning, not that jar that’s been sitting in your cabinet since Bush v. Gore).

2. A word on vanilla: Frankly, I can’t tell the difference between the taste of extract and seeds, but if you can, then by all means use them. Scrape and crush the seeds from about half a pod (also called a bean, for some reason) and add to the milk. Someone gave me a bouquet of vanilla pods once, and I said, “What the hell is this?” thinking I was being insulted somehow in a way I was too stupid to understand. But the joke was on him: Turns out my admirer was the stupid one for assuming I even knew vanilla came in pods, or beans. I also thought spinach only came in cans.

3. Warm the milk concoction for about 15 or 20 minutes, then let it completely cool. Strain into a pre-chilled mixing bowl, preferably with a lid.

4. Add the fruit to the milk. Strawberries should be bite-sized. Frozen fruit must be completely thawed. If not, it will add an unwelcome frosty taste and texture to the ice cream, as counterintuitive as that sounds.

5. Whip the heavy cream just until you get stiff peaks. Use a mixer or employ young first cousins once removed. Twice removed, if needs be.

6. Fold the cream into the milk mixture without deflating too much. Cover and stick in the freezer for five hours or so.

7. The result should be islets of red and blue fruit adrift in a sea of white foam. The first time I served my genius creation, those dotty aunts said, “Well, it just looks like frosting.” They meant that as an insult, but it was a battle cry to my many young patriot relatives who demolished it in a frenzy of sugary awe.

PS: I have also made this with blackberries instead of blueberries, but they’re better blended in the milk concoction than whole and require a thorough straining with cheesecloth to remove the seeds. The result is a serene but spicy purple, another color worth celebrating on this Fourth of July.

A printable version of this recipe is available for your ice cream enjoyment.