THE ART OF MAKING ICE CREAM
I wrote this out by hand today. I guess I’ve slowed enough for melancholy to catch up with me as I pondered the art of making ice cream. Summer, even late summer, and ice cream go together like Rock-N’-Roll.
I’m still fascinated how convenience doesn’t equal better. One could argue that it’s just the opposite. Anticipation coupled with hard work always seems to make the destination sweeter. Same goes for ice cream.
My mom was famous, at least in our family, for her banana ice cream concoction. Once she had the cream that was loaded with chunks of bananas, she handed it over to my dad and most of his brothers and sisters were there to help with the making and eating.
This was in the days either before they invented the electric ice cream maker or before anyone in our family could afford one.
There was plenty of time for discussion about the art of making ice cream during the grueling process. Disagreements were the norm, but no full blown arguments. The amount of ice added before sprinkling the layers of rock salt was like politics or religion, only with more passion.
All the men would take turns cranking the handle. Me and the rest of my boy cousins would watch with respect. We paid closer attention to the art of making ice cream than we did math and reading in school. It was a rite of passage. We weren’t in the South anymore, but my family brought the South with ’em.
Each revolution would let out a cricket like chirp from the worn rolling handle while the men took turns cranking it.
My dad and his brothers were a blue collar bunch. They’d grown up working on the farm and dragging cotton sacks. I say that to say this; they were physical specimens. Their sweaty arms showed off the muscles with the white short sleeve t-shirts rolled up to secure their brand of cigarettes.
I can’t remember how long it took to turn the cream into ice cream, seemed like an eternity back then.
When the debating and cranking was finally done, the men, with us boys in tow, would march the treasure into the house where the women would give their two cents on the matter as the girls watched.
It doesn’t happen too often, but as I rolled back time with an old fashioned pen in my hand, I got a lump in my throat, even fought back a few scattered tears.
We don’t do much by hand anymore.
I never made home made ice cream with my kids, wish I would’ve… but I never even thought about it. I was more concerned with the way I looked.
That ice cream tasted like heaven, but the memory of making it with family is sweeter.
There’s value in doing things by hand.
I’ll bet my grandkids will figure that out.. when they look back on their lives and recall how their Papa taught them the art of making ice cream… by hand.
Sunday, August 19, 2018 @ 6:05 am
Great job! Brought back some really cool memories. It’s nice when we can appreciate the things in our lives. I’m ready to go out and find me an antique I’ve cream machine. Hope the grandchildren are ready!
Sunday, August 19, 2018 @ 6:38 pm
I remember watching people crank that ice cream maker by hand. But I never did it either. Yeah, we’ve definitely lost a lot of those “by hand” things. Our fingers now are worn out by typing on keyboards. Sigh.
Monday, August 20, 2018 @ 6:19 am
We never made ice cream at home. We seldom had it to be honest. But I do remember church picnics where it was cranked by hand. I was on the cranking and receiving end of that ice cream. Nothing like it. One church I pastored had a man make it with goat’s milk. Oh man! I looked forward to church pitch-ins. i seriously doubt my girls will even remember homemade ice cream unless that is the brand they buy.
Monday, August 20, 2018 @ 5:32 pm
Your words brought back such good memories. I always loved making ice cream the hand-cranked way (although I rarely helped with cranking–just the eating! Haha!) Now, when we make it, it is with electric ice cream makers and isn’t near as much fun.
Monday, August 20, 2018 @ 5:37 pm
Famous words from a first time Grandpa. They will love anything you do with them. Our little 3 year old Reedley has totally captured Ace heart. He is the first one of our six we really got to spend some growing up years with. That little boy has made up for so much in our house hold. His sister, now 9 says, he rocks our boat.
Monday, August 20, 2018 @ 6:30 pm
“The amount of ice added before sprinkling the layers of rock salt was like politics or religion, only with more passion.”
Ah! The memories that bring us back to the ultimate truth! I wish, Floyd, that today, we could take all the political and religious divergence, simply add rock salt and cream, and find that we have the perfect blend of the humanity Jesus envisioned for us all. Wouldn’t that make for the perfect evening on the front porch?
Blessings, my friend!
Monday, August 20, 2018 @ 9:24 pm
Aw, this surely brought back some memories to me, too. You’re right, we don’t do much by hand these days, and our health and weight issues prove it. Oh, for those simple days of yesteryear! We are bound and determined to bring them back as much as we can, in spite of all this modern world dictates. it really is possible if we put our mind and determination to it. Thanks for this heartwarming post, Floyd. God bless you, brother.
Monday, August 20, 2018 @ 10:26 pm
Yes, your post brought back memories. We usually only made ice cream when company came. It was a treat to take a turn cranking the old ice cream maker. Of course us girls only did it for show, because the men would then take over. It has been a long time since I made any of my clothes by hand. I do try to cook and bake the old fashioned way by hand. I must confess, Betty Crocker makes a better cake than my hand made ones, but I do bake 4 loaves of pumpkin bread (Hand made) each week for the coffee drinkers at our church.
Tuesday, August 21, 2018 @ 10:30 am
Good memories! Your ice cream maker looks a lot like the hand-crank bucket my dad used when he made bread. He sold at two farmers markets each week in the summer months and the bread was usually gone within the first hour. We bought our first electric ice cream maker last year and my Dreamer has been bugging me for the last few weeks… time to make the ice cream! A last of the summer treat! Of course, it spoils you off the store-bought stuff – but that is not necessarily a bad thing. Happy end-of-summer, brother!
Tuesday, August 21, 2018 @ 2:21 pm
Floyd, do you know, I’ve never tasted home-made ice cream?! Wow…nor experienced the cranking and yearning while waiting…oh, the things we miss out on in life…
Tuesday, August 21, 2018 @ 4:30 pm
Floyd,
I enjoyed reading this post; you paint a wonderful picture. It made me wish I had learned to make ice cream by hand. Writing by hand…something special about that 🙂
Tuesday, August 21, 2018 @ 7:10 pm
You’re getting a lot of responses on this one, Floyd. Good for you, and well imagined. I didn’t get into hand cranked ice cream until I left home and set up my own situation. I was into organics and small-is-beautiful and that sort of thing, and hand cranking my own ice cream was as satisfying as making my own pasta. Truly the ice cream was fun to make and to eat. That was then, more than 40 years ago; this is now. Now I do everything I was too self-satisfied to do then–I buy the half gallons of commercial ice cream at one end of the store and the dry pasta at the other end. Something has been lost (doing things by hand). I wonder if anything has been gain…except time?
Tuesday, August 21, 2018 @ 7:55 pm
What a wonderful, nostalgic essay, Floyd. I haven’t thought about hand-cranked ice cream in ages . . . not in this day of the nitrogen-poured Sherlockian-looking kind with the smoky mist rising forth. Looks just like fog. No hand cranks it, but a mixmaster whirls it quickly and the nitrogen freezes it instantaneously . . . unlike all the time it took your dad to crank it by hand. My dad was a hand-cranking guy too. Your essay prompted wonderful memories of Daddy and me, pouring the rock salt and sugar and cream . . . perhaps hulling and slicing fresh strawberries. There was nothing as sweet and smooth or as satisfying as eating that freshly made ice cream, nothing as comforting as being with Daddy. Oh how I miss him! I know you missed your dad. What a beautiful tribute this is to your father, Floyd! I loved it.
Fondly
Lynni
Sunday, August 26, 2018 @ 5:11 pm
The art of making ice cream is a lost art for sure! I’ve done it a few times myself with my children. It’s in the process of mixing the cream and the sugar and flavorings bringing it to fruition, the possibilities are endless When you make homemade ice cream. The labor of doing it might be more intense and harder than going out and buying it ready made to go, but the fun and gratification and making it is so much sweeter.
It was always an enjoyable experience with my children. I hope they remember the experience of it, I know I will.