The Literary Chef on Churning Up Memories
Homemade strawberry ice cream churns up memories and chocolate dipped strawberries are easier than you might think.
Ice Cream—those two words churn up memories of lazy summer afternoons and family reunions. I still remember an old black-and-white photograph of me perched atop the ice cream freezer: a stainless-steel bucket nested inside a wooden slat tub. I wore a white shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, my auburn ponytail flying behind me.
Like many families of the late 1950s, everyone had an assigned role. My mother prepared the ice cream mixture. My father cranked the handle, occasionally trading places with my older brother. My own difficult task was sitting on the machine to keep it from skidding across the porch while the “men” churned the cream.
My mother only made one flavor: vanilla, except in July when she added Ruston peaches to the mix. We were purists—no caramel or chocolate syrup, no sprinkles. Just ice cream.
