Ice-y Creamy Ice Cream

The first time I made ice cream from scratch was thirty years ago. It was with one of those old fashioned salt crank makers and when I tasted the fruit of our (what felt like five hours) labor, I had one thought: Not worth it.

Then five years ago I was flipping through a Williams Sonoma catalog when it came to my attention that ice cream makers had moved into the 21^st century. There on the page was the most darling Cuisinart blue ice cream maker. It arrived in time for Mother’s Day and I’ve been making my own ice cream ever since.

Yeah, right.

First, we try not to keep dessert in the house. Ever. Because I’ll eat it.

Secondly, we’re more of a baked goods kind of family.

Thirdly, it’s not in mine or Shea’s family of origin to have cake AND ice cream. It was always one or the other.

But I do tend to make ice cream in June and July, as an alternative way to scratch my baking itch when it’s too hot to turn on the oven. I use the basic recipe, no custard making required, and in 20 minutes I can serve up homemade, creamy, safe (if not healthy, lol) and organic dessert.

All it takes is milk (I use fat free), heavy whipping cream, sugar and vanilla. My ice cream maker has a center cylinder insert that I store in the freezer at all times. Pop it in the maker, pour in the base and turn it on—that’s all it takes.

I have tried to make lower fat and sugar versions using just milk and no cream. No bueno. What comes out is the consistency of slushy milk which then freezes into a giant ice cube. So I stick to the heavy cream. I halve the sugar if I am adding fruit—we barely notice that it’s less sweet because of the richness of the cream and the vanilla flavor. And we actually eat the correct serving size—half cup—because since it tastes the way it’s supposed to, you don’t need as much to make your sweet tooth happy.

Recipe (courtesy Cuisinart)

1 cup milk

3/4 cup sugar

2 cups heavy whipping cream

1 teaspoon vanilla (for vanilla flavored ice cream) AND/OR

1 cup macerated, mashed fruit of your choice AND/OR

chocolate chips

Really, once you have the base, you can do whatever you want to it.

Whisk milk and sugar until sugar dissolves. Add cream and vanilla. Whisk until mixture becomes nice and frothy. Refrigerate for two hours. Then pour the base into the maker and process for 20-25 minutes. Add any other ingredients in the last five minutes.

Whisking the base. I like to get some air in there. I think it makes the ice cream creamier.

Logistics:

There are ice cream makers out there that cost $300, but I don’t know why. The Cuisinart costs $60, and I also found a Hamilton Beach option at Target for under $30. That’s roughly the same as six half gallons of regular ice cream.

I have learned not to store the leftovers in the cylinder or Tupperware. A glass bowl with an airtight lid keeps the ice cream from getting too hard or crystallizing.

If I’m adding fruit, I chop it, macerate it, mash it and then throw it in the last five minutes. If the chunks are too big, they get caught in the stirring thingy, causing the ice cream to back up and overflow.

My macerated, mashed and strained raspberries.

There are lots of ice cream recipes out there, including in the booklet that comes with the machine. But some of them require a custard, and I’m not having that. The easy recipe is just fine.

And when I want to be crazy, I suffer the heat, bake up a batch of chocolate chip cookies and make my own ice cream sandwiches. I plop a scoop of newly made ice cream on completely cooled cookies, wrap it all in plastic wrap and pop it in the freezer. Two hours later, yummy summer goodness.

Kitchen Rules: If you help, you get to lick!

Enjoy!

Change the name, Washington ~ Dana

I recently found myself in the middle of a debate on Facebook about whether or not the Washington Redskins football team should be forced to change their name or not. I came in on the side of the American Indians, agreeing that the name should be changed. My first comment read, “The word ‘redskins’ is derogatory. And the Native American community IS offended. We can’t tell black people to overcome their hatred for the ‘N’ word because we want to use it as a team name. I know that’s extreme, but the mascot of Compton High School used to be the Tar Babies, which is a very derogatory term… I believe that we should listen to those whom the racial slur is about and honor their wishes. Haven’t we dishonored them enough?”

But a friend of a friend commented that she didn’t think the word “redskin” was that big of a deal. She said that she had never heard anyone being called “Hey, redskin!” and the team should be allowed to keep their name.

And there, my friends, is where I lost my mind.

I mean, I get it. Some people are tired of all of the “PC crap” that is going around this country. There are lots of folks who get crazy around Christmas time if you dare to wish them Happy Holidays instead of a Merry Christmas. I know. I said happy holidays to a lady once, and I even celebrate Christmas, and she went nuts on me. Don’t mess with Christmas.

Another commenter stated that he heard on the news that Indians aren’t even that mad about it, and insinuated that it’s probably a bunch of people looking for their “15 minutes of fame.”

I went on to comment, “That commercial [that you can view here] that aired during the Super Bowl was produced and paid for by the National Congress of American Indians, the oldest, largest, and most representative of Native Indian and Alaska Natives in North America. Seems like a big deal to me. And just out of curiosity, how many American Indians do you know? And would you be comfortable shouting, “Hey, redskin!” next time you meet for coffee?”

The first commenter retorted that she is actually part Native American, and that it’s just her opinion. Just because it’s different than mine, that doesn’t make her wrong. But, yes. Yes it does.

Here’s the thing: unless you are paying attention, or have studied history, you honestly might not know that “redskin” is a derogatory term. Might. Although, we know not to call Asian people “yellow” or African Americans “colored,” but that is beside the point. I’m telling you right here, right now, whether you have heard it used or not, calling someone a “redskin” is derogatory and hateful. It is a racial slur, on the same level as the “N” word. Yes, it is. The etymology of the word comes from an excerpt taken from the Daily Republican newspaper in Winona, Minnesota, from September 24, 1863. It reads, “The State reward for dead Indians has been increased to $200 for every red-skin sent to Purgatory. This sum is more than the dead bodies of all the Indians east of the Red River are worth.” In case you didn’t get that, redskin literally means the scalp from a dead Indian that could be turned in for money. There’s a great article (click here) that shows that excerpt, and explains a bit more about the history of the word.

I know, I know, that was then. This is 2014, and the football team doesn’t mean it that way… but we certainly cannot turn a blind eye to what life is like today on the reservation. Do you know that that in 2013, the suicide rate on the reservations was three times the national average, and that one-quarter of Indian children live in poverty, versus 13 percent in the United States? They graduate high school at a rate 17 percent lower than the national average. Their substance-abuse rates are higher. They’re twice as likely as any other race to die before the age of 24. They have a 2.3 percent higher rate of exposure to trauma. They have two times the rate of abuse and neglect.

Or maybe you could read the poignant poem entitled “Red Anger” by R. T. Smith:

The reservation school is brown and bleak
with bugs’ guts mashed against walls
and rodent pellets reeking in corners.
Years of lies fade into the black chalkboard.
A thin American flag with 48 stars
hangs lank over broken desks.
The stink of stale piss haunts the halls.

Tuscarora.

My reservation home is dusty.
My mother grows puffy with disease,
her left eye infected open forever.
Outside the bedroom window
my dirty, snotty brother Roy
claws the ground,
scratching like the goat who gnaws the garden.

Choctaw.

My father drinks
pale moonshine whiskey
and gambles recklessly at the garage,
kicks dust between weeds in the evening
and dances a fake-feathered rain dance
for tourists and a little cash.
Even the snakes have left.
Even the sun cannot stand to watch.

Cherokee.

Our limping dog sniffs a coil of hot shit
near the outhouse where
my sister shot herself with a .22.
So each day I march
two miles by meager fields
to work in a tourist lunch stand
in their greasy aprons.
I nurse my anger like a seed,
and the whites would wonder why
I spit in their hamburgers.

Tuscarora, Choctaw, Cherokee…
the trail of tears never ends.

I would like to ask again. Knowing all of this, would you still walk up to a tribal member (not someone whose grandfather’s grandmother was half Indian, according to family legend) and feel comfortable using this word? And if your answer is no, if you would not have the guts to step out from the anonymity of your computer and actually use this word, then why should an NFL team be allowed to CONTINUE to use a name that has historically been used to encourage hate and all out genocide?

Yes, there is a rich history of football under the Redskins name. And yes, the NFL approved the name over 80 years ago. But during that time, it was also legal to segregate schools, lunch counters, and bus lines, and people could ride around in white hoods, burning crosses in lawns.

Change the name, Washington.

For more information, please visit www.changethemascot.org

Celebrating Midsummer ~ Dana

Here in the United States, most of us only know about Midsummer from the Shakespearean play, Midsummer Night’s Dream, but Midsummer isn’t a holiday that is celebrated by the general population. Midsummer is another name for the Summer Solstice, which is the longest day and shortest night, of the calendar year, which takes place on June 21st. Flowers and fruits are in full bloom, the earth is warm, and there is a lot of fun just waiting to be had.

In our modern lives, when we can have as much light as we want for as long as we want it, thanks to electricity, we have lost a bit of the “magic” that this night held for our ancestors. Imagine how glorious the longest day of the year would be if all winter, we had darkness, real darkness, around 4:00pm. No street lights, no reading lights, limited candle light… we certainly would celebrate the return of the sun into our lives, wouldn’t we!

Traditionally, all throughout Europe, Midsummer was celebrated by lighting bonfires, which represented the burning sun. Festivals included singing, dancing around a maypole, flower wreaths in girls’ hair, and bountiful feasts of the summer harvest. It was also a time for love and romance, as the month of June is named after Juno, the Roman goddess of love. In England, as evidenced in Midsummer Night’s Dream, fairies might be sighted in the magical moonlight, wreaking havoc in the love lives of mere mortals. And in Sweden, where Midsummer is still a national holiday, young women are supposed to place seven different wildflowers under their pillows. At night, their future husbands will appear to them in a dream.

So how can we celebrate this lovely time today? The best way to honor the longest day of sunshine is to get out and enjoy it!! How about a nice long day at the beach, followed up by a (legal) bonfire as the sun dips below the water? Or a pool party with a fire pit? Or picnicking in a park, picking wildflowers? Working in your garden? Attending a June wedding? Midsummer is our first day of summer, so spend the day doing whatever summer means to you! We will be enjoying the Lavender Festival at the Highland Springs Resort, a local organic farm. Then we’ll head over to my mom’s house for swimming and a bar-be-que, complete with watermelon and homemade ice cream. When I get home, I will probably light a candle rather than a bonfire to celebrate the glory of the sun, but I know that we will be kicking off a summer full of long days running in the sprinklers, trips to the beach, and sun-kissed skin as we trundle off to bed.

What’s In a Name?

One of my best friends is pregnant with her first child and just found out that she’s having a girl. When she sent me the text, I asked “Does she have a name?”

“Work in progress.”

A few days later, she texted again, no hello, how you doing. Just this:

“How many Olivias are there in Gabe and Kate’s classes?”

“None. Why?”

“We’re thinking about Olivia but are worried it’s too common.”

I had Teresa ask Siri where Olivia lands on the Top 100 of girls names.

“Looks like it’s #3 on the Top 100.”

“I know.”

“Can her middle name be Grace so we can call her the OG?”

“No. Olivia Claire, mom’s middle name.”

“I love it. Love it. And if you love it you should go with it and not worry about the other Olivias. That’s coming from a Jennifer. I know what I’m talking about.”

I was born in 1972, at the peak of Jennifer’s popularity. I spent the first 12 years of my life called Jenny F to distinguish me from the other five Jennys in the class. I survived. So will Olivia H.

“We are also thinking about Vivienne.”

“Vivi!”

She and I are Ya-Yas from way back. In fact, we ditched graduation duty to see the movie on the day it came out.

“Yes! Or Devynn. Or Blake.”

I’m down with the whole gender neutral naming trend. Devin was one of our boy names when I was pregnant with Annie. And we have two Quinns in our close circle. My kids call them “Boy Quinn” and “Girl Quinn” to keep them straight in conversation.

“When we were picking, I would imagine hearing the name on a loudspeaker or see it running along the bottom of the screen on ESPN.”

No, I am not kidding.

“That’s all I do, too.”

“Midfielder Olivia H— Or, midfielder Vivi H—“

“Mine more says “US Olympic Gold Medalist”

“Now playing on center court…”

“Now you’re with me!”

“Do all moms pick names this way or is it just us?”

Dana did it too. She was kicking around Cossette when she was pregnant with Violet. Then I made her think about the trash-talking across the net if the 6’3’ setter was named Cossette. I got your Castle on a Cloud, b***h!

Needless to say, picking a name is a big responsibility.

The year that Gabriel was two, I wrote my family names on the board for a project, and one of my students raised his hand and asked if my son was the only one in the family with a Mexican name. I laughed, because I have taught some wonderful Gabriels in my career—all of whom happened to be Mexican American—but we picked his name for the archangel, the right hand of God, defender of the light against the dark. Which is probably how the other Gabriels got their names as well.

I took full advantage of Shea’s English heritage to choose queen’s names for my girls.

Kathryn Grace was the first ever baby name that popped into my head when I found out I was pregnant with Gabe. It took two more years before we got our Kate. When I call her Kate, I see Katherine Hepburn, and hope that she takes the same big strides in the world, with the same sense of humor and maybe a little less booze.

Anne’s full name is Anne Elizabeth, which I justified because Ann is my mom’s middle name and Elizabeth was my grandmother’s middle name. But that’s a pretty regal name on a little girl. When I “Anne Elizabeth!” her in my mom voice, people always stop to look.

Olivia/Vivienne/Devynn/Blake’s mom actually asked me after Anne was born if I was naming my daughters in the order of Henry VIII’s wives on purpose and if the next one would be a Jane.

That made me laugh too. Because, kind of. And maybe. Let’s face it: you take the jerk husband out of the equation and those women were pretty bad ass.

So to answer the question: hope, dreams, love, Bible, family, culture, tradition. And maybe a wee bit of humor.

Every Marriage Matters ~ Guest Post by Terri

It’s a big day! Everyone, please meet Jen’s mom Terri, our special guest blogger. She has been married to Ted for almost 46 years, and together they raised Jen and her two brothers, which was no small adventure. Now there are 8 grandkids begging her to retire from her impressive health care career.

We are so proud to have her here today, with such an important message about marriage.

I ran into you at church and asked, “So where is Dave today?” You said, nonchalantly, “He is not here. We are getting a divorce and he is going to another church now. ” Trying to discern your mood I said, “Oh Beth, I am so sorry. “ You looked me in the eye and said, “No big deal. It doesn’t matter.” Then you walked back towards your car and left.

I stood there shocked and pondered your announcement and your response. As a believer in marriage, committed to my husband for over 45 years, I felt so sad. Sad that your marriage was ending but just as sad because you think it doesn’t matter. Every marriage that fails impacts those of us who are married.

I remember when the first of our friends announced that they were splitting up. We had been married about 10 years. We got caught up in their battle and started arguing ourselves. We each felt that there was this little voice saying “Whoa, if it can happen to them, maybe it can happen to us.” We finally shared that fear and realized that our relationship required increased vigilance and constant attention and that we were NOT going to let that happen to us.

So your broken relationship does matter very much to those of us who are committed to loving and living together for the long haul. It is a little bit of failure for all of us.

I have thought about you so many times since that day. And I have thought about my own children, all of whom have been together with their spouses about 10 years. What issues are they facing and what could I say to help them understand the value of their married relationship?

Some critical things came to mind.

Every married couple needs to remember that they are the primary relationship. Their family started with just the two of them. The children will grow up and fly away, as children are meant to do. And the couple needs to be sure that they have nurtured their marriage. There will be crazy, busy times: crying hungry babies, work deadlines, PTA meetings, running from practice to scouts to dance recitals. But when things get too hectic or too distant, one of them needs to say “Stop. I miss you and need your time and attention“ There is nothing like hearing that from the person you love most.

The marriage also matters to the children. It is hard for them to overhear the arguments but it really hurts trying to tell their friends that their parents are divorcing. It is painful to hear their parents talking poorly about each other, to live in two homes, carrying precious belongings back and forth. And it is even worse to feel like a prize in a carnival game, where the winner gets the most and best days.

When I was 28, a married mother of 2, my Dad left my mom. I was devastated! I cried and cried and raged at him for hurting my mom, for not being willing to stay the course, for separating himself from me and my family, for giving up. Over time they resolved their issues after long and intense counseling but it was a painful and difficult time for all of us and I was an adult, beyond depending on them for food, shelter and support anymore.

So separate is not necessarily better for your kids unless the living situation is riddled with fear or abuse. They just want to feel safe, happy and together, not drawn into your “stuff”. They want peace in a unified home.

And marriage matters to your married family and friends. It impacts those who love you, watch your life splatter and feel your pain. It hurts those who thought it was a relationship to emulate and are shocked to find that it was not. And what about your unmarried friends and relatives who still have hope that there is a great person out there for them? They lose a bit more of their hope and anticipation. They want the marriage, the long term relationship but become fearful about making a commitment because they see your pain and are disenchanted.

What could you have done?

I don’t know much about your relationship and my perceptions may be all wrong. I have only seen you in our church setting. But you two seemed to have so much going for you. And if there has been substance abuse or physical or mental abuse, these words do not apply. But if you have just drifted apart I would like to tell you some things I noticed. When you spoke about him to others you often did so without respect. You poked fun at him when you told stories about the things he did. I know, I know, a lot of people do that—it helps to be able to unload on someone uninvolved and he laughed, too. But when you talk disdainfully about someone often enough, eventually you start believing that they really are stupid and worthless. Instead of affirming him, you ridiculed him and no one can take that for very long.

I also noticed that you both seemed to choose activities with your friends over activities with your spouse. I heard you talking after church about activities and trips with friends, not spouses. I saw pictures of you on Facebook and it always seemed that you had an entourage of girlfriends and family. Where was your attention? Who was prime in your life?

Your commitment to your children is obvious but you made a vow to commit to your marriage. If you don’t pay attention, your partner becomes a stranger. You cannot put “spouse-ing” on hold while you do 20 years of parenting and expect to find a happy spouse waiting with open arms. Not too many people thrive when they feel second or third in your life all the time. And it is so true that the best gift you can give your children is to love and honor your spouse.

I think you are a caring woman, an amazing mother and a committed friend to many. I care about you and pray for you to have whatever you want in life. I will support you in everything that I can. But I want you to know that the demise of your marriage does matter to many of us more than you may ever understand.

Ted and Terri, 45 great years kater — Ted and Terri, 45 great years later

Terri and Ted have done Marriage Preparation and Marriage Enrichment classes for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles for twenty years. They can be reached at dostee245@gmail.com

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