Nance’s Chunky Monkey ice cream was a success, but not an unqualified one. It was basically a vanilla base with banana puree stirred in, and a handful of roughly chopped Hershey bars added at the end. Nothing like trying to re-create a product most people buy commercially to make you appreciate the problems of commercial food preparation. How do you make a chocolate bar that you can freeze for days and still won’t chip your teeth, for instance.
Alan: “They probably add a bunch of lard ‘n’ crap to it.”
Thanks. Way to put me off my feed. Of course, Alan, having worked at a Campbell’s soup plant, knows a thing or two about commercial food preparation. He won’t drink V8 juice, nor Campbell’s soup, but don’t let those prejudices put you off your feed.
My old boss Richard worked in a cottage-cheese plant. He doesn’t eat cottage cheese. My friend Jim went to boarding school downwind of a bourbon distillery, but he happily drinks bourbon — he didn’t start until long after graduation, though. And I think Mark worked in the Brach’s candy plant in Youngstown. He had an amusing observation: “Chocolate is the opposite of bourbon. You have to learn to dislike it.” He doesn’t like it.
But Project Ice Cream is an experiment, and you learn as you go. One thing I learned today: All hail vanilla beans. They are worth the money, at least if you’re making ice cream.
Kate wouldn’t touch it, by the way. She took the tiniest taste and turned up her nose. My little fern who lives on air and rain.
Bloggage aplenty today:
I learn some of the most interesting things at Amy’s. Did you know there’s a website devoted to cataloguing art that depicts the Virgin Mary as a breastfeeding mother? Now you do. Eat up, kid.
Last year, on our Fellowship, after we toured the Chicago Art Institute, one of our overseas members asked us Americans what the big deal was over “American Gothic” — he just didn’t get it. I wish I’d read this Slate piece beforehand: When the picture finally appeared in the Cedar Rapids Gazette, real Iowa farmers and their wives were not amused. To them, the painting looked like a nasty caricature, portraying Midwestern farmers as pinched, grim-faced, puritanical Bible-thumpers. One Iowa farmwife told Wood he should have his “head bashed in.”
Quote of the day, from a Freep story on a murder sentencing. This is the victim’s mother talking: When Ronald Brown busts hell wide open, I hope my angel flies through heaven and sheds tears for him to drink. Because he’s going to be a thirsty son of a gun. Hey it beats, “Now we can get some closure.”
The Poor Man is taking care of two adorable kittens. And you know what that means. No word on whether he’ll be using the Citikitty, a potty-training device. Question: Once your cat is using the toilet, do you have to compete for it in emergencies? And is s/he allowed to scratch?
Oh, and I guess I promised this. The new kitchen. Note: cool color, new light, green back yard and, especially, the small stained-glass rendering of Spriggy, center bottom. One of my stranger Christmas presents.