So, if you’ve ever planted mint, you know that you can’t kill it. Mulching, acid, weeding, DDT, whatever, that mint, much like dandelions, is coming BACK. And although it is a pain, when I weed the garden, I leave the mint, the dandelions and the purslane until last. Know why? They all taste great. They’re like free money. The purslane can get dropped into any salad. The dandelions can join the salad, or hop into pasta, risotto, or just get cooked by themselves with some fatback or – especially good with dandelions- chicken skin. The mint isn’t always as easy to use up, but if you can put together a pint or so of it, then, as they say, when life gives you mint, make mint ice cream.
Ice cream is a joy when made at home. Ice cream from the store can, frankly, suck it, because that’s what it does. It’s lower in fat than it should be, and often in industrial dairy, the milk that’s too old for yogurt gets made into ice cream since its flavor will be obscured by god only knows what fruit, nut, marshmallow, peat moss, plus good old-fashioned cold.
That doesn’t cut it for me.
Generally speaking, ice cream is a light custard, sweetened and flavored with myriad possible things, and stirred in a freezing environment, to slowly chill and permeate it with air. I have made ice cream with cream, milk, eggs, yolks and prayer in every possible combination, but the most reliable recipe I’ve had is from the Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, and it comes from a recipe for Honey Ice Cream. I like it because unlike many recipes that call for milk, I can get consistent results using supermarket dairy. Ultra-pasteurized cream behaves reasonably well when there’s enough fat to help the mixture along. If I can’t get cream I’m really thrilled with, but I still want ice cream, I add clarified butter to the custard, about a third cup.
The original recipe calls for strong-flavored honey, and makes a fine ice cream all by itself. I, however, almost always use honey for ice cream, because I like the flavor, and it lowers the freezing temperature of the custard, making it easier to scoop later. You could substitute so many things for the mint: Rose petals, lavender flowers, bay leaves, basil, cloves, orange blossoms, ground pistachios, or a plain old vanilla bean. You would not want to use as much lavender or cloves as the mint, but taste the custard as you go. If it’s getting too strong, strain it out, if it’s not strong enough, add some more. It’s ice cream, no one’s going to get hurt. Just keep in mind the custard will taste somewhat less strong when it’s frozen.
Mint Ice Cream
4 cups heavy cream
5 egg yolks
½ cup mild-flavored honey, like clover or thyme, NOT buckwheat or thistle
1 1/2 cups loosely packed mint thinnings, stems and all
2-3 oz bittersweet chocolate, chopped (optional)
Heat the cream slightly in a heavy saucepan, or in a double boiler if you’re squeamish. Beat the egg yolks in a medium bowl. Add some of the warmed cream and stir it in quickly. Add the honey, mint and the egg yolk mixture to the cream, and stir it in well. Cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or heatproof spatula, over hot water or medium-low heat for about ten minutes, until the consistency of a very light custard sauce is reached (it thoroughly coats a spoon). Be sure to scrape the sides and bottom of the pot as the mixture cooks. There is also a smell associated with a ready custard… but I’m at a loss as to how to explain it. Keep your nose out for it, and you’ll know for next time. Cooking is more than a recipe, after all.
Pour the mixture into a bowl set in a larger bowl of ice and water. Stir occasionally until cool to the touch, then strain it- pressing on the solids to milk out that green elixir- and put it in the refrigerator. Chill for several hours, or overnight.
Put the chocolate and the custard in the freezer while you dig out the ice cream machine. After about ten minutes, process the custard in the ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the frozen chocolate about halfway through the process.
Freeze the ice cream until firm, then it’s ready when you are.
Listening: This American Life
I have been having a very serious affair with mint for lo these many years. It might actually qualify as my favorite herb, although it’s hard to imagine cooking or even eating without my other herbal friends. In the house where I grew up, we had masses of unkillable mint in one particular bed in the yard, where it provided a harmonious ground cover for some big old lilacs.
However, I’m actually more a fan of mint in savory dishes than in desserts. Lentil soup with garlic and fresh mint; various spins on grain or bean salads or Southeast Asian dishes with onion and mint or the truly holy trinity of scallion, cilantro and mint; mint in risottos and in a particularly brilliant pasta from a little NYC restaurant called Col Legno, which consists of a sauce made of cured black olives, garlic and mint (more or less a minted tapenade). And gorgeous, intensely flavorful and nutty little new potatoes, steamed and served whole or slightly smashed with lashings of good butter and lots of chopped mint, salt and pepper.
Year-round, we live on homemade minted iced tea. A strong infusion of green tea, sweetened slightly with honey, mixed with fruit juice (orange-peach-mango is good, though not locavorish in NYC), and cut with lots of ice and bruised mint. It absolutely cures what ails me, almost every night. Lime is a good addition here too.
You ever heard of them there mo-hee-toe thingy-jobbies?
Mint simple syrup is your best friend in the summer time…not only for cocktails, but for iced tea.
Ew, I just wondered about iced coffee with mint, but it made me a little sick to think of it.
I love mint.
Ice cream, I am relatively immune to. Catering took out most of my sweet tooth.
XOX from starry Soquel.