We recently sold a fabulous, never used condition ice cream freezer.
Complete with original label.
All the necessary moving parts. And the instruction book with plenty of recipes.
Not the easy peasy kind you buy today--where you plug it in and walk away and come back when it beeps. But the hand crank kind that made you earn your prize of delicious homemade ice cream. Home made ice cream was a ritual of summer at my Grandma's summer cottage-- specially prepared, slow cooked custard usually with sliced fresh peaches turned into softish, peachie hued lovliness. Never in a cone, always in a dish.
To this young girl, with the magic that only adults possessed, ice and rock salt were combined and the churning began. You take a turn, then mom and dad and all the other adults cranked away. That magic wooden paddle got harder and harder to turn--and FINALLY the Person Who Makes Decisions decided it was time to stop. If I close my eyes I can even see the picnic table it was served on.
That big bowl spoiled my dinner every time--and that was the one time that no one seemed to care.
No comments:
Post a Comment