Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sunday Supper: Homemade Ice Cream
Homemade ice cream was always a favorite treat at our house, even though it took hours and a lot of hard labor to make it. I remember my Mom putting all of the ingredients in the tall silver cylinder and packing the wooden tub with a combination of ice and rock salt.
Then the tub was turned over to my Dad and any other strong man who was available to undertake the job of turning the hand crank for what seemed like half a day to this eight year old. It was a lot of work and the cranking had to remain constant. I would usually beg to get in a few turns of the crank until it wore me out - which didn't take too long.
Relatives on Dad's side of the family had a habit of "just dropping by" which probably was why I developed a life long resentment about anyone who stopped by my house without advance notice. I digress. Rewind back to about 1959 when the relatives invited themselves over for homemade ice cream (okay, it was my grandmother and my aunt's family). At least that's how I remember it. Mom and Dad were a bit ticked off because none of the guests ever helped out with the work of cranking the ice cream, but were more than willing to eat it.
So - my parents hatched a plan! Dad and I got in the car with the silver cylinder, drove eight miles to the next town which had a Dairy Queen. He turned over the cylinder and asked them to fill it up with the delicious vanilla soft serve. All the way home, I was warned that I had better keep my mouth shut about this dastardly plot. Once home, Mom and Dad packed the bucket with ice and rock salt so it appeared that all of the hard work was over by the time the relatives arrived.
When it came time for dessert, we all sat around the big dining room table as the bowls of ice cream and spoons were handed out. My grandmother took her first bite and exclaimed, "This is so good. It tastes just like Dairy Queen!"
I could hardly contain myself and dove under the table with some lame excuse - probably about dropping my napkin or something. I knew that I couldn't give away the secret, so I really had to behave while we all finished eating our Sunday treat.
Mom, Dad and I laughed about this for years and never once gave up the secret (until now). But to this day, I can't have an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen without remembering the Great Ice Cream Scandal of 1959.