The addition of tangy, thick Greek yogurt complements the rhubarb's own tart flavor and adds creamy depth and intensity, making for a dessert that is at once brightly refreshing and indulgently satisfying.
In a recent moment of self-reflection, my Scooped partner in crime and I decided that our column, and Serious Eats overall, is lacking in basic ice cream recipes. Along those lines, I've tried to rein in my penchant for off-the-wall flavors and focus this entry on one of my favorite building-block ice cream recipes: a simple (and completely irresistible) dark chocolate ice cream.
Lekvar is a traditional Jewish plum paste, most often used as a filling in pastries. It is sour and sweet, with a sticky, chocolate richness that warms the back of your tongue and reminds you of the Old Country.
Mango, for me, is a quintessential summer flavor. Tart, sticky, and sweet, it is the fruity embodiment of the warmth and brightness of summer. Cloves, on the other hand, are darker, spicier, and deeply autumnal. The two together? Perfect for a warm summer evening in early March.
This ice cream is light and tart, as any good frozen yogurt should be, but with a deep, floral richness from the honey and a bright, herbaceous finish. The thyme leaves are this frozen yogurt's answer to cookie dough chunks, or chocolate chips—bittersweet and slightly crunchy, they provide a burst of a different and unexpected flavor and texture.
Disappointed by the meager snowfall we've seen in New York City this winter, I decided that if I can't enjoy snow on the ground, I might as well enjoy it (or a better-tasting lookalike, at least) on my plate.
One of my favorite tofu dishes is a Chinese dessert, a light, creamy tofu pudding topped with honey, sometimes flavored with bitter almond. I decided to try it as a dairy-free ice cream, swirled with honey and topped with orange zest—not because I have any objection to dairy-based ice creams, but because I wanted a frozen dessert that highlighted the flavor of the tofu itself.
In the days after Thanksgiving's excesses, I find myself craving the sweet simplicity of apple cider. Good apple cider is tart and spicy, with a texture reminiscent not just of the apple but also of the branch it grew on, the tree, the soil, a chilly breeze. Frozen into a solid block and then scraped with a spoon, it becomes snowy and light, the flavor of the fall with the texture of winter.
Pumpkin ice cream has become widespread enough to be considered something of a mainstream flavor. The pumpkin's close cousin, the acorn squash, however, is usually considered a savory ingredient. But its flavor, a delicious combination of rich and nutty, and green and vegetal, works just as well in a dessert.
Red bean ice cream is a staple of the Asian dessert freezer—the combination of soft, sweet beans with cream, sugar, and sub-zero temperature is delicious, and makes fast converts of even people more accustomed to eating beans in savory rather than sweet form. In this recipe, I've adapted the red bean model to a Central American context, using black beans instead of red, and flavoring with cinnamon, piloncillo, and a splash of dark rum.
We all love honey mustard, and just because it usually appears on a turkey sandwich or on a hot dog doesn't mean that it won't also make a great dessert. This ice cream is a great combination of sharp and sweet, with the richness of the custard base cut by the honey's depth and the vinegar of the mustard.
I've also had the opportunity, after dark or hiding in the back corner of half-open ice cream shops, to taste some great ice creams. One flavor that was particularly delicious was a halvah ice cream, made with the region's signature sesame paste. Sweet and creamy with a nutty base note that pairs perfectly with the mixed-in almonds, cashews and pistachios. I've attempted to recreate the recipe here.
Apple season has come early in the back garden of my old English row-house in London. Maybe because of the chilly London summer, or because of the particular breed of apple (one I can't identify, crisp and tart and almost pear-shaped) but it's not even August and I've already got more apples than I know what to do with.
Blueberry and fresh basil, for me, are the quintessential flavors of summer. Basil doesn't get enough credit for its versatility, and pairing it with summer blueberries brings out its soft, grassy sweetness and a minty buzz.
I'm writing this post from Bukavu, a small city on Lake Kivu in the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. I'm here helping a friend with some research, but I've also had the opportunity to sample the local cuisine. Pounded cassava and dried fish stewed with tomatoes are delicious, but probably not the best ingredients for an ice cream flavor.
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