Milk (25 page)

T
his is what Eliza Leslie, in the 1851
Miss Leslie’s Directions for Cookery,
labeled “Frozen Custard”—as opposed to “ice-cream, for which it frequently passes.” Today, however, it is probably the most familiar American style of ice cream. The main reason is that first-class cream from small local dairies no longer exists as an option for most manufacturers; custard-based or French ice cream doesn’t expose the indifferent quality of the basic ingredient as glaringly as the Philadelphia counterpart.

Because of the richness lent by the eggs, I prefer to use a combination of heavy and light cream with milk. See
this page
for more on the crucial gradations of cream.

YIELD:
About 6 cups (exact volume may vary markedly with different ice cream–maker models)

If necessary, put the bowl of your ice cream maker in the freezer to chill in advance.

Slit the vanilla bean lengthwise with a small, sharp knife and scrape the seeds into a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan. Pour in the milk and cream, add the halved bean, and slowly heat to just under a boil.

Whisk together the eggs or egg yolks, sugar, and salt. Slowly pour the hot cream and vanilla bean into the whisked eggs, stirring with a wooden spoon. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring gently. As the mixture starts to thicken, stir more rapidly, being sure to scrape the custard from the entire pan bottom. When the pan bottom starts being exposed and the custard coats the spoon, quickly remove the pan from the heat before the eggs can curdle. Pour the custard through a medium- or fine-mesh strainer into a heatproof bowl and let cool completely, stirring several times. Taste for seasoning and if desired, stir in a little vanilla extract to reinforce the flavor. (All flavors will be muted in freezing.) Let the custard chill thoroughly in the refrigerator before freezing according to manufacturer’s directions.

OLD-FASHIONED GEAR-DRIVEN ICE CREAM FREEZER

T
he quality of the cream you use is all-important here. Ultrapasteurized cream will often impart a faint sludginess to the texture, the result of the gums and thickeners used to offset a loss of viscosity that occurs in the manufacturing process. If you can find unhomogenized cream, the larger size of the fat globules will make the ice cream feel heavier and creamier on the palate—not, however, that you want the absolutely heaviest and creamiest effect possible. It will be more delicate made with a combination of heavy and light cream than with all heavy cream. For the crucial gradations, see
this page
.

YIELD:
About 6 cups (exact volume may vary markedly with different makers’ models)

Slit the vanilla bean lengthwise with a small, sharp knife and scrape out the seeds into a small saucepan. Add 1 cup of the light cream and the halved bean. Heat slowly to just under a boil. Let the cream cool to room temperature before proceeding.

Combine the remaining light and heavy cream with the sugar and salt. Stir until the sugar is thoroughly dissolved. Discard the vanilla bean and add the infused cream to the rest. Taste for seasoning and if desired, stir in a little vanilla extract to reinforce the flavor. (All flavors will be muted in freezing.) Let the ice cream base chill thoroughly in the refrigerator before freezing according to manufacturer’s directions.

C
rème anglaise, so baptized by the eighteenth-century French writer
François Massialot, is about as English as Scotch tape is Scotch. Never mind. This simple stovetop custard is one of the most delicious dessert sauces ever invented—a beautiful accompaniment to fruit and an indispensable element in cake-based assemblages such as trifles.

Among egg-based custards, crème anglaise (also called “stirred custard”) is neither so fragile as hollandaise sauce nor so sturdy as baked custards. The addition of a little sugar and a lot of milk or cream enables the eggs to cook—with constant stirring—to around 180°F without curdling, though 175°F is more prudent. The consistency can be manipulated to your preference by three factors, starting with the creaminess of the liquid used. This is not an occasion for using skim milk, but either whole milk, various milk-cream combinations, or all cream will make a fine custard. The larger the proportion of cream, the faster the custard will thicken and the less likely it is to curdle. In my opinion the best results come from light cream, half-and-half, or equal parts of milk and any preferred grade of cream (nonultrapasteurized, please).

Then there is the ratio of eggs to milk. Not surprisingly, a higher proportion of eggs means a heavier, thicker sauce. But the third variable—whole eggs versus egg yolks—doesn’t work exactly as you might expect. Using both yolks and whites makes the custard set up firmer, but paradoxically with less roundness and body. Yolks alone produce not only a softer, more pourable consistency but also a more velvety richness.

In its simplicity, the sauce is like a blank slate waiting to be written on. Vanilla (preferably a whole bean, not the cruder-tasting extract) is the favorite flavoring, but various spices, herb infusions, and accents like citrus zest have their adherents. Probably the liveliest variations involve small amounts of brandy, whiskey, eau-de-vie (any preferred kind), or liqueur beaten into the partly cooled custard. I like the juice from finely grated ginger (squeeze a few drops through a garlic press).

Because crème anglaise stands up to a little more heat than other custard cousins like lemon curd or hollandaise sauce, I usually make it over direct heat. Some people prefer a double boiler for extra insurance against curdling.

YIELD:
About 2 cups

Have ready a large bowl of ice, a heatproof storage bowl, and a fine-mesh strainer.

Slit the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape out the seeds. Put the seeds, empty bean, and milk in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and heat to just under a boil.

Gently whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, and salt. If using whole eggs, beat more vigorously, but try to froth them as little as possible. Slowly pour the hot milk into the whisked yolks or eggs, stirring with a wooden spoon. Pour the mixture back into the pan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring gently. As it starts to thicken, stir more rapidly, being sure to scrape the custard from the entire pan bottom. When it coats the spoon and every stroke exposes a clean trail on the pan bottom, remove the pan from the heat.

At once pour the sauce through the strainer into the storage bowl, set it on ice, and whisk to partly cool it down. You can use it now if it is to be served warm. Otherwise, whisk again every few minutes until it is quite cold and refrigerate, uncovered, for an hour before covering tightly. It will set up more as it chills, but will remain loose rather than firm. Plan to use it within a day or two.

NOTE:
A custard that threatens to turn grainy and “break” during cooking can usually be salvaged in acceptable condition if you instantly snatch it off the stove, pour it through a strainer as directed above, and whisk strenuously until it cools.

I
f you take milk and sugar, cook them down thicker than heavy cream in an industrial vacuum pan, and put the result in a can, you get commercial condensed milk with an ivory-tan color and the double sweetness of two caramelized sugars (lactose and sucrose). Do the condensing yourself by boiling down a milk-sugar mixture a few steps further to a nearly taffylike consistency, and you have the world’s best caramel sauce-cum-candy, known as
dulce de leche
throughout Latin America and
cajeta
(literally, “little box”) in Mexico. Nearly all Latin countries have their own commercial brands, some of which are sold here. I’m not crazy about any of them except for the Coronado brand cajeta from San Luis Potosí in Mexico. The rest are generally thickened with starch, which is cheaper than using more milk and boiling it down longer, but introduces something faintly stodgy into the texture.

You have to be careful about saying “cajeta.” In Mexico it historically referred to various kinds of sweet preserves cooked down to dense pastes and formerly sold in small wooden boxes. Unfortunately, the same word in some parts of Latin America is vulgar slang for the vagina, so it is a poor idea to ask for dulce de leche as cajeta in the local pan-Latin grocery. Just as unfortunately, commercial Mexican milk cajeta—also sometimes called
leche quemada,
or “burnt milk”—is much less widely available in the United States than brands of dulce de leche from other countries.

Mexican cajeta is often (not always) made from goats’ milk or a combination of cows’ and goats’ milk. I find that using part goats’ milk adds a lot of flavor and character to the homemade version; cows’ milk alone gives an almost cloyingly sweet blandness. In this case it doesn’t matter if the only goat’s milk you can find is ultrapasteurized. Cajeta or dulce de leche is much used for fillings and icings in Latin America, but I have to say that I never do anything with it other than either scarfing it up by the spoonful or warming it enough to pour over vanilla ice cream for the best butterscotch sundae I remember since Schrafft’s.

To make cajeta at home, prepare to stand attentively over the pot for about an hour. (It helps to have another person to switch off with.) If like me you adore all things butterscotchy, it’s worth it. But for a streamlined version, see
Dulce de Leche with Canned Condensed Milk
.

YIELD:
About 2½ cups

Choose a large (at least 6-quart) deep saucepan, thick enough not to start scorching on the bottom before the milk is half cooked. An enameled cast-iron pan is good; any other pan should be nonreactive and heavy-gauge. Pour the milk into the pan; dip out about ½ cup and reserve.