Gang Aft Agley

It was not my intention to begin my much-anticipated two day weekend with excruciating allergies and a bum leg, but there I was.  I lurched around the farmers’ market, honking and breathing with difficulty, trying not to step down hard on my right leg, all the while carrying far too many bags of fruit at once.  (So many bags, in fact, that I pulled some of the muscles in my left shoulder).  I got back home at about 11:30, shoved everything into the fridge or freezer and went back to bed with a book.

I don’t think I ate anything that day besides farmer’s market samples, broth and lots of tea. 

Sunday morning I woke up absolutely ravenous, but still with a raw throat and useless nostrils.  When I stepped outside to walk the dog, it hit me: it was already in the 80’s and the humidity was near 90%.  I wanted something cold for breakfast.  I wanted something really cold.  I wanted ice cream.

I did not, however, have any cream.  Nor, truth be told, am I very good at making ice cream without Teacherman around.  Our ice cream machine is a modern frozen-cylinder deal, but it’s a hand-crank, and I don’t often have the stamina to force the dasher around for more than five minutes at a time.

BUT.  These two things were the case, and I was still determined to have ice cream.  I had mountains of frozen fruit.  I had yogurt.  I had a food processor.  There would be ice cream.    (All right, technically it was frozen yogurt, or even a very thick smoothie or something.  Shut up, she explained).

The first bag of frozen fruit I saw when I opened the freezer was filled with black raspberries.  My sluggish brain sparked.  There was a recipe for black raspberry-rose geranium ice cream in Local Flavors, a Deborah Madison cookbook I bought at the library’s last booksale.  I’d remarked on it when I first read the recipe (I love black raspberries.  I have a rose geranium), but then forgot about it amid the joys of less esoteric ice cream flavors. 

On the way back into the house with the dog, I grabbed a few rose geranium leaves.  These were washed, then pulverized in the food processor.  I poured a heaping cup of frozen black raspberries over the geranium leaf powder, then pulverized them, too.  I emptied a small container of Greek yogurt into the processor, added a few tablespoons of simple syrup, and pulsed until it was completely amalgamated.  Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream.

In fact, it really was like ice cream, and not frozen yogurt.  The tang of the yogurt wasn’t obtrusive, it just made the finished product taste fresh and light.  The main flavor was that of the black raspberries, with the rose geraniums as a tiny floral breath in the background, muting the raspberries’ somewhat piney aggressiveness.  It was smooth and frozen and perfect for my ravaged throat. 

Thus fortified, I spent the rest of the day cooking, making various things for my upcoming breakfasts (cherry-plum-almond crisp), and lunches (Spanish-esque meatloaf, roasted cauliflower), even finding enough inspiration to start a raspberry-rose geranium liqueur infusing away next to the nascent cassis.   

My last spurt of industry created my dinner–an arugula salad with blue cheese, peaches and walnuts, with a vinaigrette of white wine vinegar, walnut oil and grainy mustard.  Just as I sat finshed tossing it, though, the tornado sirens started.  I spent the rest of the evening sitting in the (empty) bathtub, eating my salad out of the mixing bowl and reading a silly novel, while the cat and dog cowered on the floor nearby.  This wasn’t how I intended to end my weekend, either, but the salad was certainly very good.

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Published in: on August 6, 2007 at 6:56 pm  Leave a Comment  

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