Ice cream into the void
The power of a late-night cone, sandwiches, and some other nice things in this ice cream edition
Welcome back to Half Empty.
The power of a late-night cone
Here’s a situation that may sound familiar to you. It’s a warm summer’s evening. You’ve just finished a delightful (or maybe not so delightful) meal at your local European-style small-plates-to-share natural wine bistro. The waiter comes over and asks if you’d like to take a look at the dessert menu. Well, sure, let’s take a cheeky little look. Miso chocolate mousse for $16? Matcha tiramisu for $20? Following a brief meeting of the minds and some quick decision-making, you give the waiter a Mona Lisa-style smile and tell them you’re just “too full.” You then bust out of that granita stand and head for the nearest quality ice creamery posthaste. But wait, it’s late. Like midnight late. The sediment in that salami-smelling gluggable red seems to have altered your sense of time. Is there any way, in this sleepy post-pandemic and anti-midnight snack world, that ice cream will be available at this hour? As despair sets in, you pull out your magic brick, look at Google Maps and discover, to your absolute surprise and delight, that there is a cone, maybe even multiple, within reach.
The late-night ice cream is a seemingly unspoken but universally understood tradition. The after-dinner, after-show, or after-movie mission is a staple of metropolitan life. We all know and feel it deep in our dairy-deficient bones. And when the powers that be have tried to take it away from us, we revolt. There’s something magical about access to a frozen treat at (almost) any time you want it. Sitting in an ice cream parlor at midnight, I look around and feel a sense of awe and gratitude. Awe that we’ve built this miraculous (and, yes, deeply problematic) system that powers freezers, distributes dairy, ships cane sugar/cocoa/vanilla in from the tropics, and awe that I am currently alive to be reaping the benefits of all this in my cup or cone in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s banal to say, but I don’t mind stating the obvious. A late-night cone serves to keep us aware of just how fragile this whole shindig is. We’re all connected, connected through ice cream.
While I've written that I haven’t always been the most avid ice cream outing devotee, I’m becoming reacquainted with the practice, discovering that, in Los Angeles at least, there is no shortage of quality, interesting, and endearing late-night ice creameries. So where does one go to dip into the divine, frigid well of consciousness-expanding dairy? Well, I recommend your local parlor. I try to avoid big chains, even the higher-end ones like Jeni’s (which, to their credit, is open until 1:00 am at my nearest location), but of course will go should the occasion require it—I’m not above a Baskin-Robbins run. I’ve found that the scoops that hit the hardest, though, are found at the one-of-a-kind local haunts. Take, for example, the place I’ve gone to most over the last year when in need of a treat: Fluffy McCloud’s. It’s good, it feels timeless even though it’s a relative newcomer, it’s weird (they also hawk supplements, lactaids, scratchers, and new-age vibes), and it’s open until midnight every night of the week. While in the past I would’ve balked at the idea of ordering a bruléed banana split (“it’s just too much”), something about Fluffy’s makes it feel like the right time to dive into the deep end, especially while sitting out on a moonlit stretch of Sunset. And for those who may be concerned about the “health” effects of a banana split (something I’m not ashamed to admit I have been), I encourage you to read up on the “ice cream effect,” which all but tells us that ice cream is good for us.
Other places to try are those that give us a little taste of place. Mashti Malone’s, serving up Persian-style ice cream, represents over forty years of Persian presence here in LA. And their saffron-pistachio is one of my all-time favorites. And then of course there are those shops that have been around since the turn of the century, i.e. Fosselman’s here in LA (sadly only open until 10:00pm).
So patronize these establishments’ during their late hours and don’t take them for granted, as we know all too well from 2020, they can disappear in the blink of an eye. And in a time when it’s ever more difficult to maintain an independent, quality business, choose wisely. Godspeed.
Not a recipe, just an idea arrives at recommendation station
Between two slices
When you hear the words ice cream sandwich, what images come to mind? Vanilla sandwiched between two freaky little soft brown biscuits? Chocolate-chip ice cream between two chocolate-chip cookies? Maybe even taiyaki with red bean paste and cream? A Klondike? The inimitable Choco Taco (RIP)?
What about ice cream between two pieces of bread? It’s a tradition we may be less familiar with here in the U.S., but it’s one that’s widespread abroad. Thailand and Vietnam, Malaysia and the Philippines all have some version of ice cream with bread. And so does Italy. Sicily, specifically, where gelato and/or granita are eaten with a soft, slightly sweet bun called brioche col tupo. This combination is often eaten for breakfast, in fact. It’s a beautiful thing, a beauty that I found myself craving this summer.
I glanced over at the “brioche” hot dog buns leftover from the Fourth of July, sitting on our counter. I could just stuff those with a few scoops of the good stuff and have at it… Or I could try to make the brioche buns myself. And that is, sadly, what I decided to do.
I’ve made my fair share of bread, but I’ve never made brioche. The closest thing I’ve come to it is challah. So I did some research. I looked specifically into the brioche col tupo, which often contains honey, zest, and an extract called fiore di Sicilia, but in the end, I decided to just make your run-of-the-mill butter/egg/milk/yeast/flour brioche. Turns out, it’s difficult. I referenced mostly this Serious Eats recipe and this Claire Saffitz recipe, and somewhere along the line, I messed things up. The dough, after coming together nicely in the stand mixer, golden and supple, refused to rise despite the 77-degree temperature in the kitchen and the mega-dose of active dry yeast I had injected into it. But there, with the yeast, I think, was my problem. I threw in that dry-ass active dry yeast dry. No bloom. Which, in hindsight, feels crazy. It turns out that’s only something you should do with instant yeast? There’s a difference? Alas, there is.
When it came time for baking the next day, following a long ferment in the fridge, I had already begun to mourn the nice butter and eggs I’d thrown into this thing. I held onto some hope that the buns would rise during the second proof, after shaping. They didn’t budge even a little bit. I baked them, of course, and, to my surprise, they turned out better than the hockey pucks I imagined. Edible, sort of soft, dense for sure, but kind of ok. Slathered with the strawberry ice cream I also made? Pretty good. Thankfully, the process for making the cream went somewhat more smoothly. I got the recipe for it from a bootiful first-edition Chez Panisse Desserts, a book that, despite my working there,e I haven’t spent much time with. If you need ice cream inspiration, I highly recommend you pick up a copy. Everything from almond blossom to white plum blossom, it’s in there. For the strawberry flavor, the recipe calls for cream, eggs, sugar, strawberries, and a drop of vanilla. Strawberries and sugar are mashed together with a potato masher, a tool that I have probably wanted for the last 10 years of my life but have never thought to purchase. So I got to mashing with a wooden spatula, in shame. I made the custard the night before (I got the cream a bit too hot so my ice cream did taste a little eggy woops), chilled it, and then threw it all in the ice cream maker; that’s a wrap.
I don’t make ice cream often, but now’s the time if ever there was one. Even if it doesn’t come out just right.
Other nice things:
Rainbow sherbet is making a comeback. As previously written, rainbow sherbet is one of my favorite flavors that I’d been afraid was replaced by cinnamon and honey fried chicken croissant ice cream. I stand happily corrected by none other than trend-setting LA pizza giant Quarter Sheets, where I was recently served a tangy, sweet, creamy, delicious version.
A little anise pizzelle to boot Thrifty’s ice cream was feared dead, but it has been saved by the company that owns Monster Energy. Here are some open-air tubs of the stuff spotted recently.
Thank you for reading. All posts are free.
ok I lol’d big time at the “vanilla sandwiched between two freaky little soft brown biscuits?”
A Half Empty drop is always the highlight of my day. These are too good to be getting for free.