Spiked Soup to Come: Opa!

Zucchini Fennel Ouzo Soup

OK, so this recipe was made about a week and a half ago, but I have not had the time to post it. I still don't really have time, so this is but a preview and a promise to post when I get a breather. I am still tinkering with the quantities of the recipe, but basically it's easy: use the summer bounty of zucchini to make a delicate soup, blending the flavors of squash with fennel bulb, adding a dash of high-quality olive oil, and a splash of ouzo to boost the anise theme a bit. It's simple cooking with a kick. Full recipe to come soon . . . Look for it this weekend! Thanks for your patience.

Ice Cream & Sorbet Days (CwQ:7)

Sour Cherry Sorbet with Toasted Coconut Flakes and Fig Newmans

Unfortunately, I haven't had much time in the past couple of weeks to cook with my son, though this weekend I did get back into the kitchen with him, as the previous pizza post will attest. Actually, the weekend plan was not so much the pizza as the pizza was the healthy meal excuse for indulging in our frozen dessert fest. Yes, at last, the neglected ice cream maker was pulled from its high shelf, where it has sat unused for years now. I don't recall the last time I used it. At some point in my son's six years—but not with him. Was it three years ago that I made a ginger ice cream to go with a Guinness stout cake? Plus there was a buttermilk flavor to accompany traditional Thanksgiving pecan pie one year (maybe the same year). Those ice creams, however, I made while my son slept at night, so breaking out the Donvier was a novelty for him. Finally, kitchen equipment that made him perk up and take real notice!

We had decided on raspberry ice cream, and that was supposed to be it. Of course, when I went to the Farmer's Market at Union Square on Friday, I was overwhelmed with berry goodness. I came home with the six cups of raspberries I needed . . . and also three other kinds of summer fruits. Among them, sour cherries. Lots of them. They took a long time to pit, and by the time I was done (I did this part alone, while my son was out on a swimming excursion) I was splattered with cherry juice. "What's that on your neck?" my son said when he came in. If he was alarmed, he did a good job of hiding the fright. The stains can look a bit ghastly, it's true.

We began with the raspberry ice cream. Fresh raspberries, equal parts of cream and whole milk, sugar, and eight sunny egg yolks. Why, when I haven't made ice cream in a while, do I forget the death-wish combination of ingredients that go into my favorite treat? How many bowls of oatmeal will I need to eat to counter the "bad" cholesterol levels?

Eventually, I would like to write more about the ice cream and the sorbet, plus give the recipes. In addition, I need to get a good photo of the raspberry ice cream (lighting conditions were horrible by the time I was able to get the camera). Now, though, I'm pressed for time. I'll just note that my son was incredibly proud of himself for being able to turn the crank on the Donvier, once the ice cream base began to harden. He took to calling himself the "muscle man," which was truly adorable. He must really have been puffed up with the whole experience, actually, because by the end of it he began talking about the ice cream "I made," as though Mom had nothing to do with it. But then, with a sign of growing maturity, he back-pedaled into the first-person plural. "Everything tastes better with teamwork," he said. I couldn't agree more.

Pizza Italiano (CwQ:6)

Well, it's not really Italian, this pizza—it's some crazy, ill-equipped American kitchen version—but it was just so much fun to listen to my son test out his best (and quite good) Italian accent while saying "Pizza Ital-ee-AH-no!" Not to mention the mischief of tossing the dough up in the air and catching it. His eyes grew wide: was I really going to allow throwing food? Not only allow it, but encourage it? I could see him wondering whether I'd gone crazy and also giving thanks for his good luck. We didn't at all accomplish what we should have with the dough: it was way too thick for one thing. But it was a good experiment. We used frozen whole wheat pizza dough purchased at Whole Foods, and then went to town on it. Of course there were no instructions for proper thawing or whether we were supposed to let it rise (or if that had already happened, pre-freezing). The dough never did rise, though I did try to give it time to do so. By way of excuse, I'll admit that the closest we've ever gotten to homemade pizza in the past is dressing up English muffins with sauce and cheese and baking them in the toaster oven like my parents did for me when I was little. This was not really much different. I cranked the oven to 425 degrees F, scattered some cornmeal on a baking sheet and did my best to coax the dough out into a flat circle. Tomato sauce next, plus shredded mozzarella. Then broccoli, because that's what my son likes on his pizza. (Yes, he's six and he has always eaten broccoli, I don't know what I did to deserve such an easy, varied eater!) More mozzarella, then some dollops of ricotta. In the oven for fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, I lost count. Mostly, I just looked at it by eye, pulled it when the cheese was bubbly and the crust looked sufficiently browned. The crust was a bit dense, way too thick for its texture, but it tasted good anyway. Q was happy with the taste of the pizza, and clearly with the escapade of making it. Definitely an experience worth repeating, especially if I can educate myself a bit better about how those pizza guys spin and toss the dough to some objective other than a good laugh.