An Ice Cream Sandwich for the King.

First things first.

This weekend, during all of the kitchen bitchin', I made (along with Cris, who was quite a sport) a double batch of chocolate waffle cones.  They were super cute.

Um, you can also shape waffle cones into little bowls! 

Unfortunately, they were really finicky and hard to get just right.  I thought about sharing the chocolate waffle cone recipe with you, but think that I'll work on perfecting it first.  (Like, only about 20 percent of them were the right amount of crispy without being burnt.  They tasted okay, but the texture was. . .wanting.)  If you're really jonesin' for some waffle cones, make the vanilla ones.  They're fan-f'ing-tastic*.  Also, you don't have to feel guilty about sharing them with the dog.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah!  Chocolate waffle cone mediocrity.  Mmmmm hmm.  Well, here's something I figured out.  If you have a chocolate waffle cone that's not outstanding on its own, all you need to do is add some really delicious and creamy ice cream to it.

So, let's switch gears now (because I'm too lazy to come up with a real transition into what I'm really here to talk to you about).

I LOVE ELVIS.

I've loved him for many, many years.

When I was younger, we had cats named Elvis and Presley.

I've been to Graceland. . .twice.

I did my persuasive speech in high school about how Elvis was still alive.  (Why else would his name be spelled incorrectly on his tombstone??  You tell me that!)

I listened to the '68 Comeback Special CD my entire senior year.

I even have Elvis dolls.  And books.  And magnets.  And clothing.  And pajamas.  And the clock where his hips swivel.  The list goes on and on.

When I was young, I did a good Elvis impression.  "Hey 'Cilla, make me a peanut butta and 'nana sandwich."

My favorite Elvis song: "One Night."  My second favorite Elvis song: "All Shook Up."  I think Matt fell in love with me for real when I sang "All Shook Up" at karaoke one night.  I was particularly good at singing "All Shook Up" at karaoke because I had performed it with my vice principal at our after prom party in high school.  (Somewhere there is a video that would provide many a laugh.)

Check out sexy Elvis.

Well, enough already about my past obsessions (that also include: water guns, blankets, puppies, bubbles, cupcaking, Adam Lambert, and Sally Hansen's Complete Salon Manicure nail polish).  I actually still love all of these, but they've just been put on the back burner to make room for new obsessions, like ice creaming.

And what I have for you today is the marriage between new and old, between past obsession and present obsession.

"'Hey, 'Cilla, make me a peanut butta and 'nana ice cream sandwich."

OKAY! (Also, someone had a little too much fun with the Elvis doll.)

It's really, really amazing.

See, I'd been ice creaming all weekend, and I wanted to try a few new recipes from David Lebovitz.  I made this peanut butter one, which is insanely, dangerously, easy to make.  And I made his roasted banana one, which is more involved, and is pretty good as well.  (Full disclosure: if you need to make banana ice cream to stand on its own, make banana puddin' ice cream.  It's better.  But this banana ice cream is better for the sandwich and better for mixing with other flavors.)

So here are the recipes you need.

Peanut Butter Ice Cream
Source: The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz

¾ cup smooth peanut butter

¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar

2 2/3 cups half-and-half

Pinch of salt

1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract

Chocolate Covered Peanuts (recipe follows)

Puree the peanut butter, sugar, half-and-half, salt, and vanilla in a blender or food processor until smooth.

Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, then freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. 

Roasted Banana Ice-cream (also from David Lebovitz)

3 medium ripe bananas

75g brown sugar

1.5 cups (375ml) full-cream milk

2 tablespoons caster sugar

1.5 teaspoons lemon juice

half teaspoon vanilla extract

quarter teaspoon salt

1. Preheat the oven to 200C.
2. In a small baking dish, chop up the bananas and toss in the brown sugar. Bake for around 40 minutes or until the bananas are cooked through, caramelised and golden. Turn them once during cooking.
3. In a blender or food processor, blitz the hot bananas, the syrup from the dish, milk, sugar, lemon juice, vanilla and salt until smooth. Chill this mixture until cold in the fridge or ice bath.
4. Churn in an ice-cream machine until thick or place in a plastic container, pop it in the freezer and give it a good whip every few hours.

 

If you're still reading, I commend you on your patience and stickwithitness.  

Thank you, thank you very much.

*You know what's awesome?  Infixing.  Not a prefix, not a suffix.  It's an INFIX.  Fan-fucking-tastic.  That's what infixes are.

Two Handsome Fellas

How is it that I had never before seen this clip?

Also, you should probably watch His Way on HBO.

Happy 75th!

Happy 75th birthday to a Mr. Elvis Presley!

You may or may not know that I'm a big Elvis fan. My favorite Elvis is Army Elvis, closely followed by '68 Comeback Special Elvis. I guess I just like a man in uniform, and if I can't have uniform, then a leather suit will do.



I hope Matt wears his leather jacket tonight when we go to Mexico!

A Host of Fears (a post from Mitch)

It's not easy being a dog. (Supposedly, it's not easy being cheesy, either. But I think it would be pretty fun to be cheesy. Fun, and delicious.)

Here's why it's hard to be a dog: you get really scared of stuff.

See, when I was a young pup, I wasn't afraid of anything. And then, gradually, I began to have bad experiences.

First it was the handle on that stupid white reclining chair. I got my puppy foot stuck in it and broke my foot. That sucked soooooo bad. You know how much you have to go to the vet when you have a broken foot?

Then it was bicycles. I don't have a good reason to hate bicycles, I just do.

And I hate bags of golf clubs, too.

Then came my fear of thunderstorms. I wasn't afraid of thunderstorms until a couple of years ago when my great aunt Doo Doo Brown told me about how scary they are. She said that she'd been hit with the booms, and that it stung.

And now any loud noise makes me think of a thunderstorm and I get really scared--so scared I put my tail between my legs!

In the same vein of the loud noises comes being around my dad while he's watching football. He claps and yells and I hate it. I usually run to my mom for protection.

And now I'm afraid of my yard. More specifically, I'm afraid of the squirrels in my yard. They throw acorns at me and taunt me, and the other day there were two of them going completely crazy. It was like a bicycle and a thunderstorm and Daddy watching football all rolled into one. Oh, and they attacked me. It's a good thing that I have my rabies shot.

So now I am afraid to go into the back yard. This really sucks because that's where I go to get away from my dad while he's watching football. It's a real catch 22.

My first solution to overcome fears: BARKING.

I barked at the power lines at the park to tell those park squirrels to tell my yard squirrels who's boss.

But it didn't really take away the fear. When my mom opens the door for me to go out, I just stand there.

And ask her if I can please just get a litter box. But then I remember that only cats have litter boxes, and I hate cats, so that's a no go.

I pretend that I can't go outside because I have an itch on my face.

And I try to scare my mom by telling her that there's a murderer outside, and that we should both just go lie on the couch. But she's too shrewd, and she doesn't fall for it.

And she keeps hasslin' me. And I don't want to. (I'm actually her elder now, if we count in dog years. I think she should do what I say.)

I try to charm her with my smiles.

And I do some handsome poses. But to no avail.

But then I smell something that smells like it might be delicious. What is that? Grilled squirrel kebabs? The Real Simple recipe? With an Asian flavor profile?

You had me at grilled squirrel kebabs. So I make my way down, slowly.

And as soon as I get off the steps I know I've made a horrible mistake.

I'm a dog, and I can sense fear, and I can sense evil. (That's why I always bark at the mailman; he's both afraid and evil.)

But, with Mom's encouragement (even though I suspect that she is playing some horrible joke on me), I inch my way to the yard of fear. I want these kebabs.

It's a scary, scary world, filled with bicycles and golf club bags, thunderstorms and dads who watch football.

But I'm Mitch, and Mama didn't raise no fool. Mama did, however, raise a dog with a discerning palate, and that dog is wanting squirrel kebabs.

I'm doing it. I'm going to the yard, squirrels or no squirrels. And my legs are shaking, my knees are weak, and I can't seem to stand on my own four feet. I'm all shook up, but I think I'll make it. Wish me luck!