HOMEMADE FROZEN CUSTARD

Makes 1 generous quart/liter custard

THERE’S SOMETHING SO WONDERFULLY NOSTALGIC ABOUT FROZEN CUSTARD, it’s so simple and yet so flavorful, a balm on a hot summer day. The seasonal openings and closings of small town custard stands give rhythm to the passage of time in a way so few things do anymore. I mean, a summer night, wearing shorts and sandals, throwing all the kids in the car, and heading out for a cone after dinner on a Tuesday, just because? Sitting at wobbly table while the sun sets, next to kids in Little League jerseys with waffle cones, chocolate-dipped and sprinkled, and tired mothers using a scoop as Xanax. Grandmothers ordering a neat little single cup; dads with their milk shakes, because that’s such a dad thing to do. That’s the good stuff, right there.

But if you ever have the urge to make your own, I’m going to leave this winner right here. With a subtle kiss of brown sugar and a swirl of sour cream, there’s just enough crave-worthy edge here to make you wonder if you should get into the frozen custard business.

6 large egg yolks

1½ cups/338 g whole milk

1 cup/240 g heavy whipping cream

⅓ cup/75 g light brown sugar

⅓ cup/67 g granulated sugar

3 tablespoons/63 g corn syrup

⅛ teaspoon fine sea salt

¼ cup/60 g full-fat sour cream

2 teaspoons pure vanilla bean paste or pure vanilla extract

In a large bowl, whisk the egg yolks until well beaten.

In a 2- to 2½-quart/1.9 to 2.4 L saucepan, combine the milk, cream, brown and granulated sugar, corn syrup, and salt. Bring to a bare simmer over medium-high heat, being careful not to let the mixture boil.

Remove the pan from the heat and slowly drizzle the hot milk mixture into the egg yolks, whisking vigorously until all the liquid has been added. Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan and place it back on the stove over medium heat. Clip a candy thermometer to the pan. Stirring constantly, cook the custard until slightly thickened and registers a temperature of at least 160°F/71°C. Pour the custard through a sieve into a large bowl. Whisk in the sour cream and vanilla bean paste. Cover the bowl and chill thoroughly in the refrigerator, at least 4 hours or overnight.

Freeze the custard in an ice-cream machine according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer the soft-set frozen custard to a 1-quart/1 L container with a tight-fitting lid and freeze until firm.

MIDWEST + FROZEN CUSTARD = TRUE LOVE

History reveals that frozen custard first made an appearance on New York’s Coney Island in 1919. But like oh-so-many great American inventions, it didn’t take off on a larger scale until the 1933 World’s Fair in Chicago, and boy, did the Midwest take that baton and run with it. Soon after, frozen custard took hold in the next-largest midwestern city nearby, Milwaukee, also known as “Cream City.” (As it turns out, the nickname actually refers to the cream-colored bricks, made from native clay, that so many of the city’s buildings are constructed with. But it also fits beautifully with Milwaukee’s relationship with frozen custard, so let’s go with it.)

With access to top-notch Wisconsin dairy and a massive ice-harvesting industry, Milwaukee was ripe for getting into the ice cream manufacturing game after the World’s Fair. Additionally, with so much farmland, eggs were also plentiful, and since the difference between ice cream and custard is the lack of air pumped in, and the addition of lots of egg yolks to create a denser, smoother (and, I’ll say it—more delicious) product, Milwaukee had the ability to produce frozen custard easily and inexpensively. With a strong urban center to catch onto the trend and help spread the word, Milwaukee was the perfect place to grow the frozen custard culture remaining in the Midwest today. Although now would be a good place to mention that St. Louis people wouldn’t let me finish this treatise on frozen custard without mentioning Ted Drewes and its famous Concretes, a custard creation so thick that they’re presented to customers upside-down.

Milwaukee’s most famous frozen custard sellers include Kopp’s, Gilles, Kitt’s, and Leon’s, and of course there’s the Culver’s chain, which has become a big name all over the region and beyond. People love to pit them against one another and fight over who churns out the best. But I’m partial to the roadside mom-and-pop stands that are only open seasonally. If you can resist tiny shops with names like Custard’s Last Stand or Not Licked Yet, you might not be a real person. It all adds to the glory of a sublime, golden, drippy cone.