Glaces

Homemade ice cream was a joy of my childhood. Every Sunday I would sit beneath the box-elder tree and hand-turn the ice-packed freezer until the paddle would no longer move through the frozen custard. Then came the reward of “licking the paddle,” and my job was finished for another Sunday.

Mother would pack the ice cream down tight in the container and admonish, “Now it must age for two hours.” Always she said the same thing, but her disappointment would have been great had we not sneaked a few tastes during the aging process.