The History of Ice Cream by Alison Henderson

In Part 2 of my paean to ice cream, I thought I might share a bit of the history of America’s favorite dessert. The origins of this frosty treat are hidden in the mists of time, with numerous cultures claiming credit. The ancient Persians poured syrup on snow (more like a snow cone, really), and the Chinese developed a frozen mixture of milk and ice that may, or may not, have been brought to Europe by Marco Polo. Tenth century Arabs produced something closer to our modern dish using milk or cream, sometimes mixed with yogurt, and flavored with rosewater, dried fruits, and nuts.

Here’s a fascinating recipe from Mrs. Mary Eales’s Receipts, published in London in 1718, courtesy of Wikipedia.

To ice cream.
Take Tin Ice-Pots, fill them with any Sort of Cream you like, either plain or sweeten’d, or Fruit in it; shut your Pots very close; to six Pots you must allow eighteen or twenty Pound of Ice, breaking the Ice very small; there will be some great Pieces, which lay at the Bottom and Top: You must have a Pail, and lay some Straw at the Bottom; then lay in your Ice, and put in amongst it a Pound of Bay-Salt; set in your Pots of Cream, and lay Ice and Salt between every Pot, that they may not touch; but the Ice must lie round them on every Side; lay a good deal of Ice on the Top, cover the Pail with Straw, set it in a Cellar where no Sun or Light comes, it will be froze in four Hours, but it may stand longer; then take it out just as you use it; hold it in your Hand and it will slip out. When you wou’d freeze any Sort of Fruit, either Cherries, Rasberries, Currants, or Strawberries, fill your Tin-Pots with the Fruit, but as hollow as you can; put to them Lemmonade, made with Spring-Water and Lemmon-Juice sweeten’d; put enough in the Pots to make the Fruit hang together, and put them in Ice as you do Cream.

Ice cream was reportedly brought to the U.S. by Quaker colonists and was sold commercially in shops in pre-Revolutionary America. One history states that Dolley Madison served it at her husband’s inaugural ball in 1813. In 1843, a Philadelphia woman received the first patent for a small hand-cranked ice cream freezer which used an ice and salt method similar to the recipe above but turned the mixture for much faster freezing. Americans’ love affair with ice cream was off and running.


Improvements in refrigeration technology and manufacturing methods have given us an almost endless supply of flavors and variations from sorbets to soft-serve, but our desire remains unslaked. After all, can you ever really have too much ice cream?

Alison

www.alisonhenderson.com

Ice Cream Excerpts

July is Ice Cream Month. I don't know who decided that. It certainly wasn't me, because I worship ice cream for twelve months every year, but that's just me. I love it so much that ice cream often makes it into my stories. Here's two examples:

From ABRA CADAVER, available now. Holly is conducting experiments with Keane to see how much of his sense of taste has returned to him.

Holly wiped her finger on the towel

she’d brought from the bathroom. “Anything you

really would like to taste? Anything you crave?”

Good gods, yes.

He cleared his throat and focused on the words

necessary to compose an intelligent response to

Holly’s question. “That frozen stuff you eat

sometimes. Ice cream. You seem to really enjoy it.”

“I do.” She pulled him off the couch and dragged

him to the kitchen. Pointing to one of the kitchen

chairs, she said, “Sit.”

Keane did as he was told. Seeing the light in her

eyes, he would have done anything she asked.

Holly opened the freezer and scanned the two

shelves in there. “Cookie dough, maple walnut, or

mocha fudge swirl?”

“You have three kinds of ice cream?”

“I have six, but I’m only sharing a taste of one of

those three. A girl needs to be stingy about her

emergency ice cream rations.” She closed the freezer

door and hugged the refrigerator. She stepped back

and opened the freezer again. “What’ll it be, Keane?”

“Mocha fudge swirl, though I’m not sure I’ll

know what it’s supposed to taste like.”

“Excellent choice, and if it feels as if you need a

cigarette after tasting this ice cream, you’ll know

you’ve tasted it for real.”

Holly grabbed a spoon from a drawer and

scooped up a little mocha fudge swirl. Toting the

spoon, she walked to Keane at the kitchen table and

said, “Where do you want it?” She held her hands

out to either side of her as if offering her entire body

as a serving platter.

He had trouble swallowing, but he managed to

say, “I can choose anywhere?”

Holly nodded. “But hurry, or it’s going to melt.”
Buy at Amazon.

***

From Firefly Mountain, coming in October. Patrick has just cooked Gini a dinner so she wouldn't eat peanut butter crackers from her purse for supper.

Patrick took their salad plates to the sink when

they’d finished, and Gini liked how at home he
appeared in her kitchen.

He twirled spaghetti onto her dinner plate then

filled his own. The bright colors of tomato, broccoli,
carrot, and pepper fancied up the pasta, and he’d
drizzled a light pesto sauce over it all. When Gini
took a bite, she couldn’t stop the satisfied hum that
escaped her.“One brat, thoroughly loving this meal,” she
said.

“Better than crackers, yes?”

“Definitely.” Gini took a few more bites, wiped

her mouth, and looked up at Patrick. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It was easy to make.”

“Thank you for back at the hospital too.” Gini

focused her attention on the bottom of her glass as
she took a drink.

“Also no problem.” Patrick fiddled with the fork

in his hand. “It was easy to be hugged by you. And to
hug you.”

Gini gazed at him now and forgot all the rules as

she stared into his hazel eyes swirling brown and
green like running through a forest. He smiled and
dove back into his spaghetti. Gini resumed eating as
well and enjoyed the companionable silence that
hung between them, nothing but the sound of jazz on
a piano filling the kitchen.

When the food was gone and the dishes washed

and dried, Gini opened the freezer and took out a
container.

“I’ve got dessert covered,” she said. “You’re not

allergic to walnuts, are you?”

Patrick shook his head and leaned against the

counter next to Gini to see what she had. “Ice
cream?”

“Yep. Maple walnut. Made it myself.” She

dropped three rounded scoops into a bowl and
handed it to Patrick.

“Wow. Maybe you’re not the person I originally

thought you were either.”

“You mean maybe I’m not a brat?” Gini smirked

as she put the ice cream back into the freezer after
filling a bowl for herself.

“Oh no, you’re still a brat,” Patrick said, “but

you’re a skilled brat.”

For a great tune about ice cream, try Sarah McLachlan here.

That's got to be some serious love to be BETTER than ice cream! Come on! :)

What's your favorite kind of ice cream?

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

www.nighteternal.weebly.com

Family ties

My cousin, sister, and I are working on organizing a family reunion this summer. We all live in the Midwest, and that's where the family began, so to speak. So that's where we have our reunions and since we're here, we're helping to organize.

I have been working on genealogy charts, using free software I downloaded. I have a lot of information from my mother and my aunt, and I plugged it in, sat back, and looked at the results. I have information going back about 5 generations, to England where the family began. Then I added in the 'newcomers', the babies and the latest generation, giving me about 8 or 9 generations of family.

You know, it's interesting to see how all family groups intertwine. I had 'cousins' growing up who were really my mother's mother's cousin, but my mother never bothered to try to explain the convoluted family relationship so we settled for 'shirt-tail cousin'. Now I see how that branch of the family fits in. I see where the stories about "grandpa's mother died and his father remarried fast because there were so many kids to raise" -- yeah, like 10! No wonder Grandpa Levi remarried fast! I remember his second wife, who used to tell us stories about living on the frontier in the early 1900s.

How our world has changed since my grandmother -- even my mother -- lived. It feels like we're making leaps and bounds in the progress department, but when I put it in perspective -- when I look at my great x 4 grandfather, I'm sure he thought the same thing about the steamboats and the railroad and the telegraph.

It's good sometimes to look back because it gives a new perspective on what's here now. And to reflect on what those long-ago relatives experienced. In many ways, their lives were just like ours now. And in other ways ... how different!

A Novice on a Motorcycle

By Vonnie Davis

I remember my first motorcycle ride with great clarity. The man I was dating, at the time, had just bought a new Yamaha 650. Since my children were spending the weekend with their father, the new guy in my life decided it would be a great day to initiate me to the joys of riding a bike.

Poor guy had no clue as to the extent of my novice status--or my fear. Or that I’d be so stiff I’d make steering the bike harder for him. I was so scared, I was afraid if I moved my eyeballs, I’d throw the bike off balance. I froze. During the entire two-hour ride I stared at the back of his helmet, memorizing the serial numbers and other information.

When we got home and I could mercifully stand on solid ground, rubbing my bumm to get the circulation going again, he asked how I’d enjoyed the ride. “Fine,” I replied, “except, don’t your feet get hot? First I kept my toes down until I couldn’t stand the heat anymore and then I'd put my heels down.

He shot a glance at his tailpipes where the rubber from my soles had melted onto them. He’d forgotten to put the foot pegs down and I’d been riding with my feet on the hot tailpipes. He had to spend several hours rubbing the melted soles off the chrome. It was a long time before he left me forget it.

In my recent release, Those Violet Eyes, Win takes Evie home from work after the battery on her car goes dead. She’d never ridden a bike either.

“You need a ride home. Come on.” Win turned and walked to his Harley, tugging a key from his jeans pocket.

Evie scurried after him, his helmet dangling from her hand. “Wait. Wait a second. I’m not riding on that thing with you.”

Win settled onto the seat and inserted the key. The Harley jumped to life, making that low rumble it was so famous for; her system did a strange rumbling of its own when she took in his broad shoulders. He didn’t say a thing. He just sat there, staring off into the night. Waiting. Waiting for her just like he’d done before when he wanted her to do something. This blasted man’s silence was different from others. His silence whispered, “Come to me.” Worse, she watched him wait and felt him will her to do his silent command.

Damn him.

The lights on the rooftop star and steer snapped off. She needed a ride home. Marshall was always the first to leave, so he’d be no help. “I’ll ask Gus to give me a ride in his truck.”

“He’s gone. Left before you did. Think it might be for a woman, but don’t tell Keira.”

Keira was probably filling out the alcohol log sheets for the BATF, a process her friend claimed was the bane of her existence. While the current bane of her existence sat silent on a rumbling Harley. Waiting.

“Won’t you need your helmet?” She extended it to him.

He shook his head once. “Your safety’s more important than mine. You use it.”

He was the strangest man she’d ever met.

Well, hadn’t she been hoping for a little adventure, something to change the everyday humdrum of her life? And she did need a ride home.

She put on the helmet and took it back off. “My pony tail won’t fit.”

Win’s hands rose to remove the clip from her hair, his muscled legs holding the bike upright. His eyes locked on hers as his fingers splayed in her tresses and fluffed them out.

“Your hair’s beautiful. I hate to cover it up with this old brain bucket.”

Her insides did more of that strange twitching she found very perplexing. No man ever complimented her before, nor touched her hair. Not like he was doing, anyhow.

He took the helmet from her, settled it on her head and made some adjustments so it fit her better.

When she hiked her skirt to get on, his gaze followed her legs; she was sure she heard him groan. The man made her yearn and fear at the same time.

“Wrap your arms around me.”

“No, I’ll hurt your back.”

“Wrap your arms around me, Evie.”

“No.” She had no intentions of touching him. If she did, she might like the feel of his hard, muscular frame too much, and that just wouldn’t do. She was leaving here as soon as she saved enough money.

Win coasted the bike backwards, walking it along with his boots. The bike made its potato-potato-potato sound.

“Hold on or you’ll fall off.”

“No, I won’t.”

He gave the bike more gas and released the clutch. It lurched forward—Evie jerked backwards. Her arms snapped around his waist, and she snuggled close. Just as she feared, her arms around him felt good, much too good.

She closed her eyes. Win Fairchild could be trouble, trouble in black jeans and a Harley T-shirt.

Warm air rushed by as the bike pierced the darkness like an arrow. A sense of freedom exhilarated her. Was it the ride or the man that heightened her senses? Subtle changes in temperature were noticeable as they rounded corners and took the gentle hills. Scents she missed while riding in a car were now hers for the smelling—pine, honeysuckle, wild flowers. The nighttime serenade by crickets, bullfrogs and the occasional owl made her smile. Everything was more vivid. No wonder people fell in love with riding motorcycles.

BUY LINKS:

THE WILD ROSE PRESS: http://bit.ly/ThoseVioletEyes

AMAZON: http://bit.ly/TVEVonnieDavis

A New Twist on The Dog Days of Summer

What exactly are The Dog Days of Summer? According to the dictionary and various other sources they are the sultry part of summer, mid-July to mid-August, when the Dog Star Sirius rises at the same time as the sun. The ancients believed the Dog Star partnered with the sun to intensify the heat sent to Earth. Further descriptions of The Dog Days of Summer characterize it as a period of lethargy, inactivity or indolence, a time of madness in dogs.

Days of intense heat? You bet, judging by the triple digit temperatures that currently engulf the country. But I can also relate to the rest of the definition as illustrated by the following piece, a true story, I wrote a while ago:

That Summer Saturday began innocently enough. The clear, pleasant morning gave no indication of what was to follow as I took a cup of coffee and stepped out on the back deck.

It had been a busy week with many hours spent preparing and planting the plot of backyard land that would become my garden. I had tilled the soil and placed new seeds in the holes I’d dug then gently covered them with just the right amount of dirt. The plants I’d started a month before in the house were next, spaced just so to allow them ample room to grow.

“Better put something out there to keep out the rabbits,” my husband suggested as the green shoots and young leaves began to flourish.

In my heart, I knew he was right. Drastic measures are sometimes necessary to combat this unscrupulous menace. Substances such as dried blood are sprinkled along the garden edge as a deterrent. Scarecrows decked out in Dad’s patch riddled jeans, Mother’s frayed paint shirt and Aunt Margaret’s once favorite straw hat, stand in silent vigil with a common goal to stop the crafty foliage robbers in their tracks.

Ah, but for me things were different. I had no need for such elaborate defenses. Patrolling my carefully tilled garden patch was my own man’s best friend and all around good dog, Jason. Born of mixed heritage, Airedale and Hound among them, he had the best traits of hunter and herder. Jason wouldn’t stand for an intrusion of his turf. I had a weapon no rabbit in its right mind would dare to challenge.

As I proudly surveyed the beginnings of my garden that day something beige at one corner caught my eye. I looked closer and my worst fear became a reality. A rabbit! In my garden! Contentedly chomping on my sprouts! With ravenous abandon no less, and absolutely no regard for the sweat and toil that went into producing them.

Leaping to my feet, I called out for Jason. Surely by instinct he would know what to do. After a number of bellows from me, he appeared from around one corner of the house looking slightly perturbed at being so rudely summoned.

“There’s a rabbit in the garden! There’s a rabbit in the garden!”

I’m not sure if I sounded more like Paul Revere or Chicken Little. I could tell by the dog’s expression that he couldn’t decide either, and really didn’t care.

Apparently convinced that he would have no peace until he at least investigated, Jason came cautiously forward. Falling into step behind him, I remained in hot pursuit, arms flailing wildly as I hollered, “Sic ‘em!” with all the confidence of a general in command of a top-notch platoon.

Jason strolled to the middle of the yard, looked first at me behind him, then at the rabbit in front of him and made a valiant attempt to slip into the house. Being quickly thwarted in that maneuver when I pivoted to block his way, he calmly sat down to contemplate his next move.

“Get ‘em!” I ordered. Arms around his chest, I picked up the reluctant dog and aimed him toward the enemy.

Casting me a self-righteous, no rest for the weary glance, he dutifully meandered forward. Reaching a particularly sunny patch, he suppressed a yawn and lowered himself to a prone position. Ready to strike, I thought, until he rolled slowly to one side and settled his head comfortably on the soft grass.

Seeing that my ally had as much as gone over to the other side, I took it upon myself to bark and growl at the offending rodent. My taking control of the situation seemed to suit Jason just fine as he closed his eyes to catch a nap.

And the rabbit? He left quietly after eating his fill. Or maybe he was just tired of all the commotion.

Lethargy, inactivity and indolence extraordinaire that was Jason. We now know he believed very strongly in The Dog Days of Summer. Think about it. Given the example cited above, I’d say during The Dog Days of Summer, my dog wasn’t mad, he was pretty darned smart. In that vein, I’ve since given up gardening and now choose to feed the rabbits, squirrels and birds that come around. In keeping with the canine theme here, you could say old dog, new tricks and all that.

As I mentioned, most of this post consists of a formerly written, but not published, manuscript. I certainly have plenty of those. The one here actually sold, by the way. I received the check and everything, but for whatever reason it was never used.

Some of my other ‘unsolds’ are now up as free reads on my Writing Blog and The Wild Rose Press, which publishes my work, has three of my short stories as Free Reads as well. These can also be accessed through my blog. If you’re so inclined, enjoy.



  

Nothing wrong with getting something for nothing huh?

 

Just ask that rabbit.

Note: Sadly, I have no pictures of Jason in a computerized format, but the little guy up top looks a lot like he did.

A Sunset Over Two Rivers

Laura Breck

This weekend began the celebration of my husband's birthday. We usually try to celebrate birthday for a week or so; two weekends and the full week. Of course, he jokes that my birthday has become a month-long celebration, and is quickly expanding to encompass an entire quarter of the year.

Saturday morning, I asked him what he'd like to do for supper. I wanted to take him out someplace nice for a big steak or a scallop dinner. Nope. He wanted the prime rib buffet at our favorite casino south of the Twin Cities. (Name withheld for copyright reasons.)

And, not only did he want supper, he also wanted breakfast. So, I booked a room and we were packed and on the road in less than an hour.

The drive was beautiful. Dairy cattle grazing on rolling hills of green grass, rows of grape vines stretching across the winery's acres, and cute little towns along the Mississippi River.

The casino is on a huge property at the confluence of the Mississippi and the Saint Croix Rivers. Our room overlooked the water, and we pulled a couple chairs to the window, mixed an adult libation, and sat for a while just enjoying the blue afternoon sky dotted with drifting clouds, and the startlingly green vegetation along the river bluff.

Too soon, the call of the video poker machines intruded and we were stuffing twenties into Double Double Bonus One Eyed Jacks machines and having a great time. At about eight thirty, I suggested we go to our room and change for supper. I was still planning to treat him to a nice meal.

When we opened the door into our room, the walls, the bed, the floor, were bathed in glowing orange. The sun was setting, hanging over the tops of the trees and reflecting off the water.

 

Another adult libation was poured and we sat at the window watching the spectacle, holding hands and recalling all the wonderful experiences we had the past year of my amazing husband's life.

Maybe not enough for a book plot, but it was romantic and a pleasant surprise for us to have that sunset and that special time together. Too often, our lives keep us busy right through sunsets and into darkness. We vowed to sneak at least one or two sunsets into our lives every week. Keeping the romance alive!

Hope you get to enjoy at least one sunset this week!
Laura
~Smart Women ~Sexy Men ~Seductive Romance
LauraBreck.com
Dancing in a Hurricane is available in digital format at Amazon and in paperback at Createspace

Summer, Treats and Dog Days by Brenda Whiteside

Several of this months topics sparked a thought. The first thought was to have some ice cream, which I am doing right now. Ice Cream Month? Ice cream deserves much more than just a month. And anyway, I prefer ice cream in the winter. My mom told me if you drink a hot drink when you're hot, you'll feel cooler. She's full of good ol' wives' wisdom like that. So maybe I prefer ice cream in the winter to make me warmer. But I don't think so. Drinking hot while you're hot doesn't work. 

Sunset over the orchard

I like Share a Sunset with Your Lover Month. Sunsets are usually very romantic. I say usually because sunsets are also very relaxing. It's a nightly ritual at our house. After dinner, we all seem to migrate to the back patio to watch the sun go down. Since there are several of us, including three dogs, romance really doesn't have a chance. This time of year, the sun sets equally over the vegetable garden and the orchard at our house. Arizona does get some magnificent sunsets which we can thank all the dust in the air for that. We've started the monsoon season too so there are usually billowing clouds for the sun to slant rays on, through and around.

My dog, Rusty, rolling in the grass

And speaking of dogs, The Dog Days of Summer Month has a nice lazy sound. I have always associated this term literally with dogs and being lazy in the sun. I know, clueless. So I looked it up. The star named Sirius (the Dog Star) in Canis Major is quite visible in the night sky in the summer between July and August. This is usually the hottest time of summer in the northern hemisphere. Dog Days are named for the appearance of the Dog Star on the eastern horizon. I think I like my totally wrong, unscientific and nonsensical definition better.

Happy July and all the reasons to celebrate!

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/brendawhitesid2

She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about prairie life on her personal blog http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/