I sent a version of this photo to the Offspring this afternoon, asking for suggestions on a postcard as to what was going on. Neither of them had any idea, which tends to confirm my suspicion that in the twenty years or so since I gave it to R as a silly gift, it had never actually been used. I recently discovered it while reorganising the kitchen, and moved it from its long-term home in the back corner of the pan cupboard to somewhere more accessible. A couple of days ago R was searching the somewhere more accessible for something else, spotted the mystery object, and said, “I bet the Boy would like to have a go at this.” And when the Boy saw it yesterday and found out what it was for, he said that he did want to have a go at it – very much.
If you don’t already know, it’s an ice-cream maker. There are screw-in covers at both poles, one leading to a metal cylinder suspended in the centre of the ball, and the other opening into the area around the cylinder. You fill this outer section with a substantial quantity of ice and rock salt, and put your ice cream ingredients inside the cylinder, then wait for twenty minutes while the ice chills the cylinder and its ingredients, jiggling the sphere around in the meanwhile to keep the ice cream mixture moving so that it can set evenly. It all sounds charmingly straightforward, but we were moderately confident that it wouldn’t be so easy in practice.
The Boy was absolutely busting to give it a go, but the ice cream ingredients didn’t arrive till early this morning, and shortly after breakfast we had to go out to see the film The Magic Faraway Tree* at the cinema in Stratford. B had already seen this film with our co-grandparents, but was keen to go again, and spent the duration alternately feeding sweets into his face and turning round to explain to us what was going on up on the screen: “He looks scary, but he’s actually nice.” “That’s Madame Snap – she’s really horrid – she puts people in prison.” “It’s all right – they don’t crash. They just get bashed up a bit.” I’m sure the other people in the cinema were as grateful for this commentary as we were.
By the time the film ended the Boy was severely over-sugared. “I think I probly ate too many sweets,” he said sadly. “Usually I just have ten, and one more for luck, but the people in your cinema gave me LOADS.” Yes, but… You didn’t have to… You could have mentioned… Oh, never mind. Just hold on a second while I make a note for next time, in red ink, underlined several times. Anyway, when we came out of the Everyman into Bell Court B immediately spotted Nando’s across the concourse, and said, “Nando’s!! Can we go?”, and as this seemed like a good opportunity to dilute his sugar stream with a few other chemicals, we went for lunch, before heading back home to try the ice cream maker.
Which I have to tell you is not as simple to use as its makers claim – though with a few adjustments to technique and recipe, I think it might work almost as well as simply dumping the ingredients in a box in the freezer and whisking it up every now and then during the freezing process. Somehow though, ease of use is not the point… or at least, it’s not the whole of the point. The Boy and his Granddad had a great time, and at the end of it produced their own ice cream, which they judged to be absolutely delicious.
* 9/10; would watch again (and probably will, when it goes to streaming). Recommend tissues for any adults in the party of an elderly or sentimental disposition.
R: L2, C10, D16.
