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Dreamy Bites Ice Cream

Dreamy Bites Ice Cream


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Whisk all of the ice cream ingredients together in a 4-quart pot.

Cook the ingredients over medium heat and bring to just a simmer (about 10 to 15 minutes). Whisk this continually while cooking to prevent the ingredients from sticking to the sides and bottom of the pan.

Since you’re making a custard, you want it to be between 160 to 170 degrees Fahrenheit (71 to 77 degrees Celsius). To see if your custard is done, simply dip a spoon into the mixture and run your finger down the back of the spoon. If the line stays clean, your custard is done. If the line blurs again, you need a little more time to make the custard.

Remove the pot from the heat and let cool for at least 30 minutes. Pour the mixture into a refridgerator-safe container and cover with plastic wrap, making sure the plastic is covering the top of the liquid (this keeps a skin from forming on the top of your custard). Place this into the refrigerator and chill for at least 6 hours. Chilling overnight is best.

Pour the chilled mixture into an ice cream maker and process according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Freeze for 2 to 3 hours.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.


Watch the video: crushed ice eating only bites (May 2022).