Corn Ice Cream — A Sweet Reward for Saturday Mornings That Are Ours

Pearl is one week old. And Michael is not adjusting well.

He is twenty-three months old, which is old enough to understand that something has changed and young enough to have no idea what that something is except that it's small and loud and his mother holds it a lot and it gets attention that used to be his. He is not jealous — toddlers don't process jealousy the way adults do. He is confused. He is a Henderson who had the full spotlight and the full plate and the full attention of every person in the family, and now there is another Henderson, and the spotlight has a second beam, and the plate has a second setting, and the attention is divided.

He expressed his feelings about this at Saturday morning kitchen time by throwing a piece of cornbread on the floor and saying, "Nah." Not the regular "nah." The emphatic "nah." The "nah" that means "I have noticed a change in the power structure and I do not approve." I picked up the cornbread. I did not waste it — it went in my mouth, because wasting cornbread is a sin that I will not model for my great-grandson. Then I knelt down — both knees, the titanium and the original — and I looked at him and I said, "Michael Devon Brooks. Pearl is your sister. She is small and she needs a lot of help and she is going to take some of your mama's time. But she is not taking YOUR time. Your time with na-na is your time. Saturday morning is ours. The kitchen is ours. The grits are ours. Nobody takes what is ours. Not even a baby named Pearl. Understood?"

He looked at me. He said, "Gruh." I gave him collard greens. The negotiation was over. The terms were acceptable. The Henderson peace treaty was ratified with greens.

Kayla is recovering. Devon is managing two children with the calm competence of a paramedic who has seen worse emergencies than a toddler throwing cornbread and a newborn crying at three a.m. simultaneously. The house is chaos. The chaos is love. The love is loud. The loud is what a family sounds like when it's expanding, and the expanding is the whole point.

Made grits for two. Michael and me. Saturday. Our time. Our kitchen. Our greens. The treaty holds.

Now go on and feed somebody.

Michael and I made the grits that morning, and the greens, and the peace held — but I kept thinking about something sweet to close out our time together, something that still tasted like the kitchen, like corn, like the South that lives in my hands whether I’m cooking breakfast or dessert. Corn Ice Cream is not fancy, and it is not trying to be. It is the same logic as a bowl of grits: take something plain and humble and patient, and turn it into something that makes a person feel held. I made a note to save it for next Saturday. Michael will say “gruh,” and I will take that as high praise.

Corn Ice Cream

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 5 hr (includes chilling — freezing) | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 4 ears fresh sweet corn, husked (or 2 cups fresh-cut corn kernels)
• 2 cups heavy cream
• 1 cup whole milk
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
• 4 large egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon fine salt

Instructions

1. Cut the corn. Stand each ear in a large bowl and slice the kernels off with a sharp knife. Scrape the back of the blade down the cob to release the milky liquid — don’t skip this step, it carries a lot of flavor.
2. Simmer the base. Combine the corn kernels and their liquid, the heavy cream, whole milk, and 1/2 cup of the sugar in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir to dissolve the sugar, then bring just to a gentle simmer. Remove from heat and let steep for 15 minutes.
3. Blend and strain. Transfer the corn-cream mixture to a blender and puree until as smooth as possible, about 60 seconds. Pour through a fine-mesh strainer set over a large bowl, pressing the solids firmly with a spatula to extract all the liquid. Discard the solids.
4. Make the custard. Return the strained cream to the saucepan over medium-low heat and warm until steaming. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the remaining 1/4 cup sugar until pale and slightly thickened, about 2 minutes.
5. Temper the eggs. Slowly ladle about 1/2 cup of the hot cream into the egg yolk mixture, whisking constantly. Pour the tempered yolk mixture back into the saucepan, whisking as you go. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the custard thickens enough to coat the back of the spoon, about 5 to 7 minutes. Do not let it boil.
6. Finish and chill. Remove from heat. Stir in the vanilla extract and salt. Pour through a fine-mesh strainer into a clean bowl. Press a sheet of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of the custard to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate until thoroughly cold, at least 3 hours or overnight.
7. Churn. Pour the chilled custard into an ice cream maker and churn according to the manufacturer’s instructions, usually 20 to 25 minutes, until it reaches a soft-serve consistency.
8. Freeze to firm. Transfer to a freezer-safe container, smooth the top, and press plastic wrap against the surface. Freeze for at least 1 hour before serving. Remove from the freezer 5 minutes before scooping to soften slightly.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 33g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 120mg