Pineapple Ice Cream

Easter triduum at St. Patrick's. Lourdes did the whole thing. I did most of it. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made adobo Sunday. The recipe is the recipe. The recipe is the constant.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

The week was ordinary. The ordinary is the point now. The ordinary is the keeping.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

When Auntie Norma called Sunday asking about that merienda from Iloilo, and I had to run the question all the way to Lourdes to get the answer, it made me think about the things that live in the sweet end of the meal — the small, careful gestures of pleasure that close a hard week gently. Pineapple ice cream is that for me: bright and cool, simple enough to teach, familiar enough to carry memory. It’s the kind of thing Lourdes would approve of without a word, just a nod and a second scoop.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 6 hr 30 min (includes freezing) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups fresh pineapple, finely crushed or pulsed in a food processor (about 1/2 a medium pineapple)
3/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
2 cups heavy whipping cream, cold
1 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice (or calamansi if available)
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions

Cook the pineapple. Combine crushed pineapple and 1/4 cup of the sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir and cook for 8–10 minutes until the mixture thickens slightly and most of the liquid has reduced. Remove from heat and let cool completely. Refrigerate until cold, at least 30 minutes.
Make the cream base. In a large bowl, whisk together the heavy cream, whole milk, remaining 1/2 cup sugar, vanilla extract, lime juice, and salt until the sugar is fully dissolved, about 2 minutes.
Combine. Fold the chilled pineapple mixture into the cream base until evenly distributed.
Churn or freeze. If using an ice cream maker, churn according to manufacturer’s instructions, typically 20–25 minutes, until thick and creamy. For no-churn: pour into a 9x5 loaf pan, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and freeze for 1 hour. Remove and stir vigorously with a fork to break up ice crystals. Repeat every hour for 3 rounds.
Final freeze. Transfer to a freezer-safe container with a tight lid. Press a sheet of plastic wrap directly onto the surface. Freeze for at least 4 hours or overnight until firm.
Serve. Let the ice cream sit at room temperature for 5 minutes before scooping. Serve on its own or alongside a warm slice of cake or sweet bread as a proper merienda.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Ice Cream — The Merienda Lourdes Would Approve Of