There are some foods that bring you back in time. Maybe it’s a meal you have every year for your birthday or every year at Christmas. I have both of those things– beef stroganoff for the former and spaghetti (followed by National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation) for the latter. But the most poignant transport in time is homemade ice cream, bringing me back to the Fourth of July. Like the peanut butter balls, this family tradition comes with a lot of griping about what a pain-in-the-rear it is to make. It started with my grandfather back in the 1960s with a hand-crank ice cream machine. My mom remembers having to crank the machine when she was only a few years old–must have been around the same time she had to walk 6 miles to school. About 20 years ago, they switched to an electric machine in what may be the most delayed adoption of progressive technology ever. Either way, the recipe and pain-in-the-rear comments haven’t changed. Switching it up between banana, strawberry, and peach is the extent that we step out of the culinary box. That is, until a few weeks ago.
My sister was throwing us a gender reveal party, and I decided that homemade ice cream would be the perfect way to celebrate. The contents are hidden until right before you eat, so there would be no way to know what “it” was until we served it.
Truth be told, I couldn’t wait for our strawberry ice cream, as I just knew it was a girl. We had strawberry-banana ice cream a few weeks prior for the Fourth of July, to which I commented, “hmm this is a little too sweet, let’s just do strawberry for the reveal.” We had talked about what to do if it was a boy– peach ice-cream with blue food coloring, but viewed it more as a hypothetical situation in which we would never know the results.
The day of the reveal came, and it turns out that it wasn’t a hypothetical situation after all. We had BLUE ice cream. WHATTTTTTT?!? Of course my first thoughts were, “is my baby boy going through gender-crisis in utero from me calling him a ‘she’ so often? I know transgender is cool right now, but please just be a boy! Get that testosterone pumping little man. If wine can transfer to his blood, so can protein powder, right?”
Shock aside, we can’t wait for our baby boy to arrive in early December. We can’t wait to find tractors and trucks with him, play golf with him, and dress him in the cutest Jon Jons ever. Most importantly, we can’t wait to serve him homemade ice cream every Fourth of July and create even more traditions together as a family. We love you Baby H!