Lavender Ice Cream

Sofia is going to prom. PROM. My baby, in a dress, with a boy, at a dance, and I am going to need everyone to remain calm while I process this information with a combination of pride and terror and the strong desire to cook something immediately because cooking is how I process all emotional information.

The boy is named Marcus. He is in her AP Biology class. He is tall and quiet and when he came to pick her up he shook Eduardo hand and called me Mrs. Delgado-Ortiz, which is the correct thing to call me and I gave him points for knowing this. He was nervous. I could see it in his hands. Eduardo could see it too, and Eduardo — my quiet, gentle, non-threatening husband — suddenly became six inches taller and started making intense eye contact, which is the most aggressive thing Eduardo has ever done and which I found deeply attractive and slightly hilarious.

Sofia came downstairs in a blue dress that Rosa helped her pick out on a shopping trip two weeks ago. She looked — mi amor, she looked like her grandmother. She looked like Luz Maria at seventeen, the one photo I have seen of Mami before children and marriage and everything that came after. The same cheekbones. The same dark eyes. The same chin that says I am here and I am not moving. I did not cry. I took forty-three photographs. I made Sofia and Marcus stand in the living room and smile until their faces hurt. Eduardo stood behind me and looked at our daughter and I felt his hand on my lower back, steady, the way Eduardo is always steady.

After they left, I went to the kitchen. Of course I went to the kitchen. I made tembleque — coconut pudding, cool and smooth — because tembleque is what you make when your emotions need a bowl to sit in. Eduardo came in and said, She looked beautiful. I said, She looked like Mami. He said, She looked like you. I put down the spoon. I said, Eduardo, that is the nicest thing you have said in twenty years. He said, I say nice things. I said, You say good things. Nice things have more words. He went back to his newspaper. I finished the tembleque. Sofia came home at midnight with her shoes in her hand and her mascara smudged and the biggest smile I have ever seen on her face and she said, Mami, it was perfect. I said, I know, mija. I made tembleque. She ate it standing up at the counter and I watched her and I memorized her face at seventeen, at midnight, with smudged mascara and tembleque on her spoon. These are the moments. These are the only ones that matter.

Tembleque is what I made that night, and tembleque is what my hands knew to make — cool, smooth, something you can hold in a bowl while your heart is too full for words. This lavender ice cream lives in that same quiet category of desserts: pale and calm and faintly floral, the kind of thing you scoop at midnight when a girl comes home with her shoes in her hand and her whole face lit up. It is not the same as Mami’s recipe, and it is not Puerto Rican, but it is cold and sweet and gentle, and sometimes that is exactly what a feeling needs. Make it the afternoon before, let it set, and it will be ready whenever they walk back through the door.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 5 hours (including freezing) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups heavy whipping cream
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
2 tablespoons dried culinary lavender buds
4 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1–2 drops purple food coloring (optional)

Instructions

Steep the lavender. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the heavy cream, whole milk, and 1/2 cup of the sugar. Add the dried lavender buds and stir to combine. Heat until the mixture just begins to steam and small bubbles form at the edges — do not boil. Remove from heat, cover, and let steep for 20 minutes.
Whisk the yolks. While the cream steeps, whisk the egg yolks with the remaining 1/4 cup sugar in a medium bowl until the mixture is pale yellow and slightly thickened, about 2 minutes.
Temper the eggs. Strain the lavender cream through a fine-mesh sieve, pressing gently on the buds to extract all the flavor. Discard the lavender. Slowly pour about 1/2 cup of the warm cream into the egg yolk mixture, whisking constantly. This tempers the eggs so they don’t scramble. Pour the tempered egg mixture back into the saucepan with the remaining cream.
Cook the custard. Return the saucepan to medium-low heat. Stir constantly with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula, scraping the bottom of the pan, until the custard thickens enough to coat the back of the spoon and reaches 170–175°F on an instant-read thermometer, about 8–10 minutes. Do not let it boil.
Finish and chill. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla extract, sea salt, and food coloring if using. Pour through a fine-mesh sieve into a clean bowl set over an ice bath. Stir occasionally until cooled to room temperature, then press plastic wrap directly onto the surface and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or until fully cold.
Churn. Pour the chilled custard into an ice cream maker and churn according to the manufacturer’s instructions, usually 20–25 minutes, until it reaches the consistency of soft-serve.
Freeze. Transfer the churned ice cream to a freezer-safe container. Smooth the top, press plastic wrap against the surface, cover tightly, and freeze for at least 2 hours until firm. Scoop and serve. It keeps beautifully for up to 2 weeks.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lavender Ice Cream — Cool and Smooth, Like the Night You Need a Bowl for Your Feelings