I went hard core on this recipe (Barefoot Contessa Parties!). I started with homemade strawberry ice cream. That’s right, I made the ice cream. I used a recipe for the ice cream from one of my favorite wedding gifts: a series of Williams Sonoma cookbooks organized by topic. There’s a whole book devoted to ice cream, and this recipe was in it. I had, embarrassingly enough, some strawberries left in the freezer from last summer. I guess it shouldn’t be all that embarrassing: at least they were locally grown, and they kept well in the deep freeze. And they weren’t nearly as bad as the strawberries we found in my grandmother’s freezer when she died. They were labelled “1974.” She died in 1996. What’s worse is that she moved in 1987. The strawberries were old enough to be entering puberty when she moved them from one house to another, where they were delicately preserved until they were old enough to vote. And drink. For that matter, they were probably fermented enough to be a drink.
But, I digress.
The strawberry ice cream was awesome, and it made a fine strawberry ice cream soda, with strawberry syrup made from more frozen strawberries. Actually, I’m taking my husband’s word for it, since I’m not really an ice cream soda kind of gal. I prefer my ice cream straight-up, but my husband discovered that he’s a fan of the ice cream soda when we were on vacation last summer, so he was the guinea pig for this experiment. He’s a good sport, that one. Either that, or he was afraid after hearing stories of my grandmother that I’d be tempted to keep the strawberries in the freezer for another few decades, so he gamely gulped down his dessert without complaint.