Christmas Done Wrong

           Folks, just as you were sipping hot chocolate in the soft light of your Christmas tree, or listening to happy carolers at your door, a friend of mine was attending an entirely different kind of Christmas Eve: Her grandson and his wife
got hauled off to jail.

          Yes, it was one of those moments when the needle scratches the record and a drunken brawl occurred. Insults were shouted, spit was spat, fists were formed and knuckleheads were knocked. Alcohol, not surprisingly, played a starring role.

          As she was telling me this, I was thinking, “So they probably cancelled the nativity reenactment.” 

          And their four kids were left to wonder just how naughty one has to be, for Santa to boycott their entire event.

          But my friend had already distributed gifts, and when she called me I assured her that, 20 years from now, this will be the hilarious story those kids tell.

I gave her the advice I give all innocent bystanders: “Get some chocolate ice cream, sit down in a comfy chair, put your feet up, and watch whatever you want on television. You had no part in this.”

And you know what? That’s exactly what she did. Well played, Grandma.

She’s probably watching one of my Youtube Mom life hack videos right now!

We Should Have a Nancy Johnson Day

          Last week I blogged about the ice cream man, and since we’re still in a heat wave today I’m blogging about the ultimate Ice Cream Woman, Nancy Johnson.

          No one knows exactly what she looked like, so I’m going with Marlene Dietrich.  Hey, who’s to say she didn’t look like this?

          What we do know is that she was a Philadelphia housewife, born in 1795, and that she invented the hand-cranked ice cream churn and that, in turn, made history.

          Before this ingenious invention, ice cream was made laboriously at home, with lumpy results. And usually only by servants of the ruling class.  But now, thanks to Nancy, quality ice cream could be produced and sold to the masses.  Even today, electric mixers resemble the one she invented, using cylinders, a paddle, a lid, and a crank.

           Flash frozen—I mean flash forward—to today, and we find out that Americans each eat more than 22 pounds of it a year. The most popular flavors, in order, are: Chocolate, Vanilla, Cookie Dough/Cookies & Cream, Butter Pecan/Swiss Almond, Mint Chocolate Chip, and Strawberry.

          Just in the U.S., sales average about $14 billion a year, and $77 billion worldwide. 

          Unfortunately Nancy couldn’t afford to manufacture her own invention, and sold it for just $200.

          I think the very least we can do is give Nancy her own day.

And nothing beats reading a good book while enjoying an ice cream cone.  You can order my books here.  The cone you’ll have to scoop yourself. 

The Ice Cream Man Cometh

          When I say “Ice Cream Man” you picture the guys driving the musical trucks around, right?  And little kids running out of their homes to catch him and buy some ice cream? 

          Well, I picture that as well, but I also think how cool it would be to have a giant mannequin made entirely of ice cream.  Surely there’s a festival somewhere, where they do this.

          In Los Angeles this summer, there was a pop-up Ice Cream Museum (tickets sold faster than hotcakes topped with ice cream), and one of my friends described her visit as a religious experience.

          But back to the ice cream man.  It occurs to me that these brave, hardy souls who traverse suburbia selling popsicles and ice cream sandwiches are to be admired for something else as well: They can tolerate the same tune, played loudly on tinny speakers, for hours upon hours as they make their rounds. In my neighborhood it’s “The Entertainer,” which was actually written by Scott Joplin in 1902.  If people in Rocklin ever attend a Ragtime Revue, every one of their mouths will water when that tune begins.  We’ve been trained like Pavlov’s dog.

          And every time the ice cream man goes by, I think of him with admiration for being able to tolerate repetition, the likes of which would drive anyone else into a screaming fit.  So today I pay tribute not only to the guy who brings cool, refreshing treats to the sweaty masses in this heat wave we’re having, but to the guy who can maintain his sanity when all others would be losing theirs.

Stay inside where it’s cool and enjoy a frosty treat while you read one of my books.  I don’t even mind if you drip ice cream on the pages.

Breakfast of Geniuses!

Be still my heart.  I just read a study that claims having ice cream for breakfast makes you smarter.  Folks, I have been doing this quite often for my entire life, thus I must be a genius.

           (And no, you do not need to write in with a comment about how this really will still my heart.)

          Here’s the scoop (you knew that pun was coming).  Scientists claim that eating ice cream first thing in the morning improves your alertness and mental performance. Yoshihiko Koga, a professor at Tokyo's Kyorin University, had test subjects try it out, and they had faster reaction times and better info-processing abilities on the computer. Their brains also revealed an increase in high-frequency alpha waves.

          I know what you’re thinking (since you did not have ice cream this morning, and I did): You are thinking it’s the cold—that would jolt anybody, right?  But they tried it with cold water and couldn’t duplicate the results. Some say our brains simply need glucose to function best, while many people skip breakfast entirely and miss this advantage. And others speculate that a big part of this could be the positive emotions triggered by having a treat— you’re activating the pleasure spots of your brain the same as if you won money or listened to a favorite song.

          I don’t care.  I just know I am finally vindicated, not a terrible mother after all, and now I’m wondering if cake or pie could produce the same results. I am happy to volunteer for the cause of science.  It’s the least I can do.

And you can also perform a wonderful service—buy my books.  They make wonderful Christmas gifts and will not melt under the tree the way ice cream will.

I Scream, You Scream

          It’s summer.  It’s hot.  It’s time for ice cream.  Those three sentences follow in absolutely logical order, if you ask me.

          And I once had the thrill of a lifetime, by getting to tour a Dreyer’s Ice Cream plant in Texas.  This rich ice cream is labeled “Edy’s” in the East, so you know we’re talking crème de la crème, folks.  And it all happened thanks to our son, Cassidy.

          First, in case you’re new to this blog, I must tell you that I often enter recipe contests and cook-offs.  And it’s been an absolute kick to win trips, appliances, furniture, and cash.  So a few years ago, one of our sons (then age 10) followed in his mom’s footsteps and entered a Dreyer’s Grand Ice Cream contest called “Invent Jeff’s Next Flavor,” one Jeff Gordon of Nascar, would personally select.  Dreyer’s listed the basic things Jeff liked, and Cassidy came up with Cool Fuel, a “cool minty ice cream with streaks of fudge and injected with almonds.”

          Out of 8,000 entries, Cass was selected as one of five finalists!  And the only child in the competition.  He was able to bring a couple of friends and we all got to tour the ice cream plant in Texas.  Oh. My. Goodness. 

It turns out that the peak moment of flavor is just before they freeze it for shipping, when it’s still soft.  They let us sample wonderful flavors, using the lids as a spoon.  Once it’s in the supermarkets, it will never be at such a perfect, soft state again.  This is the stuff of heavenly dreams, folks. 

          Then they allowed each contestant to whip up their idea in the kitchen.  It was glorious.  

That evening Jeff went down the line.  After he had tasted them all, he pointed to Cassidy’s, and said, “I really like that one,” at which point the man in charge pulled him aside and soon Jeff was choosing a similar one, but not Cassidy’s.  When I inquired about this later, I was told that the public doesn’t always like “particulate matter” in ice cream, and the “other” one was virtually the same as Cassidy’s, but without the almonds.  I chose not to make a stink about it, declaring a moral victory as it were, and then we were whisked off to an actual Nascar race.

          Well… it turns out you can’t enter the pit area if you’re underage, so there we were, disappointed again.  We had to wander around the parking area where drivers kept their motorhomes, as the other contestants got to see things up close.  But then—as if heaven decided to make things right—we happened to be near Jeff Gordon’s gigantic trailer and his top mechanics let us have a complete tour of his digs!  It was awesome.  I was particularly impressed with drawers and drawers of perfectly organized, labeled tools for the mechanics to use.  They showed us the whole place and even opened the fridge. This was a VIP tour unlike any the other contestants were experiencing. We were in Jeff Gordon’s home on wheels! The boys’ eyes twinkled with delight.

          So, even though Cassidy’s picture didn’t end up on an ice cream carton, we had a fabulous time and an unforgettable taste of this glorious confection at its absolute best.  I call that a win-win.

          Speaking of Cassidy’s picture, here’s how he looks today, hosting That Late Show, which you can watch here.

And, while you’re enjoying a creamy bowl of frozen wonder, why not read my latest novel, GOLDEN, which you can order on Amazon or Kindle.   And if you’re out of ice cream, make your own in a baggie!  Watch my YouTube Mom video here, where I show you how.

Dirt Cheap Ice Cream

          Ice cream is ruined.  At least soft  serve ice cream and at least for me.  I walk into the house the other day and my son says, “Oh, enjoying your clay?”

          This is where my eyebrows lower and I stare at him, waiting for the explanation that is going to forever spoil my fun.  The same exact thing happened with Pluto not being a planet.

          I look down at my vanilla soft serve in a cone, and say, “This is ice cream.”

          “No it isn’t,” he says.  “That’s why they call it Soft Serve.  They can’t call it ice cream.”

          WHAAAT? 

          “It’s made with bentonite,” he tells me.  This kid should never have gone on that volcano study to Hawaii, where he became entirely too smart for his britches.

          “Bentonite sounds like an ingredient in linoleum,” I say.  “Like a plastic or something.”  And suddenly my treat seems a little too airy, a little too smooth.

          “They put it in milkshakes, too,” Richie says, completely comfortable with his role as Bearer of Bad News.  “It’s a clay made from chemically weathered volcanic ash.  But it’s totally edible—they use it as a filler.”

          Like sawdust?  Like feathers?  I’m eating ashes?

          He goes on to tell me it’s sold in health food stores and is completely safe, even added to baths for its healing properties.

          I don’t care.  I look it up and all I can see are examples of cat litter and mud drilling. 

          And it’s clay.  When I wanted ice cream.  I’ll tell you this.  No way am I eating cheesecake or truffles or donuts around that guy. 

Have you visited my website, lately?  No filler whatsoever.  Just a bunch of cool stuff like a music video, YouTube Mom videos, and tons of books you can buy!

A Norwegian Welcome Home

          You may think the way to beat this crazy summer heat is to jump into a pool or gulp down a big glass of ice water.

          But take it from me, the woman whose makeup melts down onto her neck when the mercury rises to 113 (yes, A HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN!!).  The way to beat the heat is

          ICE CREAM.

          When our daughter, Nicole, returned from the much cooler land of Norway, where she’s been serving an 18-month LDS church mission, we decided to invite friends to an open house, welcoming her back.  

          Uncle Ken and Aunt Sherri sent this gorgeous yellow arrangement:

          But instead of turning on the oven and risking spontaneous combustion in this ridiculous weather, I chose to have an ice cream sundae bar. But not just any ice cream sundae bar.  None of this Cub Scout cheapie ice cream with syrup out of a squeeze bottle.  Instead, I decided to have gourmet syrups and toppings, then label them both in English and Norwegian.  And we all slid in to happy, heat-free delirium.

          And so, my dear readers, I am sharing this idea with you to save you from heat exhaustion, sun stroke, and from being too thin.  Here’s how to dress up your ice cream if you live in Joniopolis:

          We started with good chocolate and vanilla ice cream.  Next, make a wonderful hot fudge sauce and stir in crumbled bits of cooked bacon. 

Also make a salted caramel sauce.

Then offer the following items to be spooned on or sprinkled:

You cannot go wrong with these items because there’s something for everyone— fruity, nutty, sweet, spicy—it’s all there.  We even served the orange soda Norwegians love.  And guess what?  Even though they spend much of the year in frigid weather, Norwegians are smart: They eat ice cream all year round.

Check out my website, and look for my cooking videos—I’m the Youtube Mom, and many of the videos on my channel teach you how to make luscious yummers in the kitchen.