When I was a jerk, I mean, a soda jerk, the man who owned the Kiltie (a complete jerk), the drive-in where I worked, packed the individual containers of frozen custard himself although sometimes he let the dimwit manager do it. He, the owner, acted like this was some magical process and the recipe was all hush-hush, secret-secret. It was his provenance (he said) and while I have to say I have always thought it was the best frozen custard, I seriously doubt there was much too it. My sister claims to like some other place better, but then she never liked the owner (with good reason) so she’s prejudiced.
I bought an ice cream machine. And for a number of reasons, I made my own frozen custard. Lemme just say, the recipe could not have been so secret. There is really only one way to make it.
The hard things: 1. Separating the eggs. Ugh. 2. Stirring the custard on the stove until it was custardy but not letting it turn into scrambled eggs for 60 hours. 3. Trying to scoop the frozen custard after it was frozen.
It was 100% unscoopable. I couldn’t even stick a fork into it. Solid as an ice cube. Sure, I let it melt for a while and it was fine. I mean it scooped alright—after half hour in the refrigerator. It was also 100% delicious. I’ve now learned that if I add some liquor to it it will be easier to scoop. I’m on it.
Also. It was keto. I used monkfruit as the sweetener. Bonus.
