As a sedulous devotee in the field of recipe development, “what if this existing recipe was an ice cream flavour?” is a pertinent question I ask myself repeatedly, and — in the case of this café brȗlot ice cream — it’s a question I sometimes find an answer to. Repurposing one recipe into another format isn’t a lazy madlibs way to come up with ideas — although it can help – it’s more that I adore ice cream and it’s the first thing on my mind. You might as soon ask, could this recipe be a lasagne? Despite summer being my least-favoured season, ice cream is my favourite food and I like to mark the passing of each year with a new one for reasons of both personal satisfaction and benefiting from its practical cooling properties.

In this ice cream I pay homage to a New Orleans specialty, a potent cocktail of flamed brandy, clove-studded citrus peel, sugar and hot coffee, but where this cocktail brings fire, I bring ice — and leave out the flaming altogether. Given my body corporate’s dim view on most modest-to-lively activities I suspect they wouldn’t look kindly on me engaging in pyrotechnics inside my apartment even for the grandest culinary aspirations; if you call your house your own and you’re feeling confident, you could try incorporating this aspect of the original drink from which it gets its name.

With all these heathenish liberties in mind it might be a little sacreligious to claim the great name of café brȗlot for my recipe but the elements are there nonetheless and they make for a splendid, ice-cold mouthful. Plummy, figgy cognac softens the ice crystals, cinnamon and clove add warmth and barky spice, the coffee’s bitterness is made blurry by the billowing cream, its earthiness almost like another spice, and the spark of citrus weaves it all together. I’ve never even had an authentic café brȗlot before but the tastebuds of my imagination knew its flavour combination would be ravishing; besides which I’ve long been a fan of Forty-Four, the coffee-orange liqueur.

I had to take a few runs at this recipe: first I used a shot of coffee and the flavour was too weak, besides which the texture was somehow overly soft (too much cognac) yet overly chewy (too much condensed milk.) Second time around the flavour was better but the texture was still vexatious. Finally, though it’s not in my nature to do less, I greatly reduced the condensed milk, whipped the cream, upped the coffee powder, poured the cognac carefully and — perfection. A creamy, fluffy, dreamily aerated ice cream the colour of an expensive trenchcoat; it tastes as though it’s been churning studiously in an ice cream machine when all I did was shove it in the freezer and let it freeze. As well as not needing an ice cream machine, don’t feel like you need to drop a paycheck on a fancy bottle of cognac or brandy; look for those little hotel-sized bottles, usually near the counter at the liquor shop, they’re ideal for cooking where you need a frivolous splash of this or an expensive dash of that.

The other reason I took a while to blog this recipe is that to my great umbrage I got Covid halfway through January, and my brain is still only incrementally coming back to life two weeks later. During my convalescence I kept forgetting names of things — the actor from Klute, the main character in American Psycho, the Māori flag — and then I’d look them up and repeat them to myself — Donald Sutherland, Patrick Bateman, Tino Rangatiratanga — but then I worried that these three things were all I’d ever remember ever again — and I have brief bursts of familiar excellence (or at least, familiar competence) but it’s frequently an engaged dial tone up there north of my shoulder blades. It could all be worse, and at least my tastebuds returned pretty quickly, but overall I can’t say I recommend the experience! Do what you can to avoid it, and then some!

This ice cream is what I would call a grown-up recipe, given that it’s flavoured with coffee, booze, and fruit — and not even one of the cool, fun fruits like mango — but for what it’s worth I’m also working on a chocolate fudge ripple ice cream recipe that’s significantly more cross-generationally amenable. As for this café brȗlot ice cream, it’s wonderful just on its own with nothing to distract from the complex, unfolding flavours, but it would make an excellent — if slightly obvious — affogato base, and I can tell you it’s also terrific with roasted plums, which pick up the fruity notes in the cognac. You could also serve it with a bitter, dark chocolate ganache with a splash of coffee in it, or — if there’s any left — a little of the same cognac that went into the ice cream.

And if you’re after more caffeinated recipes, you could try my Gingerbread Espresso Martini, my Twin Peaks Ice Cream, or my Incredibly Delicious Mocha Cake.

Café Brûlot Ice Cream

An homage to the New Orleans specialty coffee, this is gloriously shot through with cognac, coffee, orange, and cinnamon — although there’s no fire involved as with the original drink, the flavours are still magnificent. As always, though this looks longwinded it’s very simple — just some stirring, that’s all — and while all my ice creams are no-churn, the splash of alcohol makes this especially friendly, providing a spoonable softness straight from the freezer. Recipe by myself.

• 600ml cream
• 4 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk
• 3 tablespoons instant coffee powder
• 3 tablespoons cognac or brandy
• Zest and juice from 1 orange
• Zest of 1 lemon
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• A tiny pinch of ground cloves — a scant 1/4 teaspoon
• 1/2 cup brown sugar

1: Pour the 600ml cream into a large bowl and whisk briskly (or use electric beaters) until thickened and aerated but not completely whipped — when you drag your whisk through the cream it should leave a trail of lines that just holds its shape. Gently stir in the 4 tablespoons of sweetened condensed milk.

2: In a smaller bowl, mix the 3 tablespoons each of instant coffee powder and cognac (or brandy), the zest and juice of the orange, the lemon zest, the teaspoon of cinnamon, the very small pinch of ground cloves, and the 1/2 cup of brown sugar. Keep stirring until the coffee powder is dissolved and the sugar has also dissolved a little, losing some of its gritty roughness. If, like me, you’re ineluctably drawn to taste the mixture, don’t worry if it tastes a little too intense or unbalanced — the cream will mellow it out. To that end, fold this dark brown paste through the whipped cream, using the whisk to very gently combine everything. Spatula into a freezer-proof container.

3: I like to let my ice creams rest in the fridge for a couple of hours before freezing, you don’t have to but I’m convinced, baselessly, that it improves the taste and texture. Whatever you decide to do, freeze it for at least six hours or better yet, overnight. Serve straight from the freezer.

Makes around 1L.

Notes:

• I don’t see why this wouldn’t work with coconut cream and sweetened condensed coconut milk; I’d use 3 x 400ml tins of coconut cream and chill them thoroughly before whipping.
• Truly, don’t be tempted to replace the coffee powder with a shot of espresso — it needs the concentrated intensity of flavour from the instant stuff.
• Make sure you grate your citrus zest finely — only the merest tendrils should interrupt the ice cream’s otherwise pillowy smoothness.

music lately:

These Memories of You by Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris. The way they burst in with those harmonies that comb through your brain with the power of a thousand detangling conditioners! These harmonies belong to a higher world than ours, I’m glad we got a glimpse of them.

Set it Off by Organized Noize ft Andrea Martin and Queen Latifah. The Set it Off soundtrack was SO huge — and is! — and the title track still manages to stand out with one of the most enviable hooks imaginable and Queen Latifah in finest form.

Black Planet by The Sisters of Mercy, leaving aside the miserably topical lyrics, the way the aptly named Andrew Eldritch crisply enunciates every letter in “black” is incredibly satisfying.