Last week, in the midst of a mud-laden, early winter mountain hike, I got caught in the middle (mentally, anyway) of a debate between two acclaimed health experts. The host — an inarguably handsome ultra-endurance athlete replete with a salt and pepper beard and clear vanity eyeglasses — lives in the hills of California1, where he’s built a plant-based eating empire, an AD-worthy modern home and podcast studio that guests often comment on in pilgrimage-like terms. The guest, a British physician regularly featured on the BBC, was on to promote his new book, promising to help readers Make Change That Lasts in 2025.
The conversation followed familiar wellness industry contours: habit formation, environmental design, listening to our bodies. All of this is well and good. I, like most naturally vulnerable beings, am interested in how to live better, feel better, and look better — all while making the world a better place to live. But really, the most interesting part of the conversation was the bit about ice cream. Of course, they weren’t touting its virtues. With the kind of conviction that comes from someone who hasn't touched dairy in more than a decade, the host argued for what might be called the nuclear option: don't keep ice cream in the house. “When you told the story about the ice cream, I’m thinking — well, just get rid of the ice cream in the freezer. Because all of the things, all of the questions you have to ask if the ice cream’s not there, then it’s not even an option, and you’re forced to sit with your discomfort or discover that healthy habit to ameliorate that stress or emotional dissonance that you’re experiencing.”
The guest took a more nuanced approach, suggesting that the late-night trudge to the freezer for a bowl of Häagen-Dazs might deserve closer examination. In his view, the ice cream isn't really about the ice cream—it's about what we seek when reaching for the spoon. Ice cream isn’t a treat. It’s an opportunity for self-reflection, for understanding our emotional state. Ice cream is an opportunity to get uncomfortable. Having it in the freezer and resisting its pull allows us to live in discomfort, a feeling that our modern society is working so hard to eliminate.
The story of ice cream2 flows through the history of human ingenuity and our eternal quest to stay cool. As far back as 4000 B.C., nobles along the Euphrates River built icehouses, creating frozen sanctuaries against the Mesopotamian heat. From there, the evolution of frozen desserts reads like an ancient trade route: from China, with iced drinks like camphor-scented water buffalo milk over ice, through the Islamic world, and on to Rome, where Nero elevated the humble snow cone by mixing winter snow with honey—essentially creating history's first Italian ice.
The English word "sherbet" is borrowed from Turkish terms for sweetened drinks. By the early 1600s, ice cream and its cousin, water ices, had seduced European palates. King Charles I3 of England was so enamored with the creamy delicacy that he paid his chef to keep the recipe a secret4, only to be served at the royal table. A century later, in 1744, the frozen delicacy made its American debut at a dinner hosted by the first lady of colonial Maryland. The Founding Fathers themselves fell under its spell: George Washington installed a mechanical ice cream maker at Mount Vernon, while Thomas Jefferson—a man who wrote volumes on politics and philosophy—deemed only ten recipes worthy of recording in his own hand. Among them? A French-style vanilla ice cream.
Harkening back to the wellness podcast that thrust me down a rabbit hole of dairy delights: milkshakes began their life as "health drinks." The first printed reference in 1886 described them as "healthful egg-nog type drinks" fortified with whiskey and served as both tonic and treat. By the early 1900s, Walgreens drugstores had transformed these boozy concoctions into something more familiar, incorporating malted milk—a blend of evaporated milk, malted barley, and wheat flour that had been developed as a nutritional supplement for children and differently abled adults. The modern milkshake was born in a pharmacy, prescribed for wellness rather than indulgence.
This isn’t an essay that ends with me telling you to get rid of all the ice cream in your house. I'm not here to announce I’ve acquired some sort of sudden health expertise. Instead, I offer up one wicked-fast ice cream dessert that might, consumed next to a roaring fire, make you forget the frigid wind whipping at your windows.
Which brings me to Penny. Two days before listening to the podcast above, my husband and I ventured into the city for a post-Christmas dinner. For those outside the NYC restaurant obsessive circle, Penny is the kind of place that makes food writers reach for their most lyrical adjectives. Founded by the team behind Claud (deemed in 2022 “one of the most impressive new restaurants that the East Village has seen in years.”), Penny topped many a “Best of 2024” list. It’s a seafood restaurant that feels both carefully considered and effortlessly cool, where every detail seems calibrated for maximum pleasure.
Complemented by the best bottle of wine we’d had all year — Domaine du Gringet La Bergerie Ayze Blanc 2022 — we delighted in a parade of pristine seafood: chilled mussels, oysters, crudo, scallops, and clams. There was fennel-studded seafood sausage, velvety vichyssoise crowned with coral-hued salmon roe, sweet lobster salad, and pillowy sesame brioche served with buttercup-hued salted butter.
Then came dessert. I’m not NOT a dessert person but I’m also not ALWAYS a dessert person. And after such a stunning meal, I’ll admit that I would not have ordered the ice cream sandwich unless I’d read it was a necessary add.
I don’t mind an ice cream sandwich but I harbor a slight fear that the whole thing might fall apart. Like there’s a strong possibility that the holders (ie cookies, cake, bread, chocolate wafers — whatever you use to hold the whole situation together) might snap in half or not get a tight enough grip on the ice cream. There's always that precarious moment where the whole architecture threatens to collapse, leaving you with ice cream-slicked fingers and regret. I don't care how charming it looks on Instagram; I do not care for sticky fingers, not one iota, please and thank you.
The ice cream sandwich at Penny, however, was a revelation. First, they serve it on their magical, pillowy brioche. Second, there is a thin slice of salted butter, which I *think* must help to keep the ice cream from making the bread unappealingly moist. It was perfection, the very definition of comfort. And, thankfully, for those who are reading along — not terribly complicated to re-create at home, providing you’ve got a loaf of halfway decent brioche on hand.
Winter Ice Cream Sandwich, Penny-Style
I used the Earl Grey Tea5 flavor from Van Leeuwen because it felt hip and bougie and like something I’d be excited to order on a fancy dessert menu. Samesies for the Honeycomb flavor, which tastes just as delicious and was the kid-preferred option. I’d be remiss to skip over the fact that one of my daughters politely complimented the concoction and then gently suggested that raspberry jam and chocolate ice cream would be the best version of this treat. She’s probably not wrong. Chef Joshua Pinsky switches up the flavors seasonally.
Let me also say this is a fantastically fast dessert and would be perfect for a dinner party; just have all your ingredients ready to go, and you can bang these out in a matter of minutes while your friends clear the table.
Ingredients
1 - 2 tablespoons orange marmalade
1 scoop (I measured because I have a new scale, and why not do it right if you’re going to do it) Earl Gray or Honeycomb Ice Cream
Salted Butter6
2 slices of pillowy brioche OR Wonder Bread (trust me on this, it works in a pinch and it’s super duper delicious)
Take ice cream out of the freezer 5 - 10 minutes before you are ready to scoop.
Spread orange marmalade evenly on one side of each brioche (or Wonder Bread!) slice.
Cut salted butter into 2-4 generous portions. Place 1-2 portions on top of each of the marmalade-spread sides of the brioche.
Scoop ice cream of choice and place one scoop on top of one piece of brioche.
Place the second slice of brioche, complete with marmalade and butter on top of the ice cream and give a gentle squeeze.
Enjoy!
We Feed People I’m certain I’ve mentioned this doc in the newsletter before but the horrifying LA fires highlight just how critical the work Jose is doing is. To donate to the LA efforts CLICK HERE.
Rental House Weike Wang's latest novel masterfully explores the evolving relationship between college sweethearts Keru and Nate. Through two distinct sections set years apart in different rental homes, Wang delves into how their inherited family dynamics and upbringings create deepening fault lines in their relationship. The novel particularly excels in examining how our relationships with our parents cast long shadows over adult partnerships, even—or perhaps especially—when we try to forge different paths.
Miso Tahini Sauce An oldie but goodie from 101 Cookbooks, I made a batch last weekend for easy lunches all week. Scroll down in link for recipe.
As with the rest of humanity, I am watching the fires in LA with a combination of horror and deep sorrow for those whose communities, homes, schools, community centers, small businesses, places of worship, have been decimated.
It should be noted that Larousse Gastrononmique (2001) says it was the French Chef of Charles I who was paid but several other sources I consulted said claimed was King Charles II who first served vanilla ice cream with strawberries at the royal table and it was he who paid to keep the recipe under wraps.
https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/food-and-drink/features/in-the-lick-of-it-how-ice-cream-became-the-dish-we-know-and-love-2044609.html
I know the link says it’s sold out online but I was able to snag a pint at my local Whole Foods. Same goes for the Honeycomb.
A note on the salted butter: unlike the fancy/basic bread swap, you should use the highest quality salted butter you can find. Isigny Ste Mère Beurre D'Isigny is pretty widely available; I also adore Maison Bordier butter — it’s ridiculously expensive and ridiculously good.
Made the brioche ice-cream sandwiches! A huge hit! Need better brioche - Flour Water Salt?