DEBORAH ROSS
he other morning, with the heat being what it was — phew, what a scorcher! I felt just like Elizabeth Taylor in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, minus the looks — I went and bought an ice-cream-maker. I bought the Magimix Gelato Chef 2200 from John Lewis in Brent Cross. I love John Lewis (Brent Cross) and wish to retire there, perhaps in a little granny flat with direct access to the wonderful haberdashery department. OK, I admit I've never haberdashed in my life, but it's nice to know what's available should I ever wish to do so. Anyway, I love John Lewis because, of course, they are Never Knowingly Undersold — unlike the huge faux-antique globes and similarly faux-verdigrised cranes that have been there for ever in their gift department, and which are Never Knowingly Sold, and unlike Harvey Nichols, which is Always Knowingly Undersold, but then that's rather the point of Harvey Nichols, don't you think?
Of course, when I returned home with my Magimix Gelato Chef 2200, which is a modest item, roughly the shape and size of an oceangoing liner, my partner was totally delighted. 'Bloody hell, what do you want an ice-creammaker for?' he asked. 'Because I want to make my own ice-cream, you big thicky.' I said. 'Because I want to be my own Gelato Chef.' -Oh great,' he said. 'Shall I put it in the cellar to gather dust now? That'll save you using it just the once, and then having to put it in the cellar to gather dust. I think it would look nice between the bread-maker and the steamer. On the other hand, I could, I think, squeeze it in between the sandwich-toaster and the topof-the-range juicer. . . . ' Yeah, yeah, right. 'How much was it?' he asked. I meant to lie, as I usually do, but before I could do anything about it, the truth plopped out. 'Two hundred pounds,' I said. At this point, he went for a liedown, although not before tripping over the digital camcorder that I never use (so fiddly!).
The thing was, he just didn't get it. What he utterly failed to understand was (a) it was a special offer; it should have cost £245, so, in effect, I had made £45, and (b) if a 500m1 tub of Ben & Jerry's costs £3.50, then I only have to make about 60 tubs for the Magimix Gelato Chef 2200 to have earned its keep. And to think I was going to make him a partner in my planned ice-cream venture, Deb & Thicky's, which will position itself as an approachable, everyday indulgence while defending a visionary view that lasts right up until we get bought out by a really big, rich, global concern and can stop pretending to be kind old hippies. I have every expectation that our first product in the range, Trish Food, a luxurious concoction made with the roasted and chopped-off toes of the nation's most irritating and pleased-with-herself daytime talk-show host, will be an instant bestseller.
OK. on to ice-cream and the British market, which is now worth £1.25 billion annually, and which has pretty much been sewn up by Unilever. Unilever own Wall's and, as such, own most of the top-selling 'impulse buy' icecreams available: Magnum, the UK's bestseller (110 are sold every minute in the UK alone), then Cometto, then Solero, then Twister. It's also got a huge portion of the take-home market, too, with Carte d'Or and, yes, Ben & Jerry's, which in the premium market now outsells Haagen-Dazs. My point here? Well, wouldn't you prefer to spend your money with a company like Deb & Thicky's than a giant conglomerate that also, as it happens, makes Pot Noodle and Chicken Tonight? I'm on to a winner here, I can see. 'We're on to a winner!' I call out to my partner. He groans rather discouragingly. He's got a cheek, franldy, considering he has Never Knowingly Had a Good Idea in His Life.
Now, the machine itself. Basically, icecream-makers work by gradually freezing the raw ingredients while continually churning them with motorised paddles to prevent ice crystals forming. You can make virtually any flavour you want, with a result that, according to the instruction booklet, 'is wonderfully fresh, cheap and doesn't have any additives or chemicals'. Yippee! And all in 20 to 30 minutes, or so I'm promised. I started with vanilla, everyone's favourite, including my own, but which I can now see was something of a mistake, as it's by far the most complicated and demands a lot of precooking, which is annoying. I had wanted to play with my new gadget straight away. First, you have to heat milk to boiling point — 'BUT DO NOT BOIL., screams the recipe in capitals — so you have to stand over aforementioned milk while it is coming up to
the boil, to make sure it doesn't actually boil. On a day when the temperature reached 95 °F, it wasn't how I'd have chosen to spend the time, and I also believe the finished product might have suffered through having quite a lot of sweat in it. Next? You have to beat together egg yolks and sugar, then you have to beat them into the milk, then you have to heat the mixture again until 'it forms a film on the back of a spoon. Do not let boil or it will separate!' More sodding watching. And then you have to add cream and vanilla essence, and I thought the bottle of essence had a dripper but it didn't, and rather a lot went in — whoosh! — and then you have to wait for the mixture to cool before you can even pour it into the machine, and then, when you do pour it into the machine and turn it on, the noise is not, I have to say, unlike that of an ocean-going liner. The result, though? 'Yuk,' said my son. 'Why is it so runny?' Homemade ice-cream is meant to be soft,' I said. 'Yuk,' said my partner, 'too much vanilla. And why is it so runny?' In the end, I poured it away down the sink. `Byebye, vanilla soup,' said my partner. `Bye-bye, £200.' Yes, I was minded to hit him over the head with my state-of-the-art Bodum castiron wok. But then I remembered it was in the cellar and I couldn't be arsed.
The following day, though, I made a rich strawberry ice-cream with just strawberries, sugar, lemon juice and cream (which required no precooking, hurrah!), and it was a full-blown triumph. Flavoursome, with the natural sweetness of the strawberries coming through brilliantly, and with a wonderful light mousse texture. Personally, I believe it to be the most delicious ice-cream ever. It was much better than even the premiumpremium, free-range, farm-fresh, triply organic brands. It fair melted in the mouth, I'm tempted to say, but then it wouldn't be ice-cream if it didn't, I suppose. Even my partner grudgingly conceded it was not wholly unpleasant. 'Now, how many litres to go before we break even?' I think I will definitely use my Magimix Gelato Chef 2200 regularly, particularly as I'm working on a second flavour for Deb & Thicky's: Chunky Junkie, a dreamy, creamy concoction entangled with a juicy profusion of heroin/coke addicts' freshly crushed legs and mixed with lavish swirls of their smelly dogs' paws. This is not only product innovation at its best but also fits in with our visionary view that people like this should be helped off the street because they look horrible and reduce the price of properties. Toodle-pip!
Magimix: 01483 427411
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