Pumpkin Bourbon Ice Cream with Ginger Sandwich Cookies

Sometimes you just need a distraction. Or a new job. Or a pickleback and a bunch of bar snacks. Or maybe you’re feeling kitchen-freaky, like you didn’t expend enough energy on Thanksgiving and you desperately need to make something totally easy yet time-consuming in order to reset your maniacal, holiday-plotting ways. Got it; I can help with that last one. These li’l ice cream sandwiches were on my desserts shortlist for last week, but the burden of transporting a frozen ice cream canister in a packed car to Pittsburgh was such that I opted for a full pie arsenal instead. No matter. These sandwiches still have their place. They're a killer way to put pumpkin in its best and proper light—that is, with booze and lightly spiced.

This is the first Thanksgiving that I can think of where there was no pumpkin pie, which was definitely fine with me. The stuff has never been my favorite, playing umpteenth fiddle to whatever else is on the table, which this year was a veritable smorgasbord of delicious weirdo pies, but I do like pumpkin all the same. And I can’t resist how nice it feels to be baking and making with pumpkin in the fall—it’s ceremonial in a way. So give it a shot if you’ve got the means to make this ice cream. It’s subtle and creamy and a lovely way to pay homage to the last licks of autumn.

Pumpkin-Bourbon Ice Cream

Adapted from Karen DeMasco with logistical help from David Lebovitz

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1 cup heavy cream

1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 cinnamon stick

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

5 large egg yolks

1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

2 to 3 tablespoons bourbon, or to taste

3/4 cup canned pumpkin puree (not pie filling)

1.  Make an ice bath by putting some ice and a little water in a large bowl and nesting a smaller bowl with capacity for two liters inside it. Set a mesh strainer over the top.

2.  In a medium saucepan, mix the milk, cream, sugar, ginger, cinnamon, cinnamon stick, nutmeg, and salt. Warm the mixture on low heat until the edges begin to foam.

3.  Whisk the egg yolks in a separate medium bowl. Whisking continuously, slowly pour about half of the milk mixture in a slow, steady stream into the egg yolks. Pour the yolks mixture back into the saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring the whole time and scraping the bottom of the pan with a rubber spatula to ensure nothing sticks. Continue cooking until mixture thickens enough to coat the spatula, between 160 and 170 degrees F if you're using a thermometer (but looks alone are good enough to judge!).

4.  Quickly pour the mixture through the strainer into the bowl that's settled in the ice bath. Discard the cinnamon stick. Mix in the brown sugar, stir for a bit to cool, cover with plastic, and refrigerate until well chilled, preferably overnight.

5.  When chilled, whisk in the vanilla, bourbon, and pumpkin puree. Taste, add more bourbon if you like, then strain the whole thing in a fine mesh strainer one more time to ensure that grainy pumpkin doesn't make it into the ice cream. Freeze in your ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. If storing in the freezer, place plastic wrap directly on top to prevent the formation of ice crystals. The liquor helps this ice cream stay creamier than most would, so ours has stuck around for three weeks and still tastes as smooth as it did on day one.

Ginger Sandwich Cookies

Follow this recipe, which has had a starring role in this kitchen since 2009.

I actually omitted the crystallized ginger this time around and increased the freshly grated ginger to a full three teaspoons to compensate. It was delicious!! 

1.  Once the cookies are cool, scoop 1/4 cup of pumpkin ice cream onto the back of one, sandwich it with another, and allow to firm up in the freezer for about 20 minutes. If storing longer than that, wrap in plastic wrap.

Four and Twenty Pies: Pumped for Thanksgiving

Original little sister output at Orphans Thanksgiving, 2008

This Slate article speaks many an awesome thing to writing your own Thanksgiving traditions. It's written by an author whose mother makes pies in a quantity of more than one pie per person. Experimental pies like pomegranate, Depression-era pies like vinegar, Thanksgiving classics that seem less popular, and family favorites like mocha crunch fill her tables (and overflow onto bookshelves), leading her kid to proudly declare the tradition a "grotesque" and "demented" extravaganza.

Tip of the iceberg, Kickasserole 2011

Her excessive baking is definitely something that I admire and aspire to, but it's the author's reverent yet light-hearted treatment of the Plotz family tradition that really gets me. I mentioned it in a previous Thanksgiving post, but the holiday has become one of my favorites since I started celebrating my own way. Currently Thanksgiving week involves an outrageous pre-Thanksgiving vegetarian smorgasbord in DC called Kickasserole and an abundant meat- and booze-filled "Orphans Thanksgiving" with my sister in Pittsburgh. Both days defy what could be considered a reasonable amount of food, although we've yet to hit the Plotz family's 20-pie stride.  

One of three obliterated pie shelves from this year's Kickasserole

Tomorrow's Orphans Thanksgiving dessert menu consists of six pies and tarts, some of which have been featured on this blog before: quince and biscuit pie, pecan frangipane with cranberry, four nuts caramel, lemon meringue, pear hazelnut crumb, and maple buttermilk. The extravagance is sure to be major and the hangovers total, and I totally can't effing wait; full-tilt friends and food and the promise of coming back next year is the best part about my Thanksgiving celebrations.

Simple Apple Tart (For Your Thanksgiving Consideration)

It's officially getting down to the second most wonderful time of the year. As a young'n I sort of dreaded Thanksgiving: it was soccer tournaments in Vegas, college midterms, and too much turkey as my family came to terms with my now defunct vegetarianism. The holiday never really connoted family either; Fourth of July and Christmas did that and they still do. So three Thanksgivings ago I spread my little wings and went to Pittsburgh to be with my sister and the other "orphans" who couldn't or wouldn't make it home to carve turkeys and eat sweet potato casserole with 'mallows. That year was one of the finest Thanksgivings I've yet to experience, as I buckled down to make six pies while my sister roasted a turkey and made Brussels sprouts so buttery that they could stop your heart (and nearly did two years later, but everyone is fine). It ended with me and two pals breaking into a high-society party, downing a lot of Grey Goose, and ultimately punching each other in the face -- perfect.

And now I love Thanksgiving. It's not that I really hated going home or didn't appreciate the fantastic spread that my mom and dad put together every year, it's just that I've loved writing my own traditions with my sister and our friends. Thanksgiving season is now a two-fold celebration: the first is Kickasserole, our now annual pre-Thanksgiving for friends in DC on the Saturday before folks head for home. Last year saw 45 people arrive with everything from vegan apple pie doughnuts to seitan steaks to the absolutely most decadent macaroni and cheese you'd ever hope to meet. This year we've invited twice as many people, and our community Google doc is showing freeze-distilled applejack, beer soup (vegan!), sweet potato gratin, pumpkin-bourbon ice cream, and my first home brew -- a little IPA that's chugging away under the sink right now. And three days later I'll head out to Pittsburgh for the best of all Thanksgiving celebrations with friends, football, a keg, Gooskis, and a round of Celebrity that I excitedly await every single year.

All that to say that as you're preparing for your own Thanksgiving celebrations and writing your own traditions, think about bringing something ever so slightly new to share! Pumpkin pie ain't for everyone, and it really truly ain't for me, so it's recipes like this apple tart that are what I'm looking for this time of year. It's simple as all hell to make, comes together in no time once you have the crust prepared, and it's light and a little sweet -- a super good finish to a heavy, boozy, sports- and friends-filled meal.

Simple Apple Tart
Adapted from Alice Waters

Crust
Recipe for one crust, any kind you like. I used the second rye pie dough left over from this recipe, but there is also this rye crust and this all-butter pastry, both of which are excellent options. Alice Waters's original recipe calls for an all-butter pastry, but rye is so sweet and nice -- give it a shot if you're able.

Filling + Glaze
2 pounds tart, firm apple, any variety; peeled, cored, and cut into quarter-inch slices (save the peels and cores!)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
5 tablespoons granulated sugar + 1/2 cup granulated sugar for glaze

1.  Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out your chilled dough into a 14-inch circle. Gently place into a 9-inch tart pan, or, if making a free-form galette, transfer round to the back of a cookie sheet lined with parchment.

2. Tightly overlap apples all the way to edges if using a pan, or with a two-inch border of crust if making a galette. The size of your apple slices will determine your apple placement. My slices were fairly large so concentric circles weren't possible. I did two simple rows down the middle, then filled in the sides with slices that were cut in half. Fold dough over apples and pleat at intervals.

3.  Brush melted butter all over apples and dough, and sprinkle dough with two tablespoons sugar. Sprinkle remaining three tablespoons of sugar over the apples themselves. Bake in center of oven until apples are soft with dark edges and crust has turned deep golden brown. Rotate every 15 minutes to prevent burning; tart will take about 45 minutes to an hour to bake.

4. Meanwhile make the glaze. Put all of your apple cores and peels and the remaining half-cup of sugar in a pot, add just enough water to cover, and simmer for 30 minutes. Strain syrup. When tart is finished, remove to a cooling rack for at least 15 minutes, then brush the tart with apple glaze and serve.