My first batch of homemade frozen yogurt resulted, I recall, from a creative cleaning out of the fridge, which explains the unusual flavor combination: honey-lime-vanilla-goat.
It was also a bribe for my chore-averse children. If they would not only clear the dinner table but fill the dishwasher and put the leftovers away without bickering or stalling, then I would provide dessert. That seemed fair.
Working quickly, I flavored a half carton of goat's-milk yogurt (bought on a whim, never finished) with the aforementioned ingredients and poured them into an ice cream maker. I had no idea what I was doing but figured something cold and sweet would result. My kids aren't picky when it comes to cold and sweet.
What emerged from the ice cream maker was remarkably similar in texture to the soft-serve frozen yogurt at Yoforia or Juicy Green — creamy and thick on the spoon but with a fine, crystalline iciness on the tongue.
The flavor was all its own — tart, elusive, goaty, sweet but not too. Fantastic.
After churning out several batches of honey goat over the next few weeks, I began to branch out, experiment, question the recipe.
Could I add fruit? Yes!
Could I use Greek yogurt? Nonfat yogurt? Yes and yes.
I was onto something, and the kids were all too happy to keep washing dishes in anticipation of the next batch. Me, I was excited to take our ice cream machine out of its virtual mothballs — the island of lost appliances in the cabinet over the range.
Making actual ice cream isn't hard, but it requires a commitment to craft. You have to think in terms of recipes and start with either a cooked custard or a base so rich in butterfat that it stays scoopable after you churn it and then freeze it solid.
In the long run, this never worked for me. I'm more of a "what's for dinner?" kind of cook than a craft kind of cook.
Beyond that, I'm all for fattening treats now and again, but I did have a moment's pause while glugging a quart carton of cream into a bowl for peach ice cream. Did I really want to feed this to my kids?
My frozen yogurt, however, would never be fattier than whole milk and offered the added health benefits of active cultures. It always came out of the machine thick, luscious, perfect at just that moment in time. The leftovers, granted, became hard and dull in the freezer, but we rarely had any excess.
Now we eat frozen yogurt at least twice a week. Peaches, raspberries, strawberries, bananas, coffee and maple syrup have all taken turns as the principal flavoring. It is a forgiving concoction. Reduce the sugar, up the amount of fruit, substitute honey or agave nectar, switch yogurt brands — no biggie.
In fact, the more I played with the recipe, the more we all began to favor versions that highlighted rather than hid the bracing tang of yogurt.
A little fresh yogurt, a little fruit, almost no sugar, a clean table and a purring dishwasher — I can't think of a nicer way to finish dinner.
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