It's national ice cream day! So here you go...
The salt and ice had been placed in the metal container that was in the center. I poured the chilled mixture into the spout and hubby started turning the crank as I reread the instructions. If this didn't work we would be having fruit for dessert since the cabin is a 45 minutes from the nearest store and we sure weren't driving out for more supplies. Eight to ten minutes of cranking required to make soft serve delicious treat! I could see the metal ice container getting frosty. The milk, sugar, vanilla mixture was churning. I probably shouldn't have been so excited but you have to understand that hubby and I can't usually make something like this work. We would have either read the recipe wrong or put the doo hickey together wrong. But it was actually working and I was thrilled! I volunteered to take over the cranking for awhile. It turned kind of hard but I was determined. Hubby held the ice cream maker since while the cranking was going on it caused a little wobble. Suddenly while I'm cranking along I see the milk mixture pouring out of the maker, it's like I can't believe my eyes. I'm cranking while the ice cream maker is getting emptier and emptier! Soon there was spilt milk all over the kitchen table, dripping onto the floor. Ever have that moment when you've got all sorts of reasons to have a meltdown but it has nothing to do with a stupid ice cream maker but the idea of no ice cream is what puts you over the edge? Ok well maybe you had to be there. I suddenly bolt out to the deck, throwing myself against the rail. Sobs are coming out of my throat so loud that for all along the river canyon other weekenders can hear the crying carried by the evening breeze. I can hardly believe that there must have been something faulty about the contraption. No, hubby trying to console me says he mistakenly jiggled the lever that is used to open the bottom when you are ready to get the soft serve ice cream. I can't stop sobbing but I'm pretty sure it's not about the spilt milk or that I have to eat fruit for dessert or that now there's a mess all over the kitchen. I'm sobbing that I miss my sailor kid and have spent the weekend reminiscing about our fun times while he was a cute little guy and that I don't know when he and his new little family can join us from 3000 miles away for future visits. I did finally recover after a solitary walk down the road throwing some sticks and kicking some rocks, found some daisies to pick. And knew I wasn't going back to that mess, I didn't make it so it wasn't going to be me cleaning it up. Hubby comes and drives me back, the kitchen sparkles and we have our last night at the family cabin.
So now you have the story of spilt milk. And you also now know how to not make ice cream.