Interesting. I thought. Panforte. I’m intrigued. A friend who was coming over is a first-generation Italian and I thought this would suite my guests perfectly.
However, I was faced with a slight dilemma. Panforte is the Italian version of a fruit cake. And fruit cakes are scary enough in their true form.
This mystery cake haunts many-a-holiday-celebration. Guests turn up their noses in disgust as they scornfully look down at the brick-like cake. Nauseating bits of candied fruit create a craggly landscape atop the dense spice cake, and, if you’re really unlucky, your gracious host would have thrown in a handful of nuts. A question that will always be the subject of trivia at any party: “If the cake is soaked in alcohol, why is it always so dry?” And, in my opinion, no cake should have a shelf-life that could span years.
That is the scariest thought of all.
Fruitcake should be served on Halloween. Want to scare away all of the pesky trick-or-treaters who happily traipse up and down the street as they ring your doorbell and greet you with a melodious “Trick or Treat”? Open the door slowly and hand them each a piece of last year’s fruit cake.
Boo!
However, I do love the deep and fragrant notes of cloves, cinnamon, and freshly grated nutmeg and longed to try them in ice cream form. However, I was a little bit thrown off at the not-so-excited reaction of my Italian friend.
“What are you making for dessert?” he asked.
“Panforte Ice Cream.” I said, nervously.
Silence.
“Have you ever had panforte?” I asked, stupidly.
“Yeahhhh.” He said, timidly. I was unnerved by the way he drew out the word. I convinced myself he was going to hate it. “But never as ice cream.”
Wonderful scents of wafted through the air as the warmed spices infused into the half-and-half and only became more fragrant when mixed with the eggs and thickened into creamy custard, leaving me longing for crisp, fall air in the suffocating heat of July. I became even more eager to try the ice cream as I mixed the custard with the final bits of heavy cream and watched as a steady stream of amber honey created ribbons throughout the custard.
After what seemed like hours (it was really only 30 minutes), I churned the ice cream and added chunks of Ghirardelli chocolate and sliced toasted almonds.
But chocolate is not in fruitcake, you say? Nope. But chocolate makes everything better.
But there are no candied fruits in this, you say? Damn right there are no candied fruits. I don’t want that stuff messing up my ice cream.
I ran through an arsenal of spoons as I tasted the ice cream at various stages of churning. And when I say various stages, I mean every 2 minutes.
Oh, it must be colder. Let me taste.
SO GOOD.
Oh, it looks thicker. I must try it.
SO GOOD.
Nope. Not thicker. Need to eat it again.
SO GOOD.
Finally, the ice cream was ready. After a bit of time in the freezer (about 20 minutes, nowhere near long enough for the ice cream to set), my guests requested the ice cream
“Ok, but it’s not done.” I explained.
I don’t even think they heard me. Everyone grabbed a spoon and plunged it into the somewhat melted ice cream.
“Wow that is SO good.” Someone yelled in between bites.
“This is incredible.” Someone else said.
“It tastes like a cannoli! I want the whole thing!”
I was relieved. I have overcome the curse of the fruitcake. The solution: Don’t add fruit and turn it into ice cream.
Panforte Ice Cream adapted from David Lebovitz's Perfect Scoop
1 cup half and half
⅔ cup sugar
1 cinnamon stick, broken in half
¼ tsp ground cloves
¼ tsp freshly grated nutmeg
2 cups heavy cream
4 large egg yolks
3 Tbsp honey
8 oz. premium dark chocolate, chopped
2 tbsp rum
½ cup almonds, toasted and coarsely chopped
Warm the half-and-half, sugar, and spices in a medium saucepan. Cover, remove from heat, and let steep for 30 minutes at room temperature.
Rewarm the spice-infused mixture. Pour the cream into a large bowl and set a mesh strainer over top. In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour the warmed mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly, then scrape the mixture back into the saucepan.
Stir the mixture constantly over medium-low to medium heat with a spatula, scraping the bottom as you stir, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. Don’t rush this step, it may take 10 minutes or so. If you hurry it along, you may be having a little breakfast (scrambled eggs) with your ice cream. Pour the custard through the strainer into the cream. Discard the cinnamon stick. Stir the custard until cool over an ice bath. While it’s cooling, warm the honey in a small saucepan, then stir it into the custard.
Chill the mixture throughly in the refrigerator. Even though you’re about to pour it into your frozen ice cream maker, the chilling step is actually very important for the final texture. Give it at least a few hours in the fridge. When cold, freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. During the last few minutes of churning, add the citrus peel and almonds.