Booze + Ice Cream = Summer Perfection: How To Make It Work
Let's be honest: it's hot. Not 'I'll just crack a window' hot—melt-your-face, question-your-life-choices, stick-to-your-chair hot. The kind of heat where even your iced coffee sweats. The kind where you stop caring what the neighbors think and walk around the house holding a frozen bag of peas to your neck. And while popsicles are cute and all, you deserve better. You deserve something cold, creamy, and—let's be real—just a little bit alcoholic.
Enter boozy ice cream.
Yes, it's a real thing. No, you don't need a culinary degree or a $500 ice cream maker to pull it off. In fact, making alcohol-infused ice cream at home is easier than you think, and it might just be the ultimate adult antidote to summer's relentless assault. It's dessert, it's a drink, it's an excuse to invite your friends over and pretend you're hosting a fancy 'tasting' instead of just trying to survive July.
But before you go dumping tequila into your vanilla base like it's Cinco de Mayo in a blender, there are some things you need to know. Because while booze and ice cream can be best friends, they don't always play nicely if the ratios are off. Too much alcohol and your dreamy dessert turns into a sad, semi-frozen slush. Too little and, well… what's the point?
Let's talk about how to strike that perfect balance—one scoop at a time.
Wait… Can You Really Put Alcohol in Ice Cream?
pink strawberry ice cream ball in a spoon, top view
Yes, you can! And you should. Alcohol doesn't just add flavor; it also softens the texture, giving ice cream that luscious scoopability. But here's the catch: too much alcohol and your ice cream won't freeze properly. You'll end up with boozy slush, which may be great for daiquiris but not for dessert.
The key is balance. Alcohol lowers the freezing point of your base, so you have to use it sparingly—or get clever about how you add it.
The Golden Ratio: How Much Alcohol Is Too Much?
Delicious strawberry ice cream in a bowl.
Generally, you don't want more than 1 to 2 ounces of high-proof liquor per quart of ice cream base. This keeps your dessert from turning into soup while still packing in flavor. Lower-proof liqueurs (like Baileys or coffee liqueur) give you a bit more wiggle room, but even those need a light touch.
If you're infusing with something potent like whiskey, rum, or gin, go for bold flavors that complement your base: think brown butter bourbon, dark chocolate rum, or gin and lemon zest.
A custard-style base (aka French-style ice cream) made with egg yolks tends to hold up best to alcohol. The extra fat and emulsification from the eggs help stabilize everything, making it easier to work with.
Not into eggs? No problem. You can use a Philadelphia-style base (no eggs, just cream and sugar), but you may need to be extra cautious with your pour.
How to Add the Booze
Portrait of beautiful asian woman eating ice cream on the street. Emotional hipster wearing casual ... More clothing holding tasty summer dessert looking away outdoors. Food festival
Timing matters. Add your alcohol after the base is cooked and cooled but before churning. Stir it in gently and evenly so it distributes well.
If you're using mix-ins like chocolate chips, cookie chunks, or caramel swirls, wait until the last few minutes of churning to add them. Just be warned: high-proof mix-ins (like brandy-soaked cherries) will further soften your final product, so measure with care.
Boozy Ice Cream Tips
Top view of seamless background of assorted scoops of ice cream arranged in lines on blue table
Ice Cream Cocktails - Yes, They're a Thing
Affogato coffee with ice cream on a martini glass.
If you're not quite ready to make a pint of boozy ice cream you can still bring a little ice cream onto your cocktail game.
Cocktails with ice cream are a decadent, grown-up way to cool off and indulge at the same time. Think of them as dessert with a kick: creamy, cold, and spiked just enough to make things interesting. Classic combos like a bourbon vanilla milkshake or a coffee liqueur affogato are just the beginning.
You can blend mezcal with chocolate ice cream for a smoky twist, or pour a shot of amaretto over cherry gelato for a rich, spoonable nightcap. The key is balancing sweetness and booze so the drink doesn't taste like something you'd serve at a kid's birthday party—unless the parents need it more.
Here are a few worth trying:
Mash and Mallow Affogato
Ingredients:
Directions:
Spread out the crushed graham crackers on a small, shallow plate. Lightly moisten the rim of your clear glass cup (use water, honey, or a bit of Mash & Mallow). Dip the moistened rim into the graham cracker crumble, ensuring an even coating. Set the glass aside. Place two large scoops of Cinnamon Roll Ice Cream into the prepared glass. Pour Mash & Mallow over the ice cream. Brew a fresh shot of espresso and immediately pour it over the ice cream and Mash & Mallow mixture. The hot espresso will slightly melt the ice cream, creating a rich and creamy blend.
Skrewball Mudslide
Ingredients:
Directions:
Pour all ingredients into a blender. Blend and pour into a glass drizzled with chocolate syrup
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Hamilton Spectator
6 hours ago
- Hamilton Spectator
Generations of Germans believe Frederick the Great brought potatoes to Germany. It's a myth
POTSDAM, Germany (AP) — Generations of Germans believe Frederick the Great brought the beloved potato to Germany. The legend is this: King Frederick II of Prussia wanted his subjects to eat potatoes, introduced to Europe in the 16th century from South America. But the people of Prussia, which later became part of a united Germany , wouldn't touch the tuber. So the 18th-century monarch resorted to trickery. He placed royal guards and soldiers along the edge of his palace garden — thus creating the illusion that potatoes were a rare and valuable crop reserved for the royal family and its aristocratic friends. But the guards withdrew from their posts each night, creating an opportunity for enterprising locals to sneak in and 'steal' the spuds. Thus began Germany's love affair with the humble Kartoffel and Frederick's rebranding as Der Kartoffelkönig, the potato king. Except it's all fake. Bogus. Phony. Falsch! as the Germans would say. And debunking it is a royal pain for Jürgen Luh, historian of the Prussian Palaces and Gardens Foundation, even when history has receipts. Archives of royal menus show the king instead had a penchant for Italian food and French wine. 'He never ate it,' Luh said. 'Any potato. Not boiled, not fried.' The unexciting truth is that the potato has been cultivated in Germany's Bavarian region since 1647, Luh said. Frederick's great-grandfather, Elector Frederick William, introduced it to the Brandenburg area of Prussia in the 1650s, but only because he liked the aesthetics of the plant's leafy greens. By the time Frederick the Great took the throne in 1740, the potato was grown in gardens throughout Prussia but not on a large scale. The king did actually issue royal decrees promoting the farming and production of potatoes, but his people ignored them. Potatoes did not become widespread in Prussia, in central and eastern Europe, until after the Napoleonic wars ended in 1815, after Frederick II's death in 1786. The guarded garden story, Luh said, is nonsense. And Frederick was more of a wannabe potato king than an actual one. But the fable has deep roots, and the myth makes money. To this day, visitors to Frederick's summer home of Sanssouci Palace in Potsdam , outside Berlin, leave raw potatoes and paper crowns on the king's grave. The palace's gift shops sell potato merchandise, from postcards and children's books to a 35-euro ($40) apron proclaiming the wearer as a Kartoffelkönig. Luh used to correct tour guides and visitors to the palace, but he's largely given up. Besides, he said, at least it means people are coming to Sanssouci and experiencing its rich history. 'The fact is that the legend has beaten the truth and the legend is just too beautiful,' he added. Whatever its roots, the potato is undeniably part of the German cultural identity . At Biohof Schöneiche, an organic farm outside Berlin, workers will harvest roughly 2,500 metric tons (5.5 million pounds) of potatoes come the annual September harvest. 'In most parts of the world, potatoes are considered a vegetable. In Germany it's a staple food,' general manager Axel Boehme said. 'People cannot imagine to have a meal without potatoes.' Regional recipes, passed down from every Oma (grandmother) to each new generation, debate the merits of a vinegar- or mayo-based Kartoffelsalat. From boiled (Salzkartoffeln) or pan-fried (Bratkartoffeln) to dumplings and pancakes (Kartoffelklösse and Kartoffelpuffer), the versatile vegetable is intertwined with the country's emotional heritage. For Anke Schoenfelder, project manager for German potato marking company Kartoffel-Marketing GmbH, her favorite tuber tradition is rooted in making Kartoffel-Karotten-Gugelhupf (potato and carrot Bundt cake) for family gatherings. 'Taste is memory, right? And when this is related to your family, this is even more part of your identity,' she said. Plus, Schoenfelder added, the potato can be used as a beauty product — the juice can be good for your skin, she says — or a household cleaner, for stubborn stains on the bottom of your oven. For now, Der Kartoffelkönig's legend lives on. As Luh was speaking to The Associated Press in front of the king's grave, two tourists placed their offerings of potatoes on the tomb. One even took a selfie as she did so. 'I always think I should go here in the evening when I have no potatoes at home,' the historian joked. 'I could take them away and have a good meal afterwards.' __ Kartoffel-Karotten-Gugelhupf (potato and carrot Bundt cake) From Kartoffel-Marketing GmbH , a German potato marking company. In true European fashion, the measurements provided refer to weight, not volume. You will need a 10-cup Bundt pan. Time: 90 minutes Serves: 12 Ingredients 9 oz (250g) high-starch potatoes (such as Russets and Maris Pipers) 9 oz (250g) carrots 1.7 fluid ounces (50 mL) carrot juice 1.7 fluid ounces (50 mL) sunflower oil 4 eggs (medium-size, room temperature) 7 oz (200g) sugar 1 packet vanilla sugar 4.5 oz (125g) almonds, ground 4.5 oz (125g) flour melted butter to grease the mold 2 tablespoons breadcrumbs Directions Wash the potatoes and boil them in salted water for about 20 to 25 minutes, until tender. Let them cool slightly, peel them, and then press them through a potato ricer into a bowl. Wash and peel the carrots and grate them finely with the potatoes, using a vegetable grater or a mandolin. Generously grease the Bundt pan with oil or butter. Coat the pan with some breadcrumbs. Preheat oven to 392°F (200°C) on the fan setting. Add carrot juice, sunflower oil, eggs, vanilla sugar, sugar, flour, baking powder and ground almonds to the mashed potatoes and grated carrots and mix with a hand mixer for about four minutes until a dough forms. Pour the potato-carrot cake batter into the prepared Bundt pan. Place the pan in the oven and bake for about 50 minutes until cooked through (if necessary, cover the pan with aluminum foil after half an hour to prevent the cake from burning). Let the cake cool completely (you can also do this on a balcony or terrace) before decorating it with icing. This is important, because otherwise the icing will seep into the cake. In a bowl, combine the powdered sugar and a little lemon juice until thickened. Pour the icing over the cooled cake and decorate with your preferred toppings like chocolate chips, for example. Let it rest a bit to allow the icing to set. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
The Hill
6 hours ago
- The Hill
Generations of Germans believe Frederick the Great brought potatoes to Germany. It's a myth
POTSDAM, Germany (AP) — Generations of Germans believe Frederick the Great brought the beloved potato to Germany. The legend is this: King Frederick II of Prussia wanted his subjects to eat potatoes, introduced to Europe in the 16th century from South America. But the people of Prussia, which later became part of a united Germany, wouldn't touch the tuber. So the 18th-century monarch resorted to trickery. He placed royal guards and soldiers along the edge of his palace garden — thus creating the illusion that potatoes were a rare and valuable crop reserved for the royal family and its aristocratic friends. But the guards withdrew from their posts each night, creating an opportunity for enterprising locals to sneak in and 'steal' the spuds. Thus began Germany's love affair with the humble Kartoffel and Frederick's rebranding as Der Kartoffelkönig, the potato king. Except it's all fake. Bogus. Phony. Falsch! as the Germans would say. And debunking it is a royal pain for Jürgen Luh, historian of the Prussian Palaces and Gardens Foundation, even when history has receipts. Archives of royal menus show the king instead had a penchant for Italian food and French wine. 'He never ate it,' Luh said. 'Any potato. Not boiled, not fried.' The unexciting truth is that the potato has been cultivated in Germany's Bavarian region since 1647, Luh said. Frederick's great-grandfather, Elector Frederick William, introduced it to the Brandenburg area of Prussia in the 1650s, but only because he liked the aesthetics of the plant's leafy greens. By the time Frederick the Great took the throne in 1740, the potato was grown in gardens throughout Prussia but not on a large scale. The king did actually issue royal decrees promoting the farming and production of potatoes, but his people ignored them. Potatoes did not become widespread in Prussia, in central and eastern Europe, until after the Napoleonic wars ended in 1815, after Frederick II's death in 1786. The guarded garden story, Luh said, is nonsense. And Frederick was more of a wannabe potato king than an actual one. But the fable has deep roots, and the myth makes money. To this day, visitors to Frederick's summer home of Sanssouci Palace in Potsdam, outside Berlin, leave raw potatoes and paper crowns on the king's grave. The palace's gift shops sell potato merchandise, from postcards and children's books to a 35-euro ($40) apron proclaiming the wearer as a Kartoffelkönig. Luh used to correct tour guides and visitors to the palace, but he's largely given up. Besides, he said, at least it means people are coming to Sanssouci and experiencing its rich history. 'The fact is that the legend has beaten the truth and the legend is just too beautiful,' he added. Whatever its roots, the potato is undeniably part of the German cultural identity. At Biohof Schöneiche, an organic farm outside Berlin, workers will harvest roughly 2,500 metric tons (5.5 million pounds) of potatoes come the annual September harvest. 'In most parts of the world, potatoes are considered a vegetable. In Germany it's a staple food,' general manager Axel Boehme said. 'People cannot imagine to have a meal without potatoes.' Regional recipes, passed down from every Oma (grandmother) to each new generation, debate the merits of a vinegar- or mayo-based Kartoffelsalat. From boiled (Salzkartoffeln) or pan-fried (Bratkartoffeln) to dumplings and pancakes (Kartoffelklösse and Kartoffelpuffer), the versatile vegetable is intertwined with the country's emotional heritage. For Anke Schoenfelder, project manager for German potato marking company Kartoffel-Marketing GmbH, her favorite tuber tradition is rooted in making Kartoffel-Karotten-Gugelhupf (potato and carrot Bundt cake) for family gatherings. 'Taste is memory, right? And when this is related to your family, this is even more part of your identity,' she said. Plus, Schoenfelder added, the potato can be used as a beauty product — the juice can be good for your skin, she says — or a household cleaner, for stubborn stains on the bottom of your oven. For now, Der Kartoffelkönig's legend lives on. As Luh was speaking to The Associated Press in front of the king's grave, two tourists placed their offerings of potatoes on the tomb. One even took a selfie as she did so. 'I always think I should go here in the evening when I have no potatoes at home,' the historian joked. 'I could take them away and have a good meal afterwards.' __ From Kartoffel-Marketing GmbH, a German potato marking company. In true European fashion, the measurements provided refer to weight, not volume. You will need a 10-cup Bundt pan. Time: 90 minutes Serves: 12 9 oz (250g) high-starch potatoes (such as Russets and Maris Pipers) 9 oz (250g) carrots 1.7 fluid ounces (50 mL) carrot juice 1.7 fluid ounces (50 mL) sunflower oil 4 eggs (medium-size, room temperature) 7 oz (200g) sugar 1 packet vanilla sugar 4.5 oz (125g) almonds, ground 4.5 oz (125g) flour melted butter to grease the mold 2 tablespoons breadcrumbs Wash the potatoes and boil them in salted water for about 20 to 25 minutes, until tender. Let them cool slightly, peel them, and then press them through a potato ricer into a bowl. Wash and peel the carrots and grate them finely with the potatoes, using a vegetable grater or a mandolin. Generously grease the Bundt pan with oil or butter. Coat the pan with some breadcrumbs. Preheat oven to 392°F (200°C) on the fan setting. Add carrot juice, sunflower oil, eggs, vanilla sugar, sugar, flour, baking powder and ground almonds to the mashed potatoes and grated carrots and mix with a hand mixer for about four minutes until a dough forms. Pour the potato-carrot cake batter into the prepared Bundt pan. Place the pan in the oven and bake for about 50 minutes until cooked through (if necessary, cover the pan with aluminum foil after half an hour to prevent the cake from burning). Let the cake cool completely (you can also do this on a balcony or terrace) before decorating it with icing. This is important, because otherwise the icing will seep into the cake. In a bowl, combine the powdered sugar and a little lemon juice until thickened. Pour the icing over the cooled cake and decorate with your preferred toppings like chocolate chips, for example. Let it rest a bit to allow the icing to set.
San Francisco Chronicle
6 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Generations of Germans believe Frederick the Great brought potatoes to Germany. It's a myth
POTSDAM, Germany (AP) — Generations of Germans believe Frederick the Great brought the beloved potato to Germany. The legend is this: King Frederick II of Prussia wanted his subjects to eat potatoes, introduced to Europe in the 16th century from South America. But the people of Prussia, which later became part of a united Germany, wouldn't touch the tuber. So the 18th-century monarch resorted to trickery. He placed royal guards and soldiers along the edge of his palace garden — thus creating the illusion that potatoes were a rare and valuable crop reserved for the royal family and its aristocratic friends. But the guards withdrew from their posts each night, creating an opportunity for enterprising locals to sneak in and 'steal' the spuds. Thus began Germany's love affair with the humble Kartoffel and Frederick's rebranding as Der Kartoffelkönig, the potato king. Except it's all fake. Bogus. Phony. Falsch! as the Germans would say. And debunking it is a royal pain for Jürgen Luh, historian of the Prussian Palaces and Gardens Foundation, even when history has receipts. Archives of royal menus show the king instead had a penchant for Italian food and French wine. 'He never ate it,' Luh said. 'Any potato. Not boiled, not fried.' The unexciting truth is that the potato has been cultivated in Germany's Bavarian region since 1647, Luh said. Frederick's great-grandfather, Elector Frederick William, introduced it to the Brandenburg area of Prussia in the 1650s, but only because he liked the aesthetics of the plant's leafy greens. By the time Frederick the Great took the throne in 1740, the potato was grown in gardens throughout Prussia but not on a large scale. The king did actually issue royal decrees promoting the farming and production of potatoes, but his people ignored them. Potatoes did not become widespread in Prussia, in central and eastern Europe, until after the Napoleonic wars ended in 1815, after Frederick II's death in 1786. The guarded garden story, Luh said, is nonsense. And Frederick was more of a wannabe potato king than an actual one. But the fable has deep roots, and the myth makes money. To this day, visitors to Frederick's summer home of Sanssouci Palace in Potsdam, outside Berlin, leave raw potatoes and paper crowns on the king's grave. The palace's gift shops sell potato merchandise, from postcards and children's books to a 35-euro ($40) apron proclaiming the wearer as a Kartoffelkönig. Luh used to correct tour guides and visitors to the palace, but he's largely given up. Besides, he said, at least it means people are coming to Sanssouci and experiencing its rich history. 'The fact is that the legend has beaten the truth and the legend is just too beautiful,' he added. Whatever its roots, the potato is undeniably part of the German cultural identity. At Biohof Schöneiche, an organic farm outside Berlin, workers will harvest roughly 2,500 metric tons (5.5 million pounds) of potatoes come the annual September harvest. 'In most parts of the world, potatoes are considered a vegetable. In Germany it's a staple food,' general manager Axel Boehme said. 'People cannot imagine to have a meal without potatoes.' Regional recipes, passed down from every Oma (grandmother) to each new generation, debate the merits of a vinegar- or mayo-based Kartoffelsalat. From boiled (Salzkartoffeln) or pan-fried (Bratkartoffeln) to dumplings and pancakes (Kartoffelklösse and Kartoffelpuffer), the versatile vegetable is intertwined with the country's emotional heritage. For Anke Schoenfelder, project manager for German potato marking company Kartoffel-Marketing GmbH, her favorite tuber tradition is rooted in making Kartoffel-Karotten-Gugelhupf (potato and carrot Bundt cake) for family gatherings. 'Taste is memory, right? And when this is related to your family, this is even more part of your identity,' she said. Plus, Schoenfelder added, the potato can be used as a beauty product — the juice can be good for your skin, she says — or a household cleaner, for stubborn stains on the bottom of your oven. For now, Der Kartoffelkönig's legend lives on. As Luh was speaking to The Associated Press in front of the king's grave, two tourists placed their offerings of potatoes on the tomb. One even took a selfie as she did so. 'I always think I should go here in the evening when I have no potatoes at home,' the historian joked. 'I could take them away and have a good meal afterwards.' __ Kartoffel-Karotten-Gugelhupf (potato and carrot Bundt cake) From Kartoffel-Marketing GmbH, a German potato marking company. In true European fashion, the measurements provided refer to weight, not volume. You will need a 10-cup Bundt pan. Time: 90 minutes Serves: 12 Ingredients 9 oz (250g) high-starch potatoes (such as Russets and Maris Pipers) 9 oz (250g) carrots 1.7 fluid ounces (50 mL) carrot juice 1.7 fluid ounces (50 mL) sunflower oil 4 eggs (medium-size, room temperature) 7 oz (200g) sugar 1 packet vanilla sugar 4.5 oz (125g) almonds, ground 4.5 oz (125g) flour melted butter to grease the mold 2 tablespoons breadcrumbs Directions Wash the potatoes and boil them in salted water for about 20 to 25 minutes, until tender. Let them cool slightly, peel them, and then press them through a potato ricer into a bowl. Wash and peel the carrots and grate them finely with the potatoes, using a vegetable grater or a mandolin. Generously grease the Bundt pan with oil or butter. Coat the pan with some breadcrumbs. Preheat oven to 392°F (200°C) on the fan setting. Add carrot juice, sunflower oil, eggs, vanilla sugar, sugar, flour, baking powder and ground almonds to the mashed potatoes and grated carrots and mix with a hand mixer for about four minutes until a dough forms. Pour the potato-carrot cake batter into the prepared Bundt pan. Place the pan in the oven and bake for about 50 minutes until cooked through (if necessary, cover the pan with aluminum foil after half an hour to prevent the cake from burning). Let the cake cool completely (you can also do this on a balcony or terrace) before decorating it with icing. This is important, because otherwise the icing will seep into the cake. In a bowl, combine the powdered sugar and a little lemon juice until thickened. Pour the icing over the cooled cake and decorate with your preferred toppings like chocolate chips, for example. Let it rest a bit to allow the icing to set.
