Handmade Mango Ice Cream in an Indian Summer

The first day of school holidays has a special place in my heart.

The day usually started with an exam and ended with an end of the year party. And then even better, I would go back home, draw the curtains against the blinding afternoon sun, lie down and read my favorite novel.

The only other favorite part of my holidays was when my mother made mango ice cream at home. A process that usually took several days in an era where even the concept of an ice cream machine was unheard of.

Ice cream made from Alphonso mangoes. Not the variety you get here in Australia. Kensington Pride, Calypso and Honey Gold, they all taste more like peach. But the sweetest purest mango you will ever find in the world. The kind of mango which will shoot your blood sugar to crazy highs, and you would only be grateful about it.

Mangoes are what made the blistering Indian summers worth it. You would also find watermelon and grapes, but there was just no beating mangoes.

Growing up in 90's India, home made ice cream was an unheard of luxury. But my mother made the smoothest, creamiest mango ice cream with only three ingredients.

The process started thus:

First my father would take me and my sister to a warehouse where mangoes were sold by the crates. You would rarely find mangoes being sold in ones of twos. They were always sold in a wooden crate, stuffed full of straws, while the mangoes were still young; the straw helping the mango mature at a slow rate.

Then we would pick out the ripe ones, taking care that the mangoes were not riddled with tiny white worms, which tended to jump out at you.

It was then our job to wash, slice and scoop out the pulp for mother. Who would then puree the fresh pulp in a tall mixer, a staple in modern Indian households back then.

Then she would add equal part and a half of fresh milk. Not just any old milk, but creamy buffalo milk. The kind of milk the milkman usually watered down but would still yield a thick layer of cream when boiled. 

A bit of sugar (to compensate the mango's diluted sweetness) and then blend the whole mixture all over again.

Then she would pour out the mixture in the square aluminum pan, normally used for baking cakes, and stow it in deep freeze until the next day, where it would turn into a large frozen block. Sometimes it would take longer.

As the mixture was made of milk, the resultant block always had flecks of ice, making it uneatable. We would then break up the huge block into pieces, using knife or a large spoon. Then blend, pour and stow it into the deep freeze again.

This process was repeated at least two more times, or until the frozen block was no longer icy. And that was how we got smooth, creamy, definitely non icy mango ice cream, the sort I have not eaten in over a decade.

As I've grown up I've come to realize what a luxury it was to eat that particular ice cream.

Those days there was only one ice cream shop in town. A shop so famous, the square in front of it would get choked with traffic and stragglers during the hot summer nights, almost every day.

Growing up, we rarely went to this particular shop. Mostly to save money, and also because we made our own and never had to buy any.

I used to resent my parents for this. I wanted to be part of that large happy crowd which thronged around that ice cream shop. I wanted to be one of those happy kids who got a tall sundae glass all to themselves, forgetting I had a whole vat full of ice cream to myself at home.

Now, 20 years on, I can only wish I could eat that very same ice cream, laboriously yet lovingly made. Or maybe it is something I can teach my own children, yet unconceived, how we used to make ice cream back in the day when we were poorer and there were no ice cream machines.