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No, no, no, no, no.  I am a good girl.  I will not be sidetracked by visions of mangoes, a tropical island, a couple consenting adults and a sorbet machine, no matter how compelling the mango, the island, the other consenting adult (hi, ‘mouse!) or the sorbet machine (it’s not one of those fancy Italian ones, is it?...no, no, no, never mind!).  Peach ice cream is the only girl for me...erm, you know what I mean…

Peach Ice Cream (or, more strictly, Vanilla Ice Cream with Crushed Peaches)
makes 1 quart

2 cups heavy cream
2 cups whole milk (you can substitute good half-and-half for the milk and cream if you’d like, but since non-ultrapasteurized half-and-half is hard to come by, this is not always a viable option)
1 vanilla bean (I love Mexican vanilla beans, but Madagascar beans will make a delicious ice cream, too, and Tahitian vanilla beans, if you can find and afford them, are out of this world)
3/4 - 1 cup granulated sugar, divided (I like this with less sugar)
6 egg yolks*
pinch salt
very ripe peaches, as many peaches as you have people to serve (whether you peel them or not is up to you, although peeling them will yield a smoother eating experience)

*This is the amount of egg yolk I like best in a vanilla ice cream.  You can go as low as four egg yolks and still get a lovely, if less rich, ice cream.  Eight egg yolks will make a real stunner of an ice cream, very thick, very unctuous, the ultimate frozen custard.  Much more than eight eggs yolks, though, and—to my taste, anyway—you’re overegging the pudding.

Start this at least 4 1/2, but up to 24 1/2, hours before you want your finished ice cream.  If you have one of those ice cream machines that uses a chill container (I have a Krups), make sure it’s in the freezer for a full day before you are ready to churn.  There is nothing sadder than ice cream that won’t firm up because the chill container is not *quite* cold enough.

In a 3-quart saucepan, combine the milk, cream and half the sugar, and stir to combine.  Split the vanilla bean with a paring knife, scrape the seeds out of the bean with the blunt side of the knife, and add both seeds and the bean husk to the pot.  Bring to the boil.  (Some recipes instruct you to let the bean steep for a few hours after boiling—a nice step, but not a necessary one.)

While the milk and cream are coming to the boil, beat the egg yolks with the remainder of the sugar in a large bowluntil the sugar is well-amalgamated into the yolks.  Do not just let the unmixed sugar sit on top of the yolks, or they will get “sugar burn”, i.e. turn lumpy and gritty.  I did this in culinary school once.  I shudder at the memory, for many reasons.

Once the milk and cream have come to the boil, whisk them gradually, with a capital G, into the yolks.  If you pour boiling milk wholesale onto egg yolks you will end up with scrambled eggs.  Instead, pour just a little milk in, whisk like mad, pour in a little more, whisk like mad, keep doing this until the milk is completely blended with the eggs.  This is called tempering, which, for some reason, I always find comforting.  Remove the vanilla bean hull, rinse it off and let it dry.  If you cut this up and put it in a container of sugar, you’ll have something really nice for your coffee.

Rinse the saucepan which held the milk and cream, pour the whole mixture from the bowl back into the pan, and return to the heat, using a medium-low heat.  Have another large bowl and a strainer close by.  A thermometer is not essential but helpful; most chefs also recommend you set up an ice bath (i.e. a larger bowl with ice in it) so that you can cool the finished custard down quickly and avoid bacterial-pathogen issues.

Stir the custard constantly as it cooks.  You want to cook this until it coats the back of a spoon—much cooler and it won’t set up right, much warmer and you’ll discover how fine the line is between just-about-right and boiling, which will give you scrambled eggs, and once you’re there, you have to start all over.  If you’re using a thermometer, aim for 175 to 180 degrees.  My recommendation:  if you’re at 179, get that sucker off the stove *now*!

Strain the custard into its waiting bowl.  Straining is important because no matter how carefully you separate your egg yolks, they usually hold on to a bit of white, which cooks up to a firm gnarly protein, not what you want in your ice cream.  Also, if you’ve overcooked your custard a bit, you can still salvage most of it as long as you strain it quickly.  Plonk your bowl into the ice bath and stir.  Cover it with plastic wrap with a few holes poked into it—if you leave it uncovered as it cools, it will skin over—and let it cool down until the bowl is no longer hot to the touch.  Remove the plastic, stir in a pinch of salt, recover, and chill in the fridge for at least four hours, preferably overnight.  This will help it churn up nicely.

When you are ready to churn it, set up your ice cream machine , pour in the custard (tasting it to see if it needs more salt, as chilling dulls flavor) and follow the manufacturer’s directions.  Churn it until it holds a shape but is still somewhat soft.  Overchurning will make your leftover ice cream, if you are lucky enough to have any, tough to scoop.

Dish your ice cream into bowls.  Take a peach and crush it between your hands.  Stir it into waiting ice cream.  Stop reading.  Start eating.