Pass the herbs and try a cone of spice cream

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-The other day, I walked across my blazing-hot deck and hacked the basil plants hard. They needed pruning, and I needed a bunch of the aromatic herb to make... ice cream.

Basil-flavored ice cream may sound weird, but it's one of the tamer treats in "Spice Dreams," a just-published cookbook featuring recipes for chocolate ice cream with cumin and fennel, chile-lemongrass ice cream, and almond ice cream with turmeric, cardamom and cloves.

Standing in my kitchen, I was doubly daunted. The recipes read long, plus I'd have to climb into the recesses of a cabinet to retrieve a long-dormant ice cream maker.

Turns out, digging into the cabinet was the hardest part, and the result around my house is that we're all swooning over odd-flavored ice creams.

"Spice Dreams" recipes include sorbets, frozen yogurts and popsicles. The ice creams are custard-style -- calling for egg yolks -- which requires a little more work but yields an impossibly sensuous treat.

First up: basil ice cream. I wondered how this would taste while preparing to scald milk that would be infused with torn bits of basil.

Frankly, I also wondered how to scald milk, a technique rarely required in our age of pasteurization. Basically, you heat milk slowly in a heavy-bottomed pan until tiny bubbles appear at the edges -- just before the milk boils or burns.

Before starting, know this: Making ice cream requires undivided attention. It's best, perhaps, to pretend that you're a celebrity television chef and have everything prepped and measured beforehand.

Using the celebrity-chef method, in less than an hour of whisking, stirring, straining and pouring from this pan into that, I had custard cooling in the fridge and almost ready for the ice cream maker.

Time to turn from herbs to spices: cinnamon-raspberry cheesecake ice cream. Rather, make that cinnamon-blackberry cheesecake ice cream.

Earlier in the week, I heard that Wink Henley, a farmer in Pungo, had a stunning crop of blackberries just beginning to ripen. Because the cookbook's authors encourage swapping out fruits and spices and using whatever is in season or on hand, it gave me a reason to go there and pick a pail of the thumb-sized, jet-black berries. (Henley's blackberry vines open for picking today.)

Gently folding the shiny, local berries into the soft ice cream only heightened the anticipation of eating. When it was finally ready, the richness was the first thing that struck me. This ice cream is a distant relation to the mass-produced, artificially flavored family of ice creams at the grocery store.

The cinnamon-blackberry cheesecake ice cream is so creamy that simply swirling it around in the bowl with a spoon evokes a dreamy calm. It tastes old-fashioned, like a Norman Rockwell painting, and it's so rich that a small serving is fully satisfying.

The bite of cinnamon perfectly complements the fruity, slightly tart blackberries. In short, this is one decadent dessert.

The authors suggest serving the basil ice cream after a spicy meal or barbecue. That sounds great, but I just plopped the frozen Tupperware container on the counter and grabbed a spoon.

The licorice flavor of basil melted into the sweetness of the custard. I handed my neighbor a spoon.

"Oh, yummmmm," she said. "Can I double-dip?"

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