I’ve alluded to being an OCD stats-checker when it comes to my blog…I think I do it for a couple reasons. I like the validation–I’ll be honest, when I get a lot of hits or comments, my blogger self-esteem improves dramatically. I don’t always get huge numbers of comments, but I know people read my little piece of the internets, which makes me happy. I also like seeing the referring sites and keywords people search for, which then lead them to my blog. One that cracks me up in particular is the number of hits (the majority of which come from foreign countries, oddly enough) I get from people looking for trampling pictures, thanks to the online persona/moniker/domain name I’ve chosen for myself (you can read about why I chose Tramplingrose here). This is supposed to be a food blog/personal journal, so I’m not going to link anything, but Google it if you really want to see or find out more about trampling pictures. It cracks me up because I wonder just how many people are extremely disappointed when they don’t see pictures of naughty bits being squished by stilettos, and instead see pictures of attempts at homemade ice cream or random other crap I post. Maybe I should have Jay start taking pictures of me in heels squashing some cupcakes or a steak. That’d bring out the pervs!
And speaking of steak, I had a lunchtime meeting at The Pheasant this afternoon, and had an awesome sirloin steak salad.
I felt rather lazy after we got home, and I ended up calling George’s for dinner.
After dinner, I decided to give the ice cream maker another shot. I still had vanilla base in the fridge, and another bowl in the freezer.
Almost immediately, I could tell this was freezing and thickening up better than last night. I suppose the trick is to chill the base overnight, and chill the bowls for at least 24 hours, if not 48 hours. I also made sure to let it rest for a couple minutes, per the directions I didn’t read last night.
And tonight, I got my chocolate syrup. It’s funny, how food can evoke memories–Just looking at that bowl, and remembering making ice cream with my grandma when I was a kid, makes me choke up a little and miss my grandparents. But it’s okay, because I can have that memory and the warm fuzzies any time I want!