An irresistible Recipe For Honey Ice-Cream and Ginger Thins

A jar of beautiful, clear honey was pulled out of a bag. A bowl was taken down from a shelf, and one of those natty little honey drippers shaped like a deeply ridged barrel lifted from a drawer and put on a plate. The honey was decanted, and prompted comments at the nectar’s delicate colour and lovely scent. It was a jar of acacia honey bought from a little shop in Hackney and the price was still attached to the lid.

“How much?” gasped my companion

“It’s a great favourite,” was all I could muster in defence of the otherworldly cost of this (otherworldly) honey.

A slice of bread was at hand and some fresh butter in a dish alongside. Bread, butter and honey is a great trinity. It makes for an excellent breakfast. It is a fine elevenses. It’s ace in the afternoon when needing a boost to push on through to the end of the day. Honey brings with it a smile; it’s hopelessly irresistible, making good pretty much all that it accompanies.
For the beekeeper approaching an apiary for that first view of the hive, swathed in netting and attire that would not shame an astronaut, honey’s journey of bee to flower, to hive, and finally to drench a comb in nature’s most perfect recipe, is mesmerising.

Honey is seemingly indestructible, enjoying a shelf life without end – though on my shelves a jar has never sat about long enough to prove the point. Honey is the very essence of regional cooking – terroir, even, in current jargon – differing wildly in flavour depending on the flora the bees have feasted upon. All I do know is that small jars are best to buy, keeping the potential for cloudy crystallisation to a bare minimum.

When not spread on bread and butter, I love honey best in ice-cream. A much loved, battered copy of Michel Guerard’s glorious book Cuisine Gourmand has an elegant and modest choice of ices within it – one sorbet, two granitas and only one ice‑cream – and that is one of honey. This recipe has been a good friend since the book was translated in the 70s, and I ploughed my way through it when I was given a copy from my folks as a present in the 80s, and yes – I am that nerdy.

Ever partial to a ginger snap with a mug of tea – admittedly more so, say, on a ferry crossing to a Hebridean island, than as pudding – this rather good elevenses inspired an idea. The thins herein have the delicacy of a ginger snap. Served with honey ice-cream, there is a worry you may never dunk a ginger snap again – particularly with a spoonful of the ice squidged between two of these spiced marvels; rather reminiscent of a “slider” (a Scottish miniature ice-cream sandwich back in the day).

My companion, the very dear Anna, at a recent serving of these delicate delights with a bowl of this honey ice-cream, went quiet and then dangerously close to scoffing the lot in one go. Only the very necessary need to breathe prevented calamity. As a barometer for how good any pudding is, Anna is peerless.

Honey ice-cream
While the cost of the honey may raise an eyebrow, the cost of vanilla would raise two, so your conscience should be clear when a recipe calls for one or two paws of good honey. Honey ice-cream has a delicacy that makes it a fine accompaniment to so much: in the summer months, bowls of fruits and berries, syrup-drenched cakes and much more besides.

Serves 4
250ml best milk
125g flower honey
2 egg yolks
150ml double cream

1 Pour the milk into a saucepan and bring to the boil. Add the honey and whisk well until the milk almost returns to the boil.

2 Put the two egg yolks into a bowl and whisk these well. Pour in the cream and mix together thoroughly. Pour in the boiling milk and honey and mix very well. Strain the custard through a fine sieve into a clean bowl and then let it cool.

3 Decant the honey custard into an ice‑cream machine and follow the maker’s instructions until churned. Should there be no ice-cream maker to hand, then you can whisk by hand – it will still give you a delicious ice-cream if not quite the texture a machine would render. Put the honey custard into a bowl in a freezer and whisk every 10 minutes or so until frozen.

Ginger thins
As the recipe for these ginger thins requires a modest effort and the dough keeps very well in a fridge for several days, worry not in the least about having any extra – and it freezes well.

Makes 24
115g unsalted butter
100g dark muscovado sugar
1 egg
½ vanilla pod, split and scraped
1 tsp ground ginger
¼ tsp ground allspice
150g 00-grade plain flour
½ tsp baking powder
A pinch of salt

1 Line a baking sheet with a piece of baking paper.

2 Put the butter and sugar in a bowl and beat until creamy and peaked. Crack the egg into a cup and beat with a fork. Slowly add the beaten egg to the butter and sugar. Add the vanilla seeds, ginger and allspice. Sift the flour and baking powder, then add to the bowl with the salt. Deftly mix into a dough.

3 Halve the dough and shape each piece into a roll. Wrap these well in baking paper and twist the ends as for a cracker. Refrigerate for at least an hour or two, if not overnight.

4 When ready, cut into thin slices and arrange these on the lined baking sheet. Lay a similar-sized sheet of baking paper over the slices and carefully rub them smooth into a thin sheet of dough, say 2mm or so thick. The edges do not have to be neat. Put in the fridge to set. After an hour or so, remove the sheet from the fridge. Carefully peel away the top layer of baking paper.

5 Bake for 12 minutes at 160C/325F/gas 3. Remove. While the biscuit is still hot, carefully cut slices across the dough with a sharp knife to make triangles and fans. Leave to cool. Then serve with the ice-cream.