Talking to cooks, and learning: Kumquat ice cream

I have written before about how I have found professional chefs, by and large, to be the most pleasant, generous people I have ever worked with . Most have a humility about them that would surprise you, I think. They love what they do, and they want to share it.
I work with scientists, and I have found this to be true of scientists as well. But in both cases, there is a "wall" to break through. "Wall" is the wrong word, but I'm sleepy and I can't get the right one in my head. For scientists, as well as cooks, the "wall" is convincing them that you're for real. In other words, if you go, for example, to a biologist and say "I really admire your work, but one question: what's DNA?" s/he will shut down immediately. Similarly, if you go to a cook and say "I really love that dish you just made and I'd love to make it. Now, how do you turn on the stove," you will get the cold shoulder.
And don't think I'm kidding about these examples either.
I do not consider myself an expert at cooking by any stretch of the imagination, but I know enough to ask intelligent questions. Once that happens, the accumulated knowledge of professional cooks comes pouring out. With wonderful results.
While the Guyman and I were in California, we ate incredible kumquat (the fruit that dare not speak its name), ice cream at Zuni Cafe'. Now, I make a CANDIED kumquat ice cream, but this was not the same. It had no solids in it, it was creamy and it was undeniably kumquat, with an orange tint, and a complexity of flavor that I didn't expect. Of course, I had to make it. And I assumed that in order to make it, I would have had to steep whole kumquats in cream for a while.

Here's where professional help comes in. We were having dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, "Cookshop," and I was discussing noyau ice cream with the manager. "Noyau," in case you don't know, refers to that little almond thingee that you find in the center of peach pits when they split open. They have a bitter almond flavor and they steep in milk and cream beautifully. The manager (Michael), was very intrigued and thought we could stump Emily, the pastry chef.

NOT A CHANCE. Emily had six recipes for noyaux at her fingertips. And we started chatting. I told her about the kumquat ice cream. She paused and said "hmmm. I bet they pureed the cream and fruit and let it sit a while. That's the only way you'll get that flavor." I filed it away, but decided I'd do it my way anyway . I took two cups of cream, two cups of kumquats, brought the mix to a boil and let them sit. For an hour. Two hours. Three hours. FOUR HOURS. I had cold cream with little orange balls sitting in them.

"OK Emily, I give in." I took the mass and put it in a mixer and pureed for 45 second, and poured it out. BAM. There was the citrus essence right there.

Listen to your betters. I let this sit overnight, and then this morning, the ice cream was made.

So here's how it goes. Take two cups of heavy cream and two cups of kumquats, whole. Put them in a blender and puree for less than a minute. Pour the stuff out and then cover it and let it sit, overnight.

The next day, pour it through a strainer, and press to get the cream (this is important, because products like this do tend to soak up the cream. You have to work to get it all out.). After you have that done, add six egg yolks and 3/4 cup of sugar. Put this over a medium flame, and whisk constantly, until you get a texture which allows you to draw a finger across a film of the custard, without it coming back together. Then, add a cup of whole milk.

Refrigerate all of this, and when it's cold, put it in your ice cream maker.

To me, the flavor is way more complex than orange or tangerine, with a spiciness that is somewhat reminiscent of limes. It's lovely. Kumquats are still in season, so if you've got the machine, try it. And wait until you see the lovely color.