Why make your own ice cream? For me, it was a matter of what to do with an elegant surfeit of both strawberries and cream left over from the previous weekend's adventures. Waste not, want not, make ice cream. But the real reason was revealed almost as soon as the paddle was out of the bucket: It makes people happy! A carton of Ben & Jerry's may be insurance against a bad day, a cone at Bi-Rite good for fun in the sun, but homemade ice cream is a party.

And you don't even have to own an ice-cream maker. That's what Facebook is for: put out a call for help and a hour later you'll have friends all around the city dusting off their mostly-unused wedding presents for the promise of mocha-chip. Krups? Cuisinart? Whaddya want? 24 hours and a helpful neighbor later, I had a tub of pink deliciousness on hand, rich, creamy and infused with ripe berry flavor. No eggs, no custard fussiness, just cream, sugar, and strawberries: pure summery bliss.

Wait, it took 24 hours to make that ice cream? Well, not exactly. But you do have to start the process the day before you want to eat your cone. Yes, this is a drag; after all, what is ice cream but an impulsive treat, and if all you want is five minutes' instant gratification (not a bad thing, by any means), then you might as well go down to Joe's or Mitchell's, hand over your money and be done with it.

But, like I said, there's something about homemade ice cream that draws a crowd, turning any afternoon gathering into a celebration. Plus, once everything's good to go (more on that below), the actual churning process takes less than 45 minutes and is quite fun to watch. It's liquid, it's slushy liquid, wow, it's ice cream, whipping around and around, getting fluffier by the minute!

Why the delay? Most ice cream recipes call for heating the cream, milk, and sugar to a gentle steam in order to dissolve the granules. So first it's hot, then after a hour of sitting around, it's room temp. Still not good enough, since what you want is a very short road from cream to slush to frozen velvet, achieved only by chilling the mixture in the fridge for at least four or five hours, until icy cold. Meanwhile, unless your rich uncle has bequeathed you his Pacojet, you'll also probably need to freeze the container of your ice-cream maker for a good 24 hours before using.

So, yes, plan ahead. As the sternly worded, multi-lingual instructions for the ice-cream maker will tell you, trying to rush will lead only to tears, frustration, and why-isn't-this-working-Dad??

(Then again, settling for an It's It isn't the worst thing that could happen. Ah, It's Its, how I love them! Just one of the many things to cherish about our fair city. The unexpected flavors, like cappuccino and mint; the little picture of the chocolate coating flowing like lava over the oatmeal cookies: all in all, a masterpiece of corner-store gustatory seduction, if you ask me.)

And while your paddle is churning away, doing all the work for you, you can dip into Of Sugar and Snow: A History of Ice Cream Making, by Jeri Quinzio. Quinzio, a food historian and the author a previous book on ice cream, leaves no Eskimo Pie unexamined in her painstakingly detailed exploration of ice-cream making from its beginnings in mid-16th century Europe to its meteoric rise in popularity during the early years of the 20th century in America. As you might expect from a book capped with 23 pages of scholarly citations (and funded by the University of California Press Foundation, as part of its California Studies in Food and Culture series), the accretion of minutia (Want to know exactly who first held the patent on the ice-cream cone? Or the many apocryphal stories of its invention? Or how fancy versions were once piped with icing around the top, dusted with chopped pistachios, filled with a mixture of ginger ice and apple ice cream and finally served on a doily-lined silver tray?) can be a little mind-numbing.

Quinzio, although clearly a dogged researcher, is no Mark Kurlansky, a writer who can make even the most ordinary of topics (cod, salt) into rollicking good reads. You really have to want to know what Quinzio has to share, but for those with a serious appetite for culinary history, the nuggets can be worth it. Who knew, for example that ice cream was aligned with the anti-alcohol Temperance Movement, posited as the family man's happy-making substitute for beer?

Surely even Quinzio would forgive you for putting down her 200-page magnum opus in exchange for a spoon, a banana, and a maraschino cherry. Think all your pals are too busy these days to get together without 3 weeks' notice? Just put out the magic call--There's homemade ice cream in my freezer! Who wants a cone?--and the doorbell will ring, I promise you. Very quickly, I discovered that I couldn't stop at strawberry. With recipes from Ina Gartner's book Barefoot Contessa Parties! on hand, I soon had a freezer full of homemade vanilla, caramel, and bourbon-caramel to go with the strawberry. Which led, even faster, to a whole bunch of impromptu parties, buoyed by tea, champagne, bowls of cherries and plates of fancy little cookies. Easy, sweet, and perfect for summer.

Strawberry Ice Cream
Proportions are pretty flexible here; if you want a less rich (but slightly icier) ice cream, you could use half milk and half cream. The sweetness will get less pronounced once the mixture is frozen, so keep that in mind as you sugar your berries.

Makes 1 quart

Ingredients
4 cups heavy cream
1/2 to 3/4 cup sugar, depending on sweetness of berries
pinch of salt
2 pint baskets ripe, fragrant strawberries, hulled and roughly chopped

Preparation
1. Over low heat in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, warm cream, 1/4 cup sugar, and salt until sugar is dissolved and cream is hot but not boiling. (Boiling will make the cream separate, not what you want.) Remove from heat and let cool.

2. Meanwhile, mix strawberries with 1/4 to 1/2 cup sugar. Crush some of the berries with the back of a spoon. Let berries sit, covered, at room temperature, stirring occasionally, until sugar is dissolved and berries have released their juice. Taste strawberry mixture for sweetness, adding more sugar as necessary.

3. Refrigerate cream and strawberry mixtures separately for several hours or overnight, until very cold.

4. Mix strawberries and cream together. Assemble ice cream maker and pour in strawberry mixture, freezing according to manufacturer's directions. When it's thick and fluffy and looks like ice cream, scoop it into a freezer-safe container and let harden in the freezer for a few hours. Or hand out spoons to your favorite people and eat it all up right there.

As California's road trip season begins, it's time to pull out that list of foods that are worth a detour or two. If you're passing by or through tribal land, allow time in your day and space in your stomach for a stop at roadside stalls offering fry bread or, even better, Indian tacos. Many of us are all a-twitter about the mash-up of Korean bbq and tortillas. But this much quieter and long established blend of taco toppings on soft, still-hot flatbread is better than anything I've tasted from digitally hyped menus.

For the taco aficionados among you: Do not pepper me with hate comments about what constitutes a "real" taco. Take it up with the Indian Nations. For the politically minded, I acknowledge that the physical and cultural repercussions of making refined white flour a daily staple, is not something to celebrate, especially in communities stranded both literally and figuratively in the middle of vast food deserts. Like many foods we love, from latkes to lumpia, eating more isn't eating better.

But for those who are open to the culinary creativity of everyday folks, then this is food worth savoring. During your summer travels, look for stands located on busier strips near post offices, grocery stores or tribal councils. For the best fry breads, plan on arriving earlier in the day, as they will sell out. Peek around and see if there are cast iron pans at the ready. Each round of dough should be patted by hand and fried to order, and if it's your first time, order a plain one to enjoy fry bread at its humblest. If you like funnel cakes, doughnuts, angel wings, or those little bits of leftover pie dough that your mom fried up just for you, then you'll be right at home.

Many give Navajos of the Southwest the blue ribbon for making the best fry bread, but tribes all across the country have perfected their own versions. Some use baking powder; others have developed yeasty variations. Big or small, round or square, thin or hefty -- everyone has their favorite way of making it.

I wish I could say that fry bread has a happy history. Stories that includes broken treaties, prison camps and reservations, surplus commodities and starvation are not the ones usually passed around while we're stuffing our faces. But like bitter parsley and unsalted bread, times of suffering are also passed from table to table with pride. We are here. We survived. We are together. We will prevail.

Pow wows are one of the best places to enjoy native foods. Celebratory gatherings, these were banned by our government until the 1960s, but fortunately, they now appear annually in every region. Search this pow wow calendar for California to see if you'll be near one this year. Be sure it's open to the public, and check for special events that the kids will especially enjoy.

Fry bread is super easy to make, and kids will enjoy patting their own rounds. For a healthier version, try grilling the bread, another trick that is family friendly and even easier.

FRY BREAD

This recipe is adapted from one that appears in the excellent book, Foods of the Americas, by Fernando and Marlene Divina, published in partnership with the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian. Fry bread is usually cooked until golden, without deep browning or char marks. You can sprinkle the rounds with cinnamon and sugar for a sweet treat, or wrap your favorite sandwich fillings for a savory meal.

Makes: 8 small rounds.

Ingredients:
3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 1/4 cups warm water
Vegetable oil, for frying

Preparation:

1. In a bowl, combine and stir together the flour, baking powder and salt. Make a well and then pour in the water. Form a soft dough, and then knead very gently and briefly to form a ball. Roll into a log, cover with a clean towel and let rest for 10 minutes.

2. Cut the dough crosswise into 8 pieces, keeping the pieces covered while you're working. Patting with floured hands and using a rolling pin, form rounds that are about 1/4-inch thick. Dust both sides of each round evenly with flour, stack and cover with a cloth until ready to cook.

3. To fry: Heat 1 inch of oil in a deep, wide pan over medium-high heat. Cook 1 to 2 pieces of dough at a time, taking care not to overcrowd. Cook, turning once, until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. Cook one first, and test for doneness before continuing with the other rounds. The fry bread should be dry and crisp on the outside, moist on the inside. Drain on paper towels and serve will still warm.

4. To grill: Prepare charcoal or heat a gas grill to medium-high. After forming the rounds, place the dough on the grill rack and cook until bubbles form and the dough has risen slightly, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. The surface of the bread should be dry to the touch.

I've had chowder on the brain ever since I attended a rally a couple of weeks ago at which I mistook the crowd's chant of "Louder! Louder!" as-- thanks to people blowing horns into my ears-- "Chowder! Chowder!" I was teased about it by a friend of mine (the proud owner of two hearing aids, no less) who leaned over to me afterward to say, "All this heat and talk of marriage is making me crave a hot, milk-based soup."

Sometimes, we hear what we want to hear.

I've been craving it ever since. Chowder, not marriage, I mean. Popping around the corner to Swan's Oyster Depot is easier said than done, thanks to the usual line several eaters-deep on any given day. And I don't want it from a can-- that's just too single-man-living-alone pathetic. And I'd hate to have anyone find the can in my garbage, because I have a reputation to protect. Since no one has offered me a steaming bowl of the stuff lately, nor is anyone on the horizon likely to, I knew I would have to make it myself.

But what kind?

There are any number of chowders to choose from. New England, Manhattan or Shrimp Chowder from the Gulf Coast? There are chowders made with oysters, with clams, lobster, crab, fish, and even corn. Thin and milky, or thick and creamy? There are as many types of chowder as there are people who make it. No two chowders are the same. There is not one particular recipe that defines the word, no matter what you might hear to the contrary. I have the feeling one could put Rice Krispies in a bowl with some potato, salt pork, and milk, heat it up and still get away with calling it a chowder, however the people of the North Atlantic Coast of this continent might complain.

The word "chowder" is most likely derived from the chaudière, the three-legged pot or cauldron in which it was cooked, in various forms, all along the Atlantic Coast of France in the centuries prior to European colonization of America.. Others might claim that the word is the bastard child of the Old English jowter, or fishmonger. I vote for chaudière, because I am, at heart, a francophile.

Coincidentally, Atlantic Seaboard-residing, pre-Columbian Native Americans made their own form of chowder which the early English colonists were initially hesitant to latch onto, since they seemed as mistrustful of shellfish as they were of just about everything else. Preferring bivalves to starvation, early settlers added their old standbys of ship biscuit and salt pork to the pot. The rest is, I believe, history.

Corn and Clam Chowder with Bacon

Since just about anything is fair game, in terms of chowder-making, I decided to combine two of my favorites, just to see how things went. A lobster chowder sounded wonderful, but too expensive. Crab, which was local, was at about $30.00 per pound. No thank you. I found some lovely Manila clams, which were not exactly local, but neither were they from Manila. The price was good, so I took them home in a little net bag with the thought of steaming them to death in the near future.

I love corn chowders, too, and anything with bacon it. I thought I'd throw all of these things in my own, legless chaudière and see what happened. The results were excellent. Nothing earth- shattering but, then again, I have no plans to change the world by virtue of my chowder-making. Still, I am pleased.

The various amounts of ingredients are approximate, since I was just letting both the creative and clam juices flow. I neglected to write everything down.

Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 lbs. Manila clams, rinsed clean

1 stalk celery, coarsely chopped

1 medium-sized carrot, likewise chopped

1 yellow onion, peeled and diced.

1 bay leaf

3 stalks of thyme

several black peppercorns

1/4 lb salt pork, diced

3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

3/4 pound ( five or six) red or other waxy potatoes, cut into 1/2" cubes

2 cups fresh or canned yellow corn kernels, depending upon the season.

1 cup half and half

pinch of pimenton, or cayenne pepper

4 thick slabs of bacon, diced

salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. In a saucepan large enough to accommodate them, lay the clams in with enough water to cover the bottom of the pan about 1 inch. Steam them until they are dead and have released their juice. Remove any unopened clams and give them a proper burial. Remove clam meat from shells. You may either discard the shells at this point or save them for a future crafts project. Set meat aside.
2. Add four cups cold water to the clam liquid, along with carrots, celery, peppercorns, thyme, and bayleaf. To make even clammier, you may add bottled clam juice to this mix. I did not. Cover and simmer on low heat for 45 minutes to one hour. Strain stock through a fine mesh sieve. Return to the same pot and reduce by half.
3. To the chaudière of your choosing, add bacon and fry slowly, rendering as much of the fat as possible. Do so until pieces are crisp. Remove and drain. To the hot bacon fat, add diced salt pork, and sauté over medium-low heat until likewise crisp. Drain and remove.
4. Add onions and garlic to the hot, double pig fat. Cook over low heat until soft, about 20 minutes.
5. Add onion mixture to the clam stock, along with the potatoes, salt pork, and corn. Simmer for about 10 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender. Stir in clams, a pinch of pimenton or cayenne pepper, and half and half. Do not boil, or you will regret it, deeply. Simmer for another 3 to 5 mintues.
6. Ladle into warm bowls and garnish with thyme and crispy bacon which you have not let anyone eat prior to serving. Eat with beer and oyster crackers, unless you have found clam crackers, which I have never in my life heard of. If you have, please send me some.