Broiling ice cream

The other day I found myself sitting cross-legged on my kitchen floor, staring contentedly into my oven, waiting for my bowl of ice cream to soften under the gentle heat of the broiler.

That’s right, I melt ice cream in my broiler. Well, I do now, ever since my microwave decided to die and leave me all alone with a bowl of half cooked quinoa in my arms.

That was a very sad night.

I tried finishing it off on the stove, but then the smoke alarm went off and a robotic voice from inside began chanting ‘Fire. Fire. Fire’.  Goober must have heard her, because as I was trying to shut the thing off , he came flying through the living-room and into what used to be a lamp to escape the flames he was sure were about to erupt behind him.

Poor beast, he hides when I so much as step into the kitchen, usually ending up here:


So anyway, thats when I said ‘screw it’ and scooped some ice cream into a bowl, notwithstanding all the ‘lupus fighting foods’ I knew I ought to be eating instead, reasoning that at this point it was either ice cream or an empty tummy.

Quite logical, really. Ice cream has calcium.  Yes yes. very logical.

You may be wondering why I was using heat at all with ice cream, since it is, after all, a frozen sort of thing to begin with.  While you do have a point, I have always preferred my ice cream more on the soft-serve side of things as opposed to the brick-o-cream it always seems to start as.  To be able to stir it but not have it fall from an overturned spoon…..ah. That is perfection.


I admit it felt a bit ridiculous using the bloody broiler the first time around, but also rather brilliant.  Since I can be ass-ishly stubborn when it comes to figuring out a way of getting something done when there is ‘no way’, and because unorthodox paths seem to be more common for me than normal ones, the fact that I found a way to try fix the ice cream didn’t surprise me.

What surprised me was that it worked. And it worked better than the microwave.


Take that, standard microwave.  I’ve got me a broiler now.

Added bonus, I got to sit in front of a warm broiler in my kitchen and pretend it was a fireplace.  My own personal ice-cream cookin’ fireplace.


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