Within a week a package arrived containing two slices of Neapolitan. They were a little broken and bruised from the journey (and that was just across state lines! What happens on the way to the moon?), but when I tore through the paper the stripes of strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate greeted me like a familiar—if somewhat crumbled—flag.
Happily, there was a note explaining how the treat is made (something that, at seven, I couldn't have cared less about). In a nutshell, the ice cream is sealed in a vacuum chamber and frozen until the water crystallizes. Then the air pressure is lowered, which forces the air out of the chamber. Next, heat is employed to vaporize the ice. Lastly, something called a "freezing coil" traps and removes the vaporized water. The process is repeated several times until the ice cream is perfectly done.
I'm not sure if I quite understood everything, but my astronaut ice cream sure tasted delicious. It was kind of like eating a small, hard nugget of cotton candy, in that it melted on my tongue halfway through chewing. But there was also something distinctly dairy about it—a creamy, milky quality reminiscent of...real ice cream. Of the three flavors, I liked the vanilla best. I found the chocolate a bit chalky, and the strawberry was more than a tad artificial.
I doubt if I'll be ordering more astronaut ice cream anytime soon, but I'm very glad to have revisited my culinary past. It reminded me of what I've always like best about eating: trying foods that are totally out there and making new discoveries.
About the author: Lucy Baker is a graduate student in the writing program at Sarah Lawrence College. Before returning to school to pursue an MFA, she was an assistant cookbook editor at HarperCollins. She lives in Brooklyn and is currently obsessed with all things fennel.
