Posts Tagged ‘ice cream makers’






Los heladeros somos una categoria de orgullosos: tanto si somos dueños de nuestra heladeria, como si solo trabajamos en un obrador ajeno, siempre nos consideramos artesanos del helado y queremos seguir siendolo a toda costa.

Nunca verás a un heladero artesano de verdad trabajar en una franquicia o para cualquier tipo de  industria heladera; el heladero, como todo héroe, hace su batalla a solo, así como tambien a solo produce con sus mismas manos un helado unico, irripetible, artesanalmente bueno : el suyo.

Él, y solo él, es el artesano del helado  y al mismo tiempo el exitoso emprendedor de sí mismo.


Acabo de encontrar en la web un tierno articulo sobre un padre que quiso ser heladero toda su vida y solo pudo despues de jubilarse ( a los 70 añitos ) …y lo hizo hasta que aguantó ( por 5 años , sin parar )y tuvo un exito imparable…como tiene que ser …

Aunque sin traducir , deseo darle espacio aquí, porqué hubiese sido un honor conocer a ese representante de una especie en extincion …la de los heladeros con alma…

From INTELLIGENT LIFE Magazine , 26 de junio 2008

…When my father was 60 he retired. But he was restless. The year he turned 70, he bought the shop next door to his old cafe. He announced he was going to make and sell proper Italian ice cream–which has a softer texture than other recipes, although without descending to Mr Whippy’s levels of aeration. He learnt how to make ice cream, and bought lots of machinery, the principal piece of which looked like a large washing machine and was called il mantecatore–the churner. I later found out it had been a boyhood dream of his to open an ice-cream parlour but he’d never had the money for the equipment.

The ingredients were simple: cream, milk, sugar and the relevant extras (high cocoa-content chocolate, pistachio nuts, strawberries, mangoes). Water, sugar and fruit for sorbets. They went into the churner and glooped in creamy soft folds, just minutes later, into their containers. Italian ice cream should be made regularly: after as little as 48 hours it doesn’t taste the same any more. Three times a week, my father would start making ice cream at 5am. He always worked alone.

He opened on August Bank Holiday, 1999. I entered full of trepidation: my father had never made any sort of sweet thing before. What if it was rubbish? He stood behind his ice-cream display cabinet, all glass and stainless steel, with 24 flavours and tiny testing cones to help people navigate them. The little orange fridge seemed a long time ago. Some customers seemed confused by the vast choice and ended up going for safe flavours they knew: vanilla, chocolate, strawberry. My father didn’t want this; he wanted people to experiment. I tasted. It was excellent. I could scarcely believe someone I knew could make something this good. My father was an ice-cream maker!

Just-made, my father’s ice cream was truly perfect: dense but soft. There was no pointless licking involved, like with some ice creams in cones: each flick of the tongue made progress, a groove. If you were particularly fierce, you could actually move the whole scoop practically off the cone. I tried the tiramisu: coffee ice cream layered with a sponge steeped in liqueur and dusted with cocoa. I tried the apple crumble; not strictly speaking Italian, but soon one of my favourites. But the best flavour of all, despite no bits, was the chocolate-chestnut ice cream. It was wonderful: throat-fillingly thick and gooey.

My father had unorthodox methods of sourcing ingredients. The sweet chestnuts he harvested himself, in September. He’d tie a piece of wood to some rope, throw it up into the tree and down they’d fall. But then he had always been a forager. Lemons came direct from Sorrento, where the fruit are big, and sweet. He had a deal with the coach driver from a nearby hotel, who went to Italy once a week. On his return journey he’d find room for a crate of lemons for my father.

For five years the parlour was an enormous success. My father would occasionally tell me that some famous person had asked him to supply ice cream for their party, or that an expensive restaurant wanted to serve his gelato. He always said no, because he was a one-man band (although my mother and I were allowed to help serve behind the counter). Ultimately, this was his downfall. He worked seven days a week, sometimes 18-hour days. By 2004, we had pressed him into selling up–a decision I think we’ve all regretted ever since.

After my father closed his shop, all bought ice cream, even the really good stuff, disappointed. So I started making my own.

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El sentido del olfato es sin duda el mas importante para un heladero , debido a una serie de factores.

Antes de todo hay que decir que es muy desarrollado en los animales superiores así que resulta un sentido evoluto , ademas su sensibilidad es 10 000 veces superior al sentido del gusto , a pesar de su escasa consideracion por el ser humano.

Las mujeres disfrutan de una sensibilidad olfactiva muy superior a la del hombre , por su fisiologia : por ejemplo, los dependientes de los laboratorios de produccion de parfumes son todas

Yo misma tuve a menudo la posibilidad de comprobar la verdad de esa afirmacion : cuando tengo que valorar la calidad de un producto – por ejemplo de una pasta de helado – lo hago col solo oler sin necesidad de hacer un helado de prueba , mientras que siempre ví mis colegas heladeros que , a pesar de que  les pusiese la pasta casi dentro de las narices , preferian saborearlos con la boca…con mi gran sorpresa.

El cliente refinado y exigente- mujer u hombre que sea – tambien consigue averiguar col gusto , con la vista y con el olfacto la calidad de un helado….

En fin y al cabo, el sabor a chicle de una pasta de fruta , nunca podrá con la textura , el cuerpo y el sabor de un helado hecho con ingredientes naturales y frescos del dia.