Corned beef doesn’t exactly conjure images of glamour and sophistication; nevertheless it’s one of those things I get a craving for it roughly once a year. How convenient that my craving happened a short while before St. Patrick’s Day so I can share my results with you lot (I’m told that’s a right Irish way of saying things- correct me if I’ve misspoken). 

Supermarket corned beef, in my experience, is tough, plagued with a lingering flavor of skeevy salt, and downright bilious in many cases.  Doing it right, which means doing it yourself, really only takes a bit of planning, is more economical and tastes infinitely superior.  I borrowed the corning technique from Michael Ruhlman’s Charcuterie with only minor adjustments based on my own taste preferences.  I’m a bay leaf fanatic, so I doubled up on those since my bay leaf tree is only too happy to oblige me with her radiant foliage.  I started with a lovely first-cut brisket that I picked up for a song from my favorite butcher in Pike Place Market.  The capable butcher men are always eager to help now that they know I write a Seattle food blog and they can log on and check out the crazy things I do to their meat. 

The brisket needs to sit in the cure for five days in order to achieve proper “corning,” which is great because it gives you lots of time to think about which sundry delicacies you’ll serve alongside it.  I also pickled some vegetables using a salt-brine rather than vinegar and let those get nice and infused over the five day period.  I came up with two appetizers that at first seemed slightly incongruous to me but in retrospect I realize there was, in fact, a common thread uniting the meal.  Appetizer “A” consisted of bresaola, which is air-cured beef, wrapped around stracchino cheese topped with a leaf of mache lettuce.

 Next up was an inventive take of seared foie gras.  I had gluten-free folks coming to dinner so the toast squares I might have normally served the foie gras with were out.  I decided to be inventive with the base of my dish and use baby artichoke halves as the “bread” to the foie gras’ “butter.”  I halved them and cooked them in pear butter in the Sous Vide Supreme for two hours at 183° and they were perfect in texture.

  They took on a touch of sweetness from the pear which matched the rest of the dish well.  I topped the artichokes and foie gras with a pear-Sauternes sorbet I whipped up while the artichokes were stewing.  I steeped anise, cardamom, clove and nutmeg into the sorbet and those flavors really brought out the delicate taste of the foie gras. 

Have you realized what everything has in common yet? Every course features something that has been cured, aka something that falls under the vast realm known as charcuterie.  It is interesting that charcuterie is today considered a delicacy.  Much like necessity being the mother of invention, charcuterie at its source was really just a means of preserving food so it would last longer before the era of refrigeration.   Nowadays we don’t technically need to cure meats, so it’s moved into the domain of luxury and often the price of good charcuterie reflects that.  It’s a fun world in which to dabble; oftentimes all you need is an inexpensive cut of meat, some salt and a bit of time. 

Back to the corned beef.  After it finished curing in its rock star juice, I rinsed it and bagged it along with some homemade pickling spice liquid and plopped it into the sous vide bath at 176° for 26 hours.  For those of you battling with the sous vide/foodsaver bagging liquid issues, I’ve finally come up with a bit of a workaround.  I know many people freeze the liquid into a solid so they can suck all the air out. I also know Thomas Keller feels the foodsaver is unacceptable and everyone should really be using a $3,000 cryovac that really does the trick of sucking all the air out even when there’s liquid in the bag.

  Short of spending three grand or taking the time that I don’t often plan for to pre-freeze my liquids, I’ve found myself SOL on several occasions now.  It helps to use gravity, ie hold your bag below the foodsaver as you’re sealing and it will be harder for the foodsaver to suck up any liquid.  The other really great trick that has been working wonders for me is a double bagging system.  First I pack the corned beef (or whatever) and liquid into one foodsaver bag without sealing it.  Then I insert this bag sideways into a second, larger foodsaver bag.  I seal the outer bag and it’s able to get a ton more air out since the liquid is all trapped in the inner bag.  It’s not a perfect solution but until I have a spare three grand lying around, it will do. 

The time and temperature seemed to be just right, and I’m glad I went with my gut instead of listening to all the random voices on the internet.  If I had an extra day or two to play around I would have been really tempted to do a 48 hour cure at a lower temp, perhaps closer to 134°, but now that I’ve achieved a result I’m immensely satisfied with I think I’ll stick with it next time too. 

 The only truly great solution to this problem would be a parallel tasting. Don’t you think the good folks over at Sous Vide Supreme should lend me a second sous vide machine so I could throw in two briskets, two sea bassies, two Silkie chickens and two Jerusalem artichokes all at different times/temps to get down to the real nitty gritty of culinary perfection?  There are plenty of scientific studies on the affects of different sous vide temperatures and what happens to the sinews and muscles not to mention gasses released by the meat. 

 I would opt for a different approach, however, one that defies scientific logic in many cases.  After all, aren’t some of the greatest culinary feats in history achieved by happy accident? I’m thrilled to note that my typical “cook-by-feel” approach seems to work in the sous vide bath thus far, I only regret not being able to mess around with multiple times, temps,and preparations simultaneously so I can arrive at a final consensus sooner.  After too many words (why am I so long-winded) I will leave you to your gastronomic devices, any questions on sous vide corned beef? Leave me a comment and I’ll hit you back.

*One final note: I will be on vacation away from the land of technology in the coming weeks. I haven’t forgotten about my amazing readers, I just need a bit of r and r.  When I return I’ll be back with a vengeance, but in the meantime please enjoy this lovely springtime and join me in a virtual clinking of wine glasses. Salute, Linda :)

In an effort to raise consciousness regarding the origin of the revered food that regularly graces our bountiful table, I decided to trace much of my Thanksgiving feast back to its natural state.  The quest detailed herein focuses on the journey of the turkeys with supporting star mentions going out to spectacular sides as well; Tom Tom couldn’t have done it alone.  Tom Tom is the celebrity-inspired collective name for both of our Thanksgiving turkeys.  Since they’re on the smaller side we needed two, and can you really think of a better name for the two preening Toms we hand-selected from a local organic farm? If so, leave it in the “comments” section of this post :) 

The story of Tom Tom starts with Craigslist- that’s where everyone goes to find a free-range, organically fed Thanksgiving turkey *caveat- still alive, right? I put out a few feelers to the more reputable ads that listed turkeys for sale, hoping someone would let me come out and be a part of the process.  Plenty of folks were willing to let me take a live one home, but after the great October chicken massacre on my in-city back deck, I was really hoping to do the deed at the farm.  Logistics aside, I also felt that the birds would be less distressed if we removed them from the world surrounded by nature, rather than after a jarring car ride back to an urban flat.  After a bit of nudging, I found a farm called ER Properties who said we could come on out to aid in their processing at 11 am November 23^rd. That is T-minus 3 days to Turkey day.  With my big brining and drying plans, I thought it was cutting it a bit close, but that was the option I was left with, so I set the date. 

Jonas did some finagling at work and managed to get the morning off to assist Bentley and me (since Bentley’s 15 months old, I didn’t expect much of him), and Jonas’ coworker Jason tagged along out of sheer curiosity.  At the appointed hour we rolled up to the farm, which turned out to be a fortressed, gated compound further protected by two trusty German Shepherds.  I rang the buzzer at the gate and nursed my dashed hopes for a rustic experience.  Farming is big business these days, I suppose, plus someone has to pay for these folk’s gas-guzzling F350’s and Spanish villa-themed farm house.  When they didn’t answer the gate I was almost relieved, but I called them to sort out the snafu.  “Oh, didn’t you get my email?” She said, just as I was downloading my messages onto my iPhone. Message sent at 10:40 cancelling an 11’oclock appointment that my husband had switched an entire day around to be a part of? Not cool at all- cue panic mode.  Where oh where to find a turkey at this late stage in the game? Prepared to eat store-bought and sulk away the day in a tryptophan-induced daze, I almost gave up.  We were an hour from home on a Monday morning in the middle of ranch-urbia and I needed a damn turkey to put into my special two-day brine!  Surely a neighbor of this vast fortress must have a free-ranging turkey or two? A quick look around revealed more snarling dogs and mote-like facades.  That’s when I remembered earlier that morning I found an eyelash on my cheek and based on ancient legend in the Salty Seattle household, if you wish on an eyelash, your wish will come true.  I had wished for the taking of the turkey to be a wonderful, humane experience for all involved, and by gosh I knew the wish would carry us through.  I did some tactical research via Craigslist on the iPhone (what do people do without these? I’ve had mine for a few short months and I can hardly recall life pre-iP) and lo and behold the first ad displayed images of gorgeous Blue Slate turkeys frolicking in a bucolic setting not 15 minutes from where I was standing.  I called the number listed and the kindly gentleman who answered had me at hello.  Arrangements were made for us to hightail it over to his farm to collect the last of his Toms for our Thanksgiving feast stat. 

We got to the farm and a sense of peace washed over our entire party- this was the experience we were looking for.  Obvious at first glance: lush pastures, happy animals, and real people trying to eke out a living in a respectable way.  The good man who saved our Thanksgiving also raises doves and carrier pigeons in addition to turkeys.  He releases them at weddings and funerals and they fly all the way back to his homestead on their own.  It was pretty apparent he cared a lot about his stock, evident in one regard by the fact that the turkeys are a Heritage breed.  Prized for their rich flavor and beautiful plumage, Heritage Turkeys are the ancestors of the common Broad-breasted White industrial breed of turkey that comprises 99.99% of the supermarket turkeys sold today. But the Heritage Breeds still exist and are making a comeback.

They are gorgeous birds, though a touch on the small side.  We decided to take two; there are 14 mouths to feed.  Even Jonas’ coworker Jason got into the spirit and decided based on the good vibes flowing that he would take a turkey as well.  Once we had chosen our birds, we corralled them and grabbed them by their legs in one swift gesture.  We hung them upside-down, which calms them.  According to our guide, the most humane, quickest slaughter method is that of throat-slitting.  We hung the birds from a tree branch and our guide showed us how it was done with the first bird.  It’s a calm action, not unlike slicing through a filet mignon with a steak knife.  When my turn came, I thanked my Tom for his life and did not hesitate to make the cut.

  I figured if I hemmed and hawed I would talk myself out of it and cause more suffering to the bird in the end.  By not removing the head right away, you give the bird the opportunity to bleed out thoroughly through the main artery, leading to better meat. 

After the birds bled out, we removed the heads and began the arduous task of plucking and gutting.  I knew from the chicken I processed a month ago that I would not be a huge fan of the gutting, but it’s all part of the game, and if I’m not capable, do I deserve the turkey on my table? I slid on my rubber gloves and got down to business. Since Jonas manned the camera and minded the baby, I had to singlehandedly pluck and gut two birds.  To pluck a bird you must first agitate it in 150° water for 45 seconds. At that point most of the feathers come right out, but it is a tedious process removing every last pin-feather, which can impart a bitter taste on the flesh if left in the skin during cooking. 

Gutting the bird involves removing the scent gland on the tail, then making two incisions at either end of the bird.  You then free the inner workings from the incision where you’ve removed the neck, and pull everything out that you’ve freed from the other end.  We took special care not to taint the organs with any bile, as they make for excellent flavor in gravy, stock and stuffing.  I learned that fowl do not have teeth with which to chew. Instead, they ingest their food and a few rocks which all converge in what is called the gizzard.  The gizzard is an organ that grinds the food with the aid of small pebbles, and passes it into the stomach once ground.  It’s quite a remarkable thing to slice a gizzard into two hemispheres and see all the rocks and food processing inside. 

Once the laborious process of plucking and gutting was finished, we spirited away with our trusty Toms, henceforth christened Tom Tom.  Back home, I got out the kitchen blowtorch and singed off any stray hairs that did not get removed in the gutting.  I also started a stock from the turkey feet and vegetables to use as a base for the gravy.

 I put Tom Tom in a 3% brine solution improved with the addition of fresh bay leaves, lemon, thyme, sage, garlic and peppercorns.   Then I took to my twitter and tweeted out my accomplishments for the day.  The honorable Michael Ruhlman tweeted me back that he has moved on from the 3% brine outlined in his book Charcuterie to a 5% brine, and suggested I follow suit. This wasn’t a huge problem since the brine I had made didn’t quite cover the entire turkeys and I planned to toss in a bit more anyway.  I set out to boil the supplemental brine and raised the ratio to 7% to counterbalance the 3% in which the birds were steeping.  I also placed Ruhlman’s new book, Ratio, on my Amazon wishlist since we here at Salty Seattle tend to agree- the more salt the better!

My birds were smaller than I originally anticipated plus I had upped the saline content of the brine, so I pulled and rinsed them after roughly 20 hours.  I patted Tom Tom to dry and left them to wait for the next step in the refrigerator overnight.  In anticipation of the salt crust, Jonas and I made a visit to Ocean Shores, WA a few weeks ago in order to harvest sea water from which to make salt.  It was a blustery day with a wind advisory in effect, which led to 20 foot waves crashing on the shore.  I lucked out since I had a cold and Jonas didn’t want me in the chill November water so he did the collecting while I ferried our vessels from the shore to the car.  Back home, we boiled down the sea water and extracted the salt. It’s a slow process if you hover the water temperature around 150°, which is ideal as it forms the best salt crystals.  A week later we had a few pints of crystalline salt from which to make our salt encasement for the birds. 

The salt crust is formed using salt, flour, herbs, and one heckuva lot of egg whites.  This year I cracked in a few duck egg whites to augment the batter, since the stiffness properties of duck egg whites are nothing short of amazing.  Want a perfectly risen soufflé? Duck eggs will be your secret weapon.  40 some egg separations later, I commenced kneading the very stiff dough.  I would not advise putting your Kitchenaid mixer to the test of kneading this dough unless you’re really hoping to convince your husband that you need a new one.  Good old-fashioned elbow grease works best, but it sure takes awhile.  You may need to boost your strength with a glass or two of thirst-quenching vino. 

The salt crust needs to rest for at least two hours, but overnight is better.  At this point, there is so much stuff in the refrigerator I think it might burst: two turkeys, resting salt dough, apple cranberry pie, pumpkin tart, roasted gizzard gravy, and all the fixings for the impending feast- whew!  No wonder they call the day before Thanksgiving Wild Turkey Wednesday- you need a few shots of something strong just to fathom the concept of surviving the festivities. 

Bright and early turkey morning, the true madness begins.  This year we hosted a feast for 14.  We are a nomadic tribe of good friends forming a family in an effort to re-ascribe to the original intent of Thanksgiving.  I think the shift into exclusively small nuclear families is part of the reason there is such a lack of awareness about the origins of the food we eat in this culture.  Back in the day when a family was large and often consequently poor, growing your own food was a necessity. It was also a healthier way of life, teaching kids responsibility through helping out with the endless chores of cleaning out the coop, watering vegetables, even milking and birthing cows.  The food was fresh and in season not because of a romanticized idea about what nouveau cuisine should be, but rather because that was what was available at the time.  I wanted to add a semblance of that to the group this year, so everyone contributed something to the table.  In many cases it was a dish someone can’t live without on the big day, like Patrick’s cranberries three ways, Michael’s pear tart, Hoyt’s bi-color squash soup, Jamie’s stuffing, my homemade vanilla ice cream and pumpkin pie or Pierre’s puree.  In others, like our interior decorator best friend Robert, it was the table itself, along with all the accoutrements to set it beautifully. 

Meanwhile, Tom Tom chilled out in the fridge waiting for their moment of glory.  Our targeted dining time was 6 o’clock, so I commenced turkey preparations around 1:30.  My kitchen scale only goes up to seven pounds so I didn’t have an accurate weight representation on the turkeys, but my guess is that they were each around 10 pounds.  Because it was really just a guess, a thermometer with a probe that could be buried in the turkey thigh proved essential.  In years past with 17 pound turkeys, I found the oven time to be roughly 2.5 hours.  The reason this seems relatively short is because the salt crust forms around the bird and essentially creates an oven inside an oven.  When you pull the turkey from the oven, it continues to cook inside the crust until you break the hardened shell and let the steam escape. 

I laboriously rolled out my salt dough and Jonas began blanching celery leaves to use as a barrier between the salt crust and the birds.  We trussed up Tom Tom nice and tight, wrapped them in celery leaves, and encased them in their respective crusts.  This is the trickiest part of cooking using the encrustation method.  It is vital that every area of the bird must be covered in crust, because any holes will allow steam to escape.  If a proper seal is not formed around the entire bird, the cooking time will vary drastically, as well as cause the potential for dried out meat.

 The very best thing about brining in combination with salt-encrustation is that the juicy flesh remains perfectly moist and tender even though you cook the bird long enough to ensure doneness of all the dark meat.  You don’t want to compromise this with holes in your crust, so the best way to prevent this is to reserve some dough and watch your bird carefully in the oven for the first 30 minutes or so until the crust hardens.  If you see any thinning crust, get in there and patch it up with your reserved dough and some egg wash.

We put the beautifully encrusted Tom Tom in the oven asap since gravity was not on our side and the heavy crust will droop and form holes if not hardened as quickly as possible.  We had one little incident with a hole in the side, but vigilant watching prevented this from being a problem as we patched it up straightaway.  After about a half an hour, the crust solidifies in the oven and there is no longer any cause for concern.  At this point we watched the thermometer closely as we wanted to pull the birds around 150°.  We were shooting for an internal temperature of 165° when all said and done, so we figured pulling the birds at 150° would be ideal since they continue to cook in the crust until you crack it.  In retrospect I might have pulled the birds at 145° instead, as after we removed them from the oven they shot up the remaining 15° in less than half an hour and we had to break through the crust to slow the cooking time. 

We took them out of the oven just shy of two hours after we put them in, which is another great thing about this cooking method- your oven is freed up early for last minute roll baking and food reheating, but your turkey remains toasty warm.  By the time guests started to trickle in and champagne began to flow, we were sitting pretty for an on-time feast.  I had high hopes for the turkey since we had brought them from farm-to-table, thus we were personally responsible for so many of the factors that contribute to taste.  I do not speak alone when I equivocally state that it was by far the best turkey I have ever eaten.  Our guests echoed that sentiment periodically throughout the meal, but I could do nothing but smile a satisfied, tryptophan-induced smile for a job well-executed. 

Salt-Encrusted Turkey

• 1.5 c chopped mixed herbs, such as rosemary, thyme, sage and bay leaf
• 4lb all-purpose flour plus more for kneading
• 21 egg whites (4 of which should be egg if you can find them)
• 33 oz kosher salt (I used salt that I made from the sea, but kosher salt will do- be sure to measure it by weight as different salt has different weights by volume)
• 2 c water
• 1 10-12 lb brined, dried and tightly trussed turkey
• 1 lemon punctured with a fork 4-5 times
• 10 sprigs thyme
• Fresh ground black pepper
• 5 c celery or grape leaves, blanched (use whatever type of edible leaf you can find, preferably from your garden)
• 2-3 egg whites for egg wash

1. Mix the herbs, egg whites and salt in a large mixing bowl.  Add the flour and stir to combine as best as possible.  Add the water and continue stirring until the dough comes together slightly. Turn out onto floured surface and knead for roughly five minutes until the dough forms into a stiff ball.  Cover with plastic wrap and let rest for at least two hours or up to 24. 
2. Preheat oven to 425° and place oven rack on lowest position.  Place the lemon and thyme inside the cavity in the turkey.  Make sure the trussing is nice and tight so the crust will form well around it.  Pepper the turkey all over.  Cover the turkey in blanched celery leaves to act as a barrier between the bird and the salt. 
3. Roll out about ¼ of the dough into an oval ¼” thick and large enough to set the turkey on top of.  Place this oval on a sheetpan large enough to contain the bird.  Roll out the remainder of the dough into a large oval big enough to drape over the bird.  Set the bird on the initial oval, and quickly drape the large oval over the bird. (if you are using a probe thermometer, stick it into the bird now and be sure to drape around it tightly so that no air escapes)  Tuck the lower oval over the draped down upper oval and seal all edges by pressing together with your fingers.  If you have some extra dough after this process, reserve it to patch holes.  Using egg wash as  glue, brush all seams together so that they congeal quickly in the oven.  Immediately place the turkey in the oven.  Watch the turkey for the first half hour or so- you don’t want the crust to open up before it has a chance to seal, so patch any holes if you see them using reserved dough and egg wash. 
4.  Roast until thermometer reads 145° or roughly 2 hours.  Remove from oven but do not puncture crust.  Bird will continue to cook until you open the crust, and you are targeting a temperature of 165°, which will take about half an hour more.  Break through the crust, carve turkey, and serve immediately. 

 

How many reinventions can the classic BLT sandwich undergo? This version, while not your typical rendition, certainly packs a punch in the department of deliciousness.  My new favorite thing is blind gelato tastings; it’s amazing the flavors people think they’re eating, and when you break down and tell them the actual taste, the look on their faces tends to be photo-worthy.   With the BLT redux I did everything I could to make it obvious what we were eating.  The hardest part was the bread.  I finally settled upon shortbread cookies cut into squares and dipped in chocolate around the edges so as to resemble crust.  The color of each flavor turned out remarkably akin to their natural-state counterparts, yes, the frozen BLT is something to behold. 

The inspiration for the frozen BLT is threefold.  I just finished curing and smoking my first-ever batch of homemade bacon, thanks to Michael Ruhlman.  When I think of him, I think of his BLT challenge, something I did not participate in mere months ago as I had still not come around to eating pork products at the time.  I’ve always viewed pork as the final frontier, having gone from a complete vegetarian to one who eats meat occasionally in the last few years.  Only recently did I get to the point where I included pork in the acceptable category, and when I embrace something, I like to do so wholeheartedly. 

I twittered about my homemade bacon, soliciting recommendations on the highest and best use for it, and the mastermind behind the beautiful blog Vegetable Matter suggested bacon gelato.  Leave it to a vegetarian to come up with a great use for meat!  One thing led to another and I soon found myself poring over David Lebovitz’ Perfect Scoop- the bible of frozen desserts.  He inspired me to go the maple bacon route, however I deviated quite a bit from his recipe, most notably using maple sugar as my sweetener which is soooo delightful I’m tempted to use it in all gelato hereto forth. 

My jumbled mind kept ruminating on all these thoughts and like a slot machine spinning its three wheels for a perfect jackpot, the BLT idea pinged to the forefront.  Initially I planned to make all three flavors into gelato, but I started pondering the quandary of the lettuce, and eventually decided because of the high water content, it would have to be a sorbet instead.  Since I went down that path, I started considering the weight of all my ingredients, and I think you’ll agree with me in considering bacon more appropriate for ice cream than gelato.  It is such a rich, deep flavor first off, so the creaminess of ice cream should hold up to it better.  It is also incredibly American, in that regard ice cream is apropos also.  The tomato has a gentleness that gelato is perfect for, and while cream might overwhelm it and bring it into the tomato soup realm, just water a la sorbet would be a touch too light for my sandwich style dessert. 

The hardest part for me is keeping my mouth shut during dinner when all I want to do is bust out dessert straightaway and gets everyone’s honest take on the wild new concoction of the week.  When the time finally came to serve it up, Jonas and I snuck away into the kitchen and plated away like mad elves.  I quickly brought out dessert, trying to have everyone taste at the same time so that no one could unduly influence another’s opinions with preconceptions.  The bacon was pretty easy to guess; I had cut my candied bacon strips into small chunks, but not so small that they were unrecognizable.  The tomato and lettuce proved completely unrecognizable.  People thought grass, pea, bean, even mint (!) for the lettuce, which I found highly interesting. 

I suggested that my guests start thinking about the plate as a whole, asking what the shortbread cookies resembled, urging them to go in the right direction.  It was not until I outright gave the “sandwich” clue that someone finally guessed the infamous BLT.  I personally was a little nonplussed with the lettuce flavor, but once it was revealed, everyone was shocked by how much they liked it given what it was.  I’m going to leave you with the recipe for the real standout of the evening, the bacon ice cream.  I mean, how wrong can it be to combine two of the greatest things on earth into one, right? Enjoy.

Bacon Maple Ice Cream a la Awesome

For the bacon

• 5 strips of thick cut maple (or sorghum in our case) bacon
• 2-3 tbsp maple sugar

For the ice cream custard:

• 3 tbsp butter
• 2/3 c maple sugar
• 1.5 c whole milk (preferably raw)
• 1.5 c heavy cream (add cream to milk and stir to combine)
• 5 duck egg yolks (or 6 if using chicken eggs)
• ½ tsp pure vanilla extract
• 1 tbsp bourbon such as Maker’s Mark

1. To candy the bacon, preheat the oven to 400F (200C).
2. Lay the strips of bacon on a baking sheet lined with a silicone mat or aluminum foil, shiny side down.
3. Sprinkle maple sugar evenly over each strip of bacon.
4. Bake for 12-16 minutes, turning once halfway through baking to encourage even sugar distribution.  Set on a wire rack to cool.
5. Once crisp and cool, chop into bacon bits.
6. To make the ice cream custard, melt the butter in a heavy, medium-size saucepan. Stir in the maple sugar and 2/3 of the milk/cream mixture. Pour the remaining milk/cream into a bowl set in an ice bath and set a mesh strainer over the top.
7. In a separate bowl, stir together the egg yolks, then gradually add some of the warm sugar mixture to them, whisking the yolks constantly as you pour. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan.
8. Cook over low to moderate heat, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom with a heatproof spatula, until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula.
9. Strain the custard into the milk/cream, stirring over the ice bath, until cool. Add vanilla and bourbon.
10. Refrigerate the mixture. Once thoroughly chilled, freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions or hand churn using an immersion blender between three freezes over the course of 4 hours, then freeze completely.

Add the bacon bits during the last moment of churning, or stir them in when you remove the ice cream from the machine.