The Art and Logic of Making Ice Cream Cakes

I can bake an impressive cake. Still, I am unoffended when my sons routinely request the frozen version—one made with ice cream and often no cake at all. It started 10 years ago when the lads (who were quite small at the time) saw a television commercial complete with beauty shots and slow pans of a Valentine’s Day–appropriate heart-shaped ice cream cake. The voiceover declared that said cake was the best way to show one’s affection. The two consulted their dad, who could not deny the veracity of their findings. That February 14, and each since, my family celebrates with ice cream. (The inaugural cake featured a frosting squirrel and “I’m nuts for you” in glistening red script.)

Ice cream cakes are now a regular occurrence for my family, but aside from that unshakeable annual Cupid-inspired purchase, I have largely assumed the responsibility of bringing our frozen dreams to reality. This summer that meant a new double-ripple plum-maple-seedy-nutty ice cream cake. I wanted a collection of textures and a tie-dye composition of color. It starts with a tahini-enriched blondie base, onto which is laid vanilla ice cream splattered with sesame seeds and walnuts cloaked in maple syrup and fuchsia bands of cooked plums. The walnuts contribute a dusky roasted bitterness, so the punctuating brightness of the fruit truly sparkles. The maple, though it could be a dark honey just as easily, rounds it all out.

It was the culmination of my decade of study in which I learned that ice cream cakes are just as much about layers of carbs and dairy as they are about art and logic.

The Base

I subscribe to the idea that an ice cream cake requires if not cake, then at least some sort of carby base. Actual cake is not ideal for freezing as its open crumb structure makes it susceptible to drying out. The solution to that problem: Keep sponge cakes thin enough that they will rehydrate in melting ice cream and consider an insulating dab of simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water boiled together). Or just go with my personal preference (which is the way I went with this new recipe): Use brownies or blondies—their higher fat and sugar contents mean they never fully freeze, retaining fudginess and chew.

The Garnish

Ingredient stability—the literal ability to support their own weight and that of others—is a vital concern for ice cream cakes. Each addition to the ice cream changes how it will behave once frozen; it is essential to consider the sum and the parts.

Making your own ice cream cakes allows for infinite possibilities of customization. But as for the quantity of those add-ins? The limit does exist. Too broad a ribbon of fudge or fruit and the ice cream cake will lack structural integrity. Too many chunks will give your jaw an unnecessary workout and make slicing difficult. Err on less is more.

For cakes, my general rule is 1 to 1 1/2 cups of add-ins per quart of ice cream—with the low end of the range advisable for liquid add-ins and the high for solid ones. (This cake, for example, has a generous 3 cups of mixed add-ins to just under 2 1/2 quarts of ice cream.)

If swirls are your goal, know that water is the enemy. Water freezes into, well, ice. Ice crystallizes into sharp shards, which are an unpleasant counterpart to smooth and creamy, rich and dreamy ice cream. Fudge sauce, gooey caramel, maple syrup, and honey are therefore strong candidates for swirling.

Want a fruit swirl? Well-stirred jam, thinned by a squeeze of lemon juice if necessary, is the easiest route. But you can also make your own fruit sauce by cooking fruit until it breaks down and reduces. If you do this, be generous with the sugar, not only because sweetness dulls when frozen, but also because a higher sugar concentration lowers the freezing point of the remaining water in the sauce, thus inhibiting those pesky shards.

For crunchy, chunky bits, aim for additions that break cleanly (nuts) or remain tender (fudge). Add anything rock-hard and you might want to keep your dentist on speed dial. This is why chocolate shavings or thin strips (like stracciatella) are superior to chips. Toast your nuts to snappiness; candied nuts are a revelation. Crumble cookies into smallish bites—the ideal size for most stir-ins is about the size of a cooked chickpea.

A recommendation: Sift chunky add-ins through a sieve to remove any sandy crumbs—if they blend into the ice cream base, it makes for a gritty bite.

The Architecture

Building an ice cream cake is a tactical exercise, and time is of the essence.

There are tricks to the homemade ice cream cake trade. Before you start, clear a generous space in your freezer—you don’t want to engage in real-life Tetris when carrying a rapidly melting masterpiece. Also, ample room will facilitate popping the work-in-progress back into the freezer at required intervals. If possible, pop a rimmed baking sheet or similar in the open spot in there; it will help chill the cake faster and catch any drips.

A springform pan is a perfect cake mold, but a tall cake pan can be lined with plastic wrap and filled in a pinch. Have your tools at the ready—spring-loaded scoops (nonmechanical scoops that curl the ice cream into balls can create gaps at the center), a sturdy offset spatula, and spoons. Arrange all on a quarter-sheet pan on your workstation. Have your add-ins chilled (sauces) and frozen (supple chunks) as appropriate.

Now consider your ice cream. A high-quality store-bought ice cream will stay firmer longer due to the properties of frozen creams and custards. Less-expensive ice creams use temperature-sensitive emulsifiers and melt accordingly. (Keep this in mind when using nondairy frozen desserts as well; formulas vary wildly between brands, but they can lack the structure provided by eggs or milk fat. Look for higher fat content and fats that freeze—coconut and almond bases versus oil.)

Letting the ice cream soften in the fridge or on the counter leads to inconsistent temperatures between its edge and center. I prefer a technique akin to pounding the butter block for laminated pastry dough, actively smacking the ice cream into pliability without melt. A wooden spoon and large bowl, or stand mixer with the paddle attachment handle the job. Either way, stop while the ice cream is still a tad too firm to account for assembly time. If you’re deploying multiple flavors (or if the cake is statuesque), a periodic blast in the freezer will keep your foundations firm.

Homemade ice cream straight out of the machine is not particularly cold. Chunks can be added at the end of churning, then those rubbled ice creams (or those left smooth) should be decanted directly into the cake mold and moved to the freezer as quickly as possible. For ice cream destined for an application of swirls, spoon into a container and freeze until firmed up, then proceed as with store-bought. If you try to swirl straight from the machine, the effect will be more muted as the sauce will settle into the pliant ice cream.

Swirl is actually a misnomer. Layering preserves the most delineated streak of color as the sauce is left undisturbed. When adding a sauce to a plain ice cream for a cake, I do so during assembly, laying Jackson Pollack–style splashes of sauce over spoonfuls of ice cream as I build. (Imagine the scoops as bricks and the sauce as mortar between them.)

Oil-based whipped topping (such as Cool Whip) or whipped cream stabilized with gelatin work best for exterior beautification; both will maintain designs when piped but will remain elastic enough not to fracture when sliced. Gel-style store-bought frosting should only be used for accents (or script), because it will always smear, even when cold. A set-it-and-forget-it option is a pour of magic shell, which can either envelop the cake entirely, or create a peekaboo effect with the filling.

And if all else fails? Go with that frosting squirrel. 

Double Ripple Ice Cream Cake

Originally Appeared on Epicurious