![]() Ispahan Ice Cream (Rose, Raspberry, and Lychee)ġ cup peeled, pitted lychees (from about 14-16 lychee nuts), chopped into to small pieces You can eat the ice cream on it’s own, but to truly get the ispahan experience, I would recommend serving it in meringue nests for that added crunch. It’s a little longer than usual because you have to make the two fruit syrups first, but they are easy to make. I decided that I wanted to recreate the experience in an ice cream. The combination of the floral rose with the slightly tart raspberries and sweet lychee, offset by the crunch of the macarons, was ethereal. The first time I had it a Ladurée in Paris I was amazed. It’s inspired by ispahan, an amazing dessert created by Pierre Hermé in Paris that includes rosewater cream, raspberries, and lychees, sandwiched between two rose macarons. So, with weddings on my mind, today I give you a recipe for an ice cream that screams wedding. And we were there to get a marriage license, for our wedding, which would be legal and real in every sense of the word. About half the couples we saw were same-sex. Others took pictures in front of the large wall-sized photograph of City Hall. There were many couples waiting their turn, sitting on the green couches that the city provided. ![]() People who worked there were polite and attentive. The beautiful room of the new marriage bureau felt celebratory. Things were a little different this time. We took a selfie with one of our cellphones, that we never properly saved and promptly lost. We stepped out into the sunny New York day and we walked half way up the Brooklyn Bridge to celebrate. We needed to get up and let him move on to the next couple.ĭespite the decidedly unromantic circumstances and environment, we were elated. When we were finished, there was no congratulations or any other acknowledgement. At window 2, a young man in his 20s, wearing a baseball hat backwards, let us through the motions of answering some questions and signing the required documents. We filled out the form right there, in a windowless room, surrounded by walls of peeling paint, harsh fluorescent lighting, and old half-broken chairs. The woman thrust a form at us, told us to to fill it out and go to window 2. Same-sex marriage was not yet legal in New York state, and in any case, we weren’t at that point yet. It had been about 2 years since we’d met and this was a big deal. “We’d like to register as domestic partners!” we both exclaimed, smiles from ear to ear. “What are you here for?” she barked at us without looking up. On that day back in 2007, we were both excited when we arrived and we approached the bored woman behind the information desk. ![]() It is worlds away from the old room they used as the marriage bureau, where six years ago we went to register as domestic partners. The new marriage bureau is beautiful, with gold crown moulding, marble walls, and gilded light fixtures. The city has created a new space in the City Clerk’s building for this purpose, which includes two chapels where couples can get married on the spot. This week Steve and I went to the New York City Marriage Bureau to get our marriage license.
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