So I suppose we should get the basics out of the way: Hi! I’m Elle, happily divorced mother of two daughters who seriously make me query how I got so far in life with my complete and total lack of patience, chosen human of two fluffy goldendoodles, and all around laid back person who gets immense joy from feeding people.
Alright, glad we got that out of the way.
Now, at this point in my life I’m pretty used to people looking at me like I’m a proverbial few crayons short of a full box.
Total aside: Colored pencils are my coloring conduit of choice.
I didn’t think much of the ice cream making thing when I was a tender twenty-two year old bar tending my way through law school. It was something fun to do and an easy gift to give my friends. As time progressed, friends, patrons, and complete strangers would ask me to turn their favorite drink into a frozen concoction of awesome, I would accept the challenge, and taaadaaa: boozy pint.
Shock of all shocks, some people even offered to pay for it. More shocking? I started to charge for it and people still paid.
But, like all things, my life changed. I got married, I had kids, I started working full time, and the spark for drink transformation burned a little lighter, until it barely glowed.
Shitty situations have a fabulous way of bringing you back to where you belong.
Another aside: This video is pretty much about me: potty mouth is an understatement, frequent use is duly expected.
I took a job opportunity that proved to be more pain in my ass than working my ass off and I felt trapped in misery. First world problems were all systems go, and I realize that, but sometimes perspective isn’t enough to make you suck it up and sack up. Say what you will, but dread and disquiet filling every corner of your being in the moments between alarm sounding and eyes opening is not exactly the sign of a healthy work situation or a health head space.
So, one day, in all my trapped glory, I found myself doing a doggy style head tilt in the kitchen whilst looking at delicious fresh mint from the garden, some fresh blackberries, and a freshly purchased bottle of rum.
Blackberry mojito sorbet!
Mix-a-mix-a-mix, churny churny churn, and into the freezer it went, all the while I found myself in a better head space than I had been in years.
But, I had to have taste testers. I mean, scientific method and all, no?
While I waited for my family’s weekly all hands on deck dinner, I formed a company, came up with a brand logo, and put together the most hideously awful website the world may have ever seen.
And then the moment of truth—family dinner. Scoops nervously placed in front of each of my family members (virgin style for the kids; I’m offensive not horrible), while I apprehensively watched as spoons found their way to mouths and anxiously awaited words to find their way out of those same mouths.
Why does time like to move at a glacial pace in these situations? Why?
“Oh wow, you can really taste the mint,” a voice found its freedom.
“Holy shit, this is good Elle.” Another voice!
“Why did you ever stop making this?”
Validation! Sweet, glorious, complimentary validation!
Well, at least it was until I told them that I’d started a business and was planning to take this shit on the road…..okay, not really, but I told them that I was going to start selling it again but on a larger scale.
After that? Hello crazy looks, I’m Elle. Nice to see you again.
Sometimes, you have to listen to that tiny voice in your head you’ve ignored so much that is speaks just barely above a whisper, and sometimes you have to embrace the crazy looks and mutter to yourself: challenge accepted.
And that’s how I found myself here: trying to make something out of frozen treats with a boozy twist. Based on nothing more than a dream, and a coming home feeling that just made sense, I’m embracing where it is I belong: the kitchen. (Feminists, don’t kill me. I just like to cook!)
Thankfully, you found yourself here after a professional took over the website reigns. Seriously, it was bad.
I plan to post regularly, whether it’s personal, recipes, or whatever randomness pops in my head (trust me, no shortage there).
No worries, I have no illusions of readership. You’re off the hook.
I do, however, have illusions of you loving our boozy pints.