Bright Pops of Summer Joy

Summer swept over us like a heavy blanket when we were growing up in New York City. Above ground, my twin sister and I absorbed the fumes of hot asphalt. Underground, we sweated onto plastic subway seats. To cope, we splashed around with the neighborhood kids in open fire-hydrant sprinklers.

We also ate ice pops. Once the temperature hit 70 degrees, our Washington Heights neighborhood sprouted street carts peddling icy treats (shaved, crushed, Italian) on almost every corner. We found their presence serendipitous. There, right outside the schoolyard! Right next to the school bus stop! What were the chances?

While my twin and I felt lucky to see all those carts, we weren’t always so fortunate in our pursuit of the treats they offered. Our fates were largely determined by whichever grown-up held our hands. Grandparents were easy targets. The parents, not so much.

Despite our parents’ street-cart ambivalence, they helped us make a lot of homemade ice pops. All it took was a jug of lemonade or limeade and our plastic ice pop molds (sticks included). The directions were no-fuss: pour the juice into the mold, drop in the sticks, and shove the whole deal into the freezer. Two hours later, we would all retreat to our various corners of the apartment like dogs hoarding bones.

I used to suck all the lemonade out of my pop until it became a white lump of ice. Using the stick as a handle, I would rub it on the back of my neck to cool down. And, yes, I would then eat the sweat-infused ice. In college now, I realize this is called deconstruction. But it’s probably good that as I got older, my ice pop habits matured — I now eat the juice and ice as one.

The recipes also grew more sophisticated. My family experimented with yogurt popsicles and fresh fruits. We tried different mold shapes: flowers, stars, clouds. No matter what we did, we came to the same conclusion: there is little you can do to ruin an ice pop.

My ice pop history came back to me as I flipped through a cookbook dedicated to the craft. Paletas: Authentic Recipes for Mexican Ice Pops, Shaved Ice, & Aguas Frescas, by Fany Gerson, is the ultimate guide to all things flavored ice. I picked three recipes to try, for lime watermelon, and yogurt-berry pops.

The lime pops recipe calls for no flavor other than lime. But since my grandparents’ mint continues its invasion of the rest of their garden, I decided to do my part in defense and pull some leaves for my ice pops. The result: a very tart treat made more delicious by a hint of herbal sophistication.

The watermelon pops were made from a simple mixture of watermelon and a squeeze of lime juice. But what’s the difference, really, between that and a slice of cold watermelon? I found a box of strawberries half-forgotten in the fridge and gave them a new purpose. Five hours later, I found that my strawberry-watermelon combination had a satisfying complexity.

Finally, the cookbook’s yogurt pops called for blackberries. But since my sister and I had just harvested 13 quarts of blueberries, I used some of those instead. The recipe suggested “marbling” the pops by blending the berries with confectioners’ sugar, then layering the berry mixture with the yogurt base for a pretty effect. I couldn’t be bothered and dropped the berries in whole. That was a mistake. The yogurt base was delicious, but the frozen berries were hard as rocks. Marbling is the way to go.

Lime-Mint Ice Pops
Makes 5 4-oz. pops

2 cups water
¾ cup sugar
3 1-inch-wide strips of lime zest
1 big handful mint, chopped
¾ cup fresh-squeezed lime juice (about 6 limes)

1. Stir together the water, sugar, lime zest, and chopped mint in a small nonreactive saucepan and gently bring the mixture to a boil.
2. Once the sugar has dissolved completely, take the mixture off the heat and let cool to room temperature.
3. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve, then stir in the lime juice.
4. Pour the mixture into the molds, snap on the lid, and freeze until solid, about 5 hours.
5. Run the frozen pops under hot water briefly and they’ll slide out of the molds easily.

   

Watermelon-Strawberry Ice Pops
Makes 8 4-oz pops

½ cup water
½ cup sugar
1 lb. peeled and diced watermelon (about 3 cups)
1 cup sliced strawberries
1 Tbsp. fresh-squeezed lime juice
A pinch of salt

1. In a small saucepan, bring the sugar and water to a boil. Once the sugar is dissolved, turn off the heat and let syrup cool to room temperature.
2. Pour syrup into a blender. Add the watermelon, strawberries, lime juice, and salt, and blend until smooth.
3. Pour the mixture into the molds, snap on the lid, and freeze until solid, about 5 hours.
4. Run the frozen pops under hot water briefly and they’ll slide out of the molds easily.

Yogurt-Blueberry Swirl Ice Pops
Makes 8 4-oz pops

½ cup water
½ cup sugar
Zest of one lemon, removed in strips
1½ cups plain Greek-style yogurt
2 Tbsp. honey
2 cups fresh blueberries
1-2 Tbsp. confectioners’ sugar

1. Rinse the lemon, then remove the zest from the lemon in thin strips (remove the yellow rind but not the white pith beneath it).
2. Combine water and sugar in a small saucepan and simmer to dissolve the sugar, then add the lemon peel and simmer for 5 minutes. Let cool to room temperature. Strain the syrup through a fine-mesh sieve, then refrigerate.
3. Blend the yogurt, honey, and chilled syrup until smooth. Pour into a measuring cup and set aside. Put the berries and confectioners’ sugar into the blender (no need to wash the blender between jobs) and whirl into a paste.
4. Pour a bit of the yogurt mixture into each mold — about one inch — and freeze for a half hour. Pour in the marbled berries and the rest of the yogurt mixture, alternating, and swirl with a skewer to distribute the fruit. Freeze until solid, about 5 hours.
5. Run the frozen pops under hot water briefly and they’ll slide out of the molds easily.