The empress of ice cream

Carlo

For a champagne sorbet; mix four cups of champagne, one cup of water and one cup of sugar in a pan, and boil with the zest of a lemon until all the sugar is dissolved. Cool, and add the lemon’s juice. While it freezes, fluff the sorbet with a fork.

Chrysanthemum and apple jelly: simmer flve or six green apples and a dozen chrysanthemum flowers in a pan, then sieve. Once it has cooled, add a cup of sugar syrup and a small amount of gum. Pour into goblets and chill, but do not freeze.

The Book of Ices

Still mindful of the need for secrecy, I employed only the staff of the Red Lion as my assistants. There was much to be done, and I threw myself into it, happy for once to think of something other than politics. For two weeks we laboured, storing'the completed sorbets on ice to keep them fresh.

I left my arrival at the ball itself as late as I dared - I knew that by the end of the evening the heat would be immense, and I wanted my ices to stay cool for as long as possible. So I was not surprised to find the crowds three deep around the park. What did surprise me, though, was the discovery that, far from being there to enjoy the spectacle, they were hostile.

‘Why do they shout like that.>’ I asked.

Hannah, riding at the back of the cart with the ice chests, said quietly, ‘They think France means to lure us into fighting the Dutch, and then, when we are weakened, turn on us herself.’

‘No war - no pope’ was the crowd’s chant, as well as ‘Send them home’ and ‘Catholics out’. As we tried to get into the park the cart itself was jostled, and it was all I could do to keep the ice chests safe. ‘Can the soldiers not keep order.^’ I cried in exasperation.

A man thrust a pamphlet up at me. ‘See the pictures, read the rhymes! The scandalous seductions of Madam Carwell, with etchings. See what old Rowley’s getting now—’ I pushed him away with my foot, and he went down into the muck.

Inside the tent, by contrast, all was decorum and elegance. Bewigged footmen stood at every turn, ready to serve my champagne sorbets from silver platters; there was French music and French conversation and the slow, stately dances of Versailles. I saw how the light from the four vast candelabra glittered on the cut-glass goblets, making the sorbets within flash like diamonds. Even the champagne bottles were being cooled in urns made from sparkling blocks of ice.

I was busy - the first guests were already starting to arrive as I went round dispensing ice chests, one to each pair of footmen. ‘Keep the ices as fresh as you can,’ I instructed. ‘When your platter is empty, refill it from the chest, but keep the lid closed, or you will soon have only cold soup.’ They looked at me, uncomprehending: they had never heard of ices before, and more than once I had to patiently explain why the drinks they were serving were meant to be this cold, and that it was not a good idea to warm them up. The orchestra tuned, and then struck up: the trumpeters announced the first arrivals; the ambassador himself took a tray of ices and positioned himself by the entrance, to greet people and press on each one this novelty of France.

Still I did not stop - I was hurrying around, trying to get the footmen to understand that once a sorbet was melted it was ruined. Some were running out of sorbets faster than others, and the ice chests needed to be redistributed to make sure that all had enough—

And then I saw her. I saw her, and the world stood still.