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Kinfolk #7
Kinfolk Volume 7: The Ice Cream Issue
Volume 7 is an ode to ice cream and a celebration of the spring season, focusing on those shared loves that bring us together: the enjoyment of food, friends, family, and time spent in community whether around the table or out-of-doors.
The honest, natural, uncontrived mood of the imagery targets individuals within the growing popularity of recreational cooking and domestic entertaining. Articles connect readers with the creative individuals behind restaurant meals, and encourage a simplified way of approaching their own entertaining at home.
This issue is a collaborative project that involved many artists who contributed essays, photographs, ideas, paintings and films. Kinfolk Issue Seven offers practical ideas (such as How to be Neighborly: Checking In and ideas for spring), reflective essays (such as Sea Harvest, Lessons in Italian Cherries and The Perfect Cup), an illustrated guides to ice cream accoutrements and crabbing essentials and many beautiful photo essays (such as Floral Scoops, An Ode to Ice Cream, Life on the Lakes, Song of the Open Road and The Farmer’s Canvas). It also offers ideas and suggestions from experts such as saltmaker Ben Jacobsen, designer Ariele Alasko, Phin & Phebes Ice Cream, Epicure Catering & Cherry Basket Farm and profiles of the farmers behind the market at Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza and and recipes (such as Sea-Salted Lemon Ice Cream, Goat Town’s Chamomile Ice Cream, Fresh Lime and Jasmine Tea and Butter Dip Sauce), as well as our usual coverage of small gatherings and Kinfolk dinners.
“We don’t love ice cream because it is good or right or healthy, but because it is not. Because with ice cream there is no such thing as moderation.” —Nikaela Marie Peters
“This issue is an ode to ice cream. Much of what we’d like to cover with Kinfolk is related to food, community and the social elements of entertaining, so naturally ice cream is an appropriate theme—few things are as successful at bringing us together. It makes us abandon our differences for the greater, sugary, creamy goodness that it is. We explore its origins, reminisce about ice cream affairs from when we were kids and experiment with recipes… Crack the spine, sit back and enjoy this round with a cone or bowl of something cold.” —Editor Nathan Williams
Cover Photograph by Parker Fitzgerald using a Leica M3 and Kodak Professional Portra 160 Film.
Publication Design by Amanda Jane Jones
Cover Styling by Amy Merrick
The honest, natural, uncontrived mood of the imagery targets individuals within the growing popularity of recreational cooking and domestic entertaining. Articles connect readers with the creative individuals behind restaurant meals, and encourage a simplified way of approaching their own entertaining at home.
This issue is a collaborative project that involved many artists who contributed essays, photographs, ideas, paintings and films. Kinfolk Issue Seven offers practical ideas (such as How to be Neighborly: Checking In and ideas for spring), reflective essays (such as Sea Harvest, Lessons in Italian Cherries and The Perfect Cup), an illustrated guides to ice cream accoutrements and crabbing essentials and many beautiful photo essays (such as Floral Scoops, An Ode to Ice Cream, Life on the Lakes, Song of the Open Road and The Farmer’s Canvas). It also offers ideas and suggestions from experts such as saltmaker Ben Jacobsen, designer Ariele Alasko, Phin & Phebes Ice Cream, Epicure Catering & Cherry Basket Farm and profiles of the farmers behind the market at Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza and and recipes (such as Sea-Salted Lemon Ice Cream, Goat Town’s Chamomile Ice Cream, Fresh Lime and Jasmine Tea and Butter Dip Sauce), as well as our usual coverage of small gatherings and Kinfolk dinners.
“We don’t love ice cream because it is good or right or healthy, but because it is not. Because with ice cream there is no such thing as moderation.” —Nikaela Marie Peters
“This issue is an ode to ice cream. Much of what we’d like to cover with Kinfolk is related to food, community and the social elements of entertaining, so naturally ice cream is an appropriate theme—few things are as successful at bringing us together. It makes us abandon our differences for the greater, sugary, creamy goodness that it is. We explore its origins, reminisce about ice cream affairs from when we were kids and experiment with recipes… Crack the spine, sit back and enjoy this round with a cone or bowl of something cold.” —Editor Nathan Williams
Cover Photograph by Parker Fitzgerald using a Leica M3 and Kodak Professional Portra 160 Film.
Publication Design by Amanda Jane Jones
Cover Styling by Amy Merrick
- GenresFoodNonfiction
144 pages, Paperback
First published March 5, 2013
1 person is currently reading
63 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
May 7, 2013
Volume Six was my first Kinfolk and, despite reading it belatedly after Christmas (usually the time I least want to hear about the holidays), I enjoyed it very much. Volume Seven feels less intimate, less affecting, somehow, though it may be due in part to not having the novelty of my first experience with the publication.
But still, I give it four stars. I look forward to trying the Goat Town's Chamomile Ice Cream and I am, to an absurdly silly extent, strangely drawn to and mesmerized by the illustrated guides to gathering supplies for ice cream making or crab hunting. I felt disappointed only twice whilst reading this issue: the feature about Ariele Alasko and her handmade tables made me excited to turn the page for the photographs of what sounds like beautiful creations... but the only photographs appeared to be of her workspace, with little hint as to her work. Also, the spread of photographs of flowers in place of ice cream in cones just fell flat and rather absurd to me. I like artistic representations of both plants and food, but this just felt so pointless to me.
But, as with last time, the writing is simple but philosophical and usually lovely. I appreciated, this time, the inclusion of QR codes for two of the articles, which linked to songs I could listen to while reading. For both articles, the songs matched perfectly with the time it took me to read the articles - which intrigues me, for surely most people read at different speeds? - and were a pleasing addition to the reading.
But still, I give it four stars. I look forward to trying the Goat Town's Chamomile Ice Cream and I am, to an absurdly silly extent, strangely drawn to and mesmerized by the illustrated guides to gathering supplies for ice cream making or crab hunting. I felt disappointed only twice whilst reading this issue: the feature about Ariele Alasko and her handmade tables made me excited to turn the page for the photographs of what sounds like beautiful creations... but the only photographs appeared to be of her workspace, with little hint as to her work. Also, the spread of photographs of flowers in place of ice cream in cones just fell flat and rather absurd to me. I like artistic representations of both plants and food, but this just felt so pointless to me.
But, as with last time, the writing is simple but philosophical and usually lovely. I appreciated, this time, the inclusion of QR codes for two of the articles, which linked to songs I could listen to while reading. For both articles, the songs matched perfectly with the time it took me to read the articles - which intrigues me, for surely most people read at different speeds? - and were a pleasing addition to the reading.
May 19, 2016
I was originally waiting to read this until spring came to Chicago, but as I'm writing this it's 9°C out, with the weather report for tomorrow predicting 13°C then. Chicago winters certainly take off their hats and stay a while, but this is unusual even for this town. Still, a few days ago it got up to 26°C, and I had ice cream after dinner, so I'll take that as enough of a reason to read this.
The opening article, the Farmer's Canvas, drew my attention because while I'm familiar with living around farms, I'm not familiar with American farms. I lived for three years in a small town in Japan, surrounded by rice fields and the farmers who lived in the houses nearby. That yellow-white color that a lot of fields in America have is something I've only glimpsed out the window of a van as my parents drove us on summer vacation trips. Still, I can identify with the rest of it. I've eaten rice grown by my neighbors, snacked on dried persimmons given to me when I was sick, and shared sake with the man who brought wild boar to the New Year tondo festival because he shot an animal that was rooting in his fields. As much as I love the city life and the conveniences that it offers, there is something magical about living close enough to the land that your sweat sinks into the soil and new life springs up thereby.
Practical Handicraft reminded me of my own apartment, though not because of my own efforts. Sadly, I'm completely unskilled in the sort of practical crafting described here. However, my father is not, and it is by his efforts that we've furnished most of our apartment. The kitchen table I ate at as a child had its legged chopped off and replaced to accommodate my wife and my new-found preference for sitting on the floor, both of our bookshelves were built by him for my room in his house, he built my wife a new dresser when he accidentally damaged her old (IKEA) one during a move, and he built the glass-topped coffee table that display most of our keepsakes from our years in Japan. What wasn't built by my father was inherited from my grandparents--the desk in the living room, my dresser, the chair by the windowsill. There's something comforting, even if usually unspoken, in knowing that. My everyday comforts are made possibly by my forebears.
When I first played Kingdom Hearts II, I thought the scene with the protagonist eating sea salt ice cream was incredibly bizarre. I've since been shown how wrong my initial reaction was, and the recipe for sea salt lemon ice cream definitely makes me want to get out the mixer and make some up. I haven't had good sea salt ice cream in years.
Speaking of which, the main topic comes through in An Ode to Ice Cream, which is the main reason I wanted to wait until the weather was better to read this issue. Though it's not like ice cream is seasonal--there's a frozen custard place near our apartment, and they stay open and do good business year-round. In the summer they get more people coming in to buy custard and eat it in the store, and in the winter they get more people buying pints or quarts to take home for themselves. I've certainly never noticed a temperature below which I was unwilling to eat ice cream. Even in the last few winters, where some days got to -40°C and our apartment didn't do a great job of retaining heat, I'd dish myself up a mug of ice cream (I eat ice cream out of mugs, the way I learned to do it from my parents) and eat it, putting up with the shivering that it would induce when I was done. Ice cream is worth it.
I don't live in Minneapolis and I'm pretty sure I've never even been to Minnesota, but living in Chicago means I understand some of the sentiment behind Life on the Lakes. We used to have an apartment on the lake, and while I almost never went to the beach that our building's balcony opened on to, I liked sitting out on the balcony during summer days and I loved that my walk to work took me along the lake. In the spring I could look out and see the sunrise reflecting on the waters, and in the fall I could see the mist blending lake and sky together into a single grey body. While I don't miss the traffic from our old apartment, I do miss those walks by the lake.
I spent a large portion of my childhood in Oregon and I'm familiar with the bounty of the sea--my grandparents lived in Florence--but I never would have considered that salt companies were so rare. Nature's Salt made me sad that I didn't know about Jacobsen Salt during our most recent trip to Oregon last summer, because I definitely would have bought some and taken it home. I've gotten a lot more cavalier about adding salt to dishes lately. At least, those dishes that I don't use soy sauce in.
This issue seems somehow more focused than some of the later issues I've read. It's not appreciably shorter and it definitely has less content, but I appreciate that it didn't cast its gaze too far afield. The focus on ice cream and spring really helped me hope that maybe someday, spring will come to Chicago. Probably about a week before summer does and I'm longingly looking forward to fall, but it's the price I pay for living in the Windy City.
The opening article, the Farmer's Canvas, drew my attention because while I'm familiar with living around farms, I'm not familiar with American farms. I lived for three years in a small town in Japan, surrounded by rice fields and the farmers who lived in the houses nearby. That yellow-white color that a lot of fields in America have is something I've only glimpsed out the window of a van as my parents drove us on summer vacation trips. Still, I can identify with the rest of it. I've eaten rice grown by my neighbors, snacked on dried persimmons given to me when I was sick, and shared sake with the man who brought wild boar to the New Year tondo festival because he shot an animal that was rooting in his fields. As much as I love the city life and the conveniences that it offers, there is something magical about living close enough to the land that your sweat sinks into the soil and new life springs up thereby.
Practical Handicraft reminded me of my own apartment, though not because of my own efforts. Sadly, I'm completely unskilled in the sort of practical crafting described here. However, my father is not, and it is by his efforts that we've furnished most of our apartment. The kitchen table I ate at as a child had its legged chopped off and replaced to accommodate my wife and my new-found preference for sitting on the floor, both of our bookshelves were built by him for my room in his house, he built my wife a new dresser when he accidentally damaged her old (IKEA) one during a move, and he built the glass-topped coffee table that display most of our keepsakes from our years in Japan. What wasn't built by my father was inherited from my grandparents--the desk in the living room, my dresser, the chair by the windowsill. There's something comforting, even if usually unspoken, in knowing that. My everyday comforts are made possibly by my forebears.
When I first played Kingdom Hearts II, I thought the scene with the protagonist eating sea salt ice cream was incredibly bizarre. I've since been shown how wrong my initial reaction was, and the recipe for sea salt lemon ice cream definitely makes me want to get out the mixer and make some up. I haven't had good sea salt ice cream in years.
Speaking of which, the main topic comes through in An Ode to Ice Cream, which is the main reason I wanted to wait until the weather was better to read this issue. Though it's not like ice cream is seasonal--there's a frozen custard place near our apartment, and they stay open and do good business year-round. In the summer they get more people coming in to buy custard and eat it in the store, and in the winter they get more people buying pints or quarts to take home for themselves. I've certainly never noticed a temperature below which I was unwilling to eat ice cream. Even in the last few winters, where some days got to -40°C and our apartment didn't do a great job of retaining heat, I'd dish myself up a mug of ice cream (I eat ice cream out of mugs, the way I learned to do it from my parents) and eat it, putting up with the shivering that it would induce when I was done. Ice cream is worth it.
I don't live in Minneapolis and I'm pretty sure I've never even been to Minnesota, but living in Chicago means I understand some of the sentiment behind Life on the Lakes. We used to have an apartment on the lake, and while I almost never went to the beach that our building's balcony opened on to, I liked sitting out on the balcony during summer days and I loved that my walk to work took me along the lake. In the spring I could look out and see the sunrise reflecting on the waters, and in the fall I could see the mist blending lake and sky together into a single grey body. While I don't miss the traffic from our old apartment, I do miss those walks by the lake.
I spent a large portion of my childhood in Oregon and I'm familiar with the bounty of the sea--my grandparents lived in Florence--but I never would have considered that salt companies were so rare. Nature's Salt made me sad that I didn't know about Jacobsen Salt during our most recent trip to Oregon last summer, because I definitely would have bought some and taken it home. I've gotten a lot more cavalier about adding salt to dishes lately. At least, those dishes that I don't use soy sauce in.
This issue seems somehow more focused than some of the later issues I've read. It's not appreciably shorter and it definitely has less content, but I appreciate that it didn't cast its gaze too far afield. The focus on ice cream and spring really helped me hope that maybe someday, spring will come to Chicago. Probably about a week before summer does and I'm longingly looking forward to fall, but it's the price I pay for living in the Windy City.
March 22, 2013
Fresh and exciting. The perfect read to get you ready for Spring. Short stories were beautifully written, and the recipes look delicious! I can't wait to make the ice cream/sorbet. I can't say one bad thing.
The beautifully printed pictures are what is going to make me keep this on my bookshelf forever.
The beautifully printed pictures are what is going to make me keep this on my bookshelf forever.
June 16, 2013
Beautiful volume about ice cream (and other things).
I read it in one sitting at the bookstore.
I read it in one sitting at the bookstore.
July 29, 2014
Beautiful photo's. Quality paper. Wonderful recipe's. I get lost in Kinfolk magazines, they're so dreamy.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews