Jake Godby

At Humphry Slocombe, we serve hordes of loyal, beloved regulars each day. Some are more promiscuous than others, and try all our flavors, mixing it up each visit. Others are monogamous followers of specific flavors, like the one guy who comes in every day for a gallon of vanilla ice cream (for serious), or the devout woman who calls like clockwork to see if we have Rosemary's Baby. One particular young lady was a big fan of Salted Licorice, and arrived promptly every time we had it in stock. After several visits, she came in one day bearing a gift: a bag of black, salty licorice that she brought back from Sweden. When Sean didn't register who or what she was, she became very insulted, threw the candy at him, and stormed off. As soon as she left, Sean remembered her and felt terrible. Angry Licorice Girl, please come back. Sean is very sorry. Nearly everyone has a childhood reference to licorice. Salted Licorice reminds some guests of their travels to Eastern Europe and Scandinavia, where black licorice is ubiquitous. For other guests, Salted Licorice conjures up memories of chewy Red Vines in movie theaters. And it should, because we actually use Red Vines—the black ones, that is. Every once in a while, Sean stretches the truth by saying we use real licorice root. Technically, that's not incorrect…we just use real licorice root after it's been made into Red Vines. We're not afraid to be a little trashy. But not as trashy as Twizzlers. Those are gross.

この味は驚くばかりである! We make White Miso ice cream in the summer with peaches, in the fall with apples, and in the winter with pears. Alice Waters would be so proud of us . . . you know, if she knew who we were. Doing a flavor with miso was a natural and logical extension of our love for savory elements in our ice creams. Miso is a thick traditional Japanese soy paste that's often used as a condiment or a flavor ingredient in cooking, and it's been growing in popularity as an ingredient in desserts. Since miso is so salty, this is one of the few recipes in the book that doesn't call for added salt or vinegar. In his search to get the flavors right, Jake went to a Japanese supermarket and bought pretty much every kind of miso in the joint: red miso, mixed miso, rice miso, purple miso, soy-only miso, miso-horny, and so on. He eventually settled on a white style. White miso is much more delicate than its counterparts. It's mellow. He still doesn't know what the label says, but boy, it sure gets the job done. White Miso is another "Wow" flavor, with distinct umami undertones that pair well with the seasonal tree fruits. It also goes secretly well with a scoop of Guinness Gingerbread, or simply a little splash of olive oil on top. Inspiration: Jake used to serve miso apple butter with crepes and olive oil ice cream.

“其实真的很好!”听到这句话over and over again in the shop. In fact, we've overheard it so much through the years, we've even caught ourselves saying it unwillingly. We kinda hate it, because it goes with the presumption that you've already discussed that "it"—whether it's an ice cream flavor or party or whatever—is not going to be good. The flavor that sparks the most customers to utter "It's actually really good!" is Candy Cap, a flavor made with…delicious little mushrooms. First some background: Porcini mushroom ice cream is one of the only flavor failures Jake will readily admit. It tasted OK, but it was just too earthy, and sadly, there was not a market for dirt ice cream. At least not yet. But right when we were ready to write off mushroom ice cream, we stumbled upon a wonderful species called candy cap mushrooms. A local mushroom vendor, Far West Fungi, approached us about doing a mushroom flavor. At first we were pretty skeptical, and at second, we were still skeptical. But when they finally coaxed us to visit their shop at the Ferry Building, they opened a jar of dried candy caps. They smelled like the best maple syrup ever. We were sold. We soon learned that nothing else on earth tastes like candy cap mushrooms. They carry the earthy taste associated with mushrooms, but unlike in the failed porcini experiment, candy caps deliver their own dimension of sweetness to the ice cream. Guests have said it tastes like waffles, pancakes, cinnamon buns, celery root, etc. Way more than just a novelty flavor, it's become one of our most popular flavors—it even got us on the television screen once or twice.