Lemon, Honey, and Brandy (or Guggle Muggle) Ice Cream Recipe

I am only recently on the uptake from a doozy of a cold. Where my joints didn't ache, they popped. My asthmatic lungs could have been confused for a Victorian steam engine. My throat and stomach rebelled at the mere concept of nourishment.

Something had to be done, and with no Jewish grandmother in sight, I made the cure-all drink my family has always whipped up in the face of illness: a guggle muggle. If you hail from Mittleuropean or Slavic Jewish stock, the thought of a guggle muggle probably warms your heart and soothes your throat. But as it turns out, there's little agreement about what constitutes a proper guggle muggle.

Some versions resemble eggnog; others are proto-custards. Some are more like hot toddies. As you can imagine from other divisions in Jewish edible culture, all this has resulted in a fair amount of quibbling.

My family's version falls in the hot toddy camp: boiling water, strong honey, lemon juice, and a fortifying spirit. Tradition demands Slivovitz, though any brandy will do in a pinch. It's a cure for any ailment, and after a couple I was able to get off the couch and even contemplate actual nourishment. But I wasn't done with the guggle muggle. I wanted more. So I set out to unify the diverse and diffuse guggle muggle camps under a banner they could all get around: ice cream.

Here's a version even a gentile could love: a smooth, relatively light ice cream run through with lemon and honey. There's a pronounced brandy flavor to keep things interesting, in no small part aided by the brandied apricots and ginger thrown in at the end. It's a heady ice cream that won't weigh you down. Just what the doctor ordered, whether you're sick or not.