How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bombe

My reason for asking Mike to do a post for Eat, Drink, Stagger was purely selfish. We’ve met briefly in person, but it was on Twitter that I learnt that he has a real love for cooking, but more impressively to me, he’d bought a blow torch specifically to finish bombe Alaska, the dessert of my dreams. I can picture it now my mother’s 70s cookbook and recipe cards – it looked impossible to make! I still haven’t tried the fabled dessert, but hope to one day. I was seduced by those meringue waves…

What also impressed me about Mike is that he really loves cooking and is a ‘nerd’, and thus living proof that the two attributes aren’t mutually exclusive. Bombe Alaska is clearly a dessert attempted by those who take their kitchen activities very seriously. I absolutely loved reading about Mike’s bombe endeavours, and hope you enjoy reading about them too. You can find him on Twitter at @unearthlymike, and he also has a website which details his professional life.


Why hello there! I didn’t see you come in! I’m Michael, your guest blogger for the evening. Come. Sit. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll tell you a tale. A tale of a man and his dessert.

It all started back in February of 1903, when I was a young lad growing up in the Bavarian Alps. No – it actually started one particularly unusual night in the September of 2009. Why was this night so unusual? Because I decided to rot my brain a little further with some so-called reality TV. Celebrity Masterchef to be precise.

Who were the celebrities appearing in that particular episode? I don’t remember. It’s not important. Please refrain from asking questions until I’m finished. It’s dangerous to interrupt a man as he rambles. You wanna get stabbed!?

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, growing steadily bored as the episode progressed, my interest returned when it came to the final challenge. Bombe Alaska.

I watched as the celebrities struggled to follow the recipe they had each been supplied with. I think this is what originally appealed to me – the apparent difficulty of the dish. If I could master this, I could cook anything. But more importantly, it seemed like a dessert that under the right circumstances could lead to a little boob groping.

So I gave it a shot and was promptly charged with indecent assault. Then I realised I had things in the wrong order and needed to make the dessert first. To cut a long story short, it was an average result. Thai dictionary . The first bombe turned out the best. As I continued, there was a steady decline in quality, as illustrated in the graph below.

For a long time after, I was haunted by the unforgiving face of Matt Preston, scoffing at my less than perfect bombes. I saw him everywhere (but mostly in advertisements, hawking products vaguely related to cooking). This just fuelled my urge to get this recipe right.

Now, many months later, I’m going to attempt the tricky dessert a second time. Yes, this is Bombe Alaska 2: Electric Boogaloo. Documented in Technicolour for your viewing pleasure.

Grab a stone tablet and a chisel, because the ingredients are coming up riiiiiiight…… n…. right nnn…………. NOW!!!:


Ice cream

  • 4 egg yolks
  • 4 tbsp caster sugar
  • 1 vanilla bean, scraped (or substitute 1 tsp vanilla essence)
  • 1 tbsp crème de cacao
  • 2 tbsp cocoa
  • 300mls thickened cream

orange purée

  • 1 orange, peeled and chopped
  • 3 tbsp caster sugar
  • 70ml orange juice


  • 4 egg whites
  • 1 cup caster sugar

‘fancy pants’ optional presentation

  • 60g orange flavoured chocolate
  • 1 orange, sliced into wedges


The first step is to make the ice cream. I know, I’m excited too! Half fill a pot with water and bring it to the boil. Reduce to simmer and place a bowl over it.

Bust open the eggs and separate the yolks from the whites. Make sure not to get any yolk mixed in with the whites. If you do, you fail at life and your meringue won’t work. Store the whites in a refrigerated time-capsule for future generations. Combine the egg yolks, caster sugar, and vanilla bean innards in the water-heated bowl.

Using an old-school vintage hand beater (a whisk would also work) whisk the mixture off its feet with romantic gestures. Or just until it becomes thick and pale, like a chubby albino.

Once your mixture is ready, remove the bowl from the pot. Use oven mitts so you don’t drop it like it’s hot. Because it will be. Congratulations, you just made custard. If that’s what you were hoping to achieve, STOP NOW!!! Otherwise, mix in your crème de cacao and thickened cream. PROTIP: The alcohol in the crème de cacao will stop your ice-cream from setting too hard.

This is where the cocoa (sifted) should be added too. I didn’t put any in when I originally made this, and the crème de cacao didn’t give a rich enough chocolate flavour for my tastes. Or any chocolate flavour at all…

Pour this mixture into a plastic container. Old ice cream containers are great for this. Seal it with the lid (if you have one) or some foil and put it into the freezer until firm. A few hours should be fine. Go and watch Avatar or something.

After the credits roll, it’s time to churn the ice cream. Using a knife, slice it up whilst muttering, “Stabbity, stabbity, stab, stab.” This will not only help you release years of suppressed rage, but will also make the ice cream easier to mix. Fire up an electric beater and churn that mother like your life depends on it! Return to the freezer and watch Avatar again.

You can repeat the process as many times as you want. More churning will produce creamier ice cream and give you a better grasp of the Na’vi language.

Alternatively, if you are impatient (what, you don’t like Avatar?) and have an ice cream maker, use that.

For the purée, put your orange, sugar and juice in a saucepan and heat on medium. I actually used two oranges when making this recipe, but found the end result to be a little overpowering so I cut it back to one in the ingredients. Stir occasionally until the liquid is evaporated.

You can use this time to prepare your moulds. But don’t let your purée burn! Or so help me, I will come to your house and give you such a telling off!

I used disposable cups lined with Glad Wrap, but a hollowed out human skull would do the same job.

Once your orange is ready it’s time to ask yourself, “Will it blend?” You’ll be pleasantly surprised to find out that [spoiler alert] it does!

Remove your ice cream from the freezer or ice cream machine. You may need to let it soften a little, or churn it one last time before folding in the blended purée. Don’t over-mix it though, I know how excitable you can get. We just want a ripple of orange running through the ice cream.

Transfer the mix to your moulds and return to the freezer. I ended up with enough for three bombes. So that’s one each for you, your date, and the camera guy.

Meanwhile… start preparing the optional presentation part of the dish. Or don’t. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life.

Spend a quiet moment reminiscing about your custard-making past. Use that same ‘bowl over simmering water’ technique to melt the chocolate. Dip orange wedges into the chocolate but only coat half of each slice. Place them on a plate covered in Glad Wrap and shove it into the fridge. Eat any remaining chocolate as you wait for the ice cream to set again. You know you want to.

When the ice cream is solid, start preparing the meringue. Dig up your time-capsule and put the egg whites in a bowl. Using an electric beater, beat them like a misbehaving child. Staying with the same metaphor, gradually add sugar to keep them from telling anyone. Your meringue should be ready when it forms soft, white peaks.

Remove one bombe from a mould and place it on the ugliest plate you can find. Doing this one at a time (and leaving the others in the freezer) will keep them from melting.

Grab a knife and spread a thin layer of meringue (about a half centimetre thick) onto the bombe.

Brown this using a blow torch whilst singing Pat Benatar’s ‘Fire and Ice’. I picked my torch up from House, who sells kitchen products when he’s not solving medical puzzles.

Any leftover meringue can be baked in mounds on a tray at 90 degrees Celsius for 90 minutes, so as not to waste it.

Arrange three of your choc-coated orange wedges on the side of the plate. Repeat the spreading, browning and wedging for the remaining bombes.

If you followed these directions exactly, you should have gained at least 10,000 EXP. More than enough to level up and face the end boss.

Finally, grab some lube and contraceptives because you are going to get laid!* Even I want to have sex with me for making this!

*Actual results may vary.

As an afterthought, this would also be great with strawberries instead of oranges. Next time Gadget, next time…


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6 thoughts on “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bombe

  1. Gem

    @unearthlymike love love love that first pic, looking so debonair and all!I do protest the suggestion that people watch Avatar whilst waiting. If you want to appear to be a true discerning gent, then why not suggest the 4-hour version of Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet? 😛

  2. Mike

    @Gem It just goes to show that the nerd part of me outweighs the gentleman part. 😉

  3. Agnes

    Wow. Bombe Alaska is one dessert that I have ALWAYS been fascinated by, but have never had! Funny post – and I think that plate is actually very pretty. 🙂

  4. Violet Lily

    That ice cream looks amazing, and the end result! I love bombe Alaska, this makes me a little less afraid to make it, but still a little afraid :D”The first bombe turned out the best. As I continued, there was a steady decline in quality, as illustrated in the graph below.”That’s what happened with me and baklava. While good the second time, not the dizzying heights of the first time.

  5. Pingback: (live, love) eat, drink, stagger » no-fuss Italian fare

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