Gelato by the Superscoopful

Rich and vivid, Italian-style ice cream invades and conquers

Not all historians agree that the future King Henry II of France married Italy's Catherine de Medicis for her ice cream recipes in 1533. Some say he liked her pasta more. In any case, the Italians lost a daughter but not a dish. They have remained, to this day, among the world's supreme ice cream makers. Americans, who are the world's supreme ice cream gulpers (15 quarts per capita per annum), are only now beginning to make that luscious discovery en masse. In the heat-racked summer of '83, people are screaming for all kinds of ice cream, including one innovation that isn't ice cream at all. But the loudest, longest cries are for gelato.

Jell-ah-toe! It even sounds like a minor Italian poet. Actually, the Italian word for ice cream means nothing more lyrical than "frozen." But at its subtle, supercreamy best, it is as different from the standard American variety as Soave is from 7Up. The best gelato, as adapted to American tastes, is much richer in butterfat, the soul of ice cream, than the familiar commercial American brands. Little or no air is pumped into it, making for a deep, intensified taste. And the flavors, natural and innocent of chemicals, can seem, singly or in combination, as impassioned as an aria sung by Pavarotti.

As with many American innovations, gelato has swirled out from California. In the past year, several scoopfuls of competing companies have opened retail shops in Beverly Hills, Marina del Rey, Studio City and other communities. Some of the stores, notably the dozen or so high-tech outlets owned by the San Francisco-based Gelato Classico chain, cannot meet the demand. Some, like A1 Gelato in Elmwood Park outside Chicago and the art deco Gelati per Tutti on Hollywood's trendy Melrose Avenue, have become landmarks, packing in the pilgrims as thick as the product. In hundreds of supermarkets, brightly colored gelato containers nestle next to such top-of-the-line American brands as Breyers and their pseudo-Scandinavian cousins, Haeagen-Dazs and Frusen Glaedje.

There is yet another newcomer to the frozen scene: tofutti. As its ungainly name suggests, it has a powdered soy base, no lactose, butterfat or cholesterol, and contains only 128 calories per 4-oz. scoop, vs. as much as 325 for a premium dairy ice cream and 280 for gelato. A sellout among celebs and fast-trackers from Manhattan to Honolulu, this noncream ice cream, which comes in five flavors, actually tastes good. Best of the batch: banana pecan.

Still, for the ice cream mainliner, the name of the game this summer is that calorific Italian stuff. One of the biggest gelato wholesalers, Tartufo Italgelateria, Inc., of San Gabriel, Calif., supplies elegant restaurants and hotels nationally; its gelato will make its debut this month in supermarkets in the Southeast. Next week another variety, called Gelare will be test-marketed by Borden, Inc., in Houston, Dallas, Columbus and Pittsburgh, with an eye to eventual distribution throughout its 28-state market. "This is the best-tasting product we have tried," says Robert Kirby, a Borden's group vice president. "It seems that more people are realizing the value of better ice creams and are willing to pay."

The prices can be deceptive. A pint of Baskin-Robbins at $2.35 contains 50% air. Tartufo's gelato at $2.49 has 9% air. Most of the gelati are made with expensive imported equipment and costly ingredients, such as vanilla extract at $55 a gallon. Some of the recipes call for painstaking manufacture. The Gelare mix is quickly cooled, "aged" in tubs, churned and finally frozen to 20DEG F below zero over a 24-hour period.

The wizards of gelato offer flavors of a richness and purity to boggle the taste buds: liqueur-based delicacies, a dozen variations on chocolate and elusive essences like cantaloupe. Not to mention A1 Gelato's trompe l'oeil "spaghetti," made of Marsala-laced, eggy zabaglione ice cream run through a spaghetti press and topped with chocolate meatballs, pureed strawberries for the tomato effect and a sprinkling of grated coconut to resemble Parmesan cheese. Who needs pasta? This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.