In 2015, friends Henry Milroy and Rob Huysinga stumbled across a vendor selling “stir-fried ice-cream” to a crowd of tourists. They were on a night out in Koh Phi Phi, the Thai island group made famous by the film The Beach, and where the storied Maya Bay will close this June to enable its recovery following unsustainable levels of tourism.
In awe, they watched the man pour liquid on to a cold grill and, using a pair of paddles, turn it into ice-cream while a crowd filmed the process. After a swim, the pair, now both 23, had the moonshot idea to bring it to the UK. Their first stall was a gazebo, but they currently have four outlets in the UK, some in a pink and blue Citroën CV van, under the name Pan-n-Ice, which sounds like boyband but is actually an accurate description of how the stuff is made. First, a creamy, milk-heavy base is poured on to a -30C metal plate. Toppings are added and, using two spatulas, the mix is chopped and spread into a paste. This is then scraped into small cigar-shaped rolls and stacked in a pot. It is pretty standard in Thailand, Malaysia and Cambodia.
Pan-n-Ice make about 500 a day on the weekend; most variations cost less than £4, which is bang for your buck given the manpower. The whole process, which takes about 90 seconds, looks like an extended gif – so while its success could partly be down to their spellbinding Instagram feed, I would hazard that it’s the weirder, more private subgenre of “oddly satisfying” videos that have given it a boost. I devour these videos, which fetishise tactile processes such as slicing melons, crushing goo, squeezing warm wax or extracting blackheads. They pinball from satisfying to hypnotic to borderline carnal, depending on what you’re into.
But back to Pan-n-Ice: toppings vary, and you can bring your own; the Ice Cream Rolls YouTube channel provides solid inspiration. There has been at least one version made with chicken nuggets, another with fries and ketchup. Because it is now food law, Huysinga has made it with avocado. Because of the banter, he has also made it with dog biscuits.
My first try was with Oreos and chocolate sauce. I wanted to hate it but couldn’t. It was narcotic to watch the flattening and the rolling, and the result was delicious, with a lightly whipped texture. Crushing the little cigars is certainly oddly satisfying. In the spirit of things, I also ordered the “Mess that was Eton” – strawberries, raspberries and meringue. Was the concoction designed as a takedown of the patriarchal establishment? Or a sly dig at at their school, perhaps? Neither: “I played them a few times at rugby,” said Huysinga. “And by the end of it they were definitely a ‘mess that was Eton’.”