Stephanie Samaras uses words like "amazing, strong, tough, and determined" to describe the women in her family — from her great grandmother, Olive Irene (called Neannie by everyone who knew her), to her mom, Teri Ryan, to her sisters Nicole and Mary, who work by her side at her mom's café. That café, which the women affectionately named Neannie's, is a tribute to them all, she says. What a warm, friendly, delectable tribute it is.

It was not much more than a year ago that Teri Ryan heard that the small Westside gelateria and coffee bar was up for sale. Only open for about two months before it went on the market, it had been freshly decorated with sunny yellow walls and had all the equipment in place to make gelato — intensely flavored creamy Italian ice cream.

Teri told daughter Stephanie, a self-taught cook, that she was thinking about buying the place. Would Stephanie consider taking over the kitchen? Stephanie, working at a local Bloomington restaurant and taking occasional classes at IU, didn't need any persuading.

advertise here | advertiser directory

Soon Neannie's (rhymes with Jeannie's) was open for business. They serve a different breakfast every day (it's crème brulee French toast on Wednesdays, just so you know) and the whole week's array plus biscuits and gravy on Saturdays. Available from lunch through early evening are soups (Stephanie makes a heavenly cumin-scented squash soup with parmesan), sandwiches (including marinated tuna and smoked turkey) and salads. The food is fresh, seasonal, often local, and always impeccably prepared.

But the heart of Neannie's is the gelato, freshly made ice cream rich with flavors like tart pineapple, ripe peaches, and lush chocolate raspberry. When the gelato case is full and each of the steel containers is piled with luscious pastel colored ice creams, Neannie's customers are truly spoiled for choice.

The exact definition of gelato is a somewhat contentious issue. That it is Italian, is beyond dispute, but the Italians themselves cannot agree on how it should be made. The Sicilians make it with milk, but no egg yolks, in Tuscany it is made from a custard containing milk and eggs, and in the north it is made with a custard that has cream and eggs – more like the premium ice cream Americans are used to.

What gelatos have in common is that they are denser than regular ice cream, having less air whipped into them, and thus have more intense flavor as well. Gelato is held and served at a warmer temperature than other ice creams, which further heightens the flavor.

Happily, gelato is also lower in fat, although its dense creaminess tricks you into thinking it cannot be so. A 4-ounce serving of gelato (a small dish at Neannie's) has 8 grams of fat for the dairy versions and 2 grams for the fruit (made without milk). A similar serving of Haagen Dazs vanilla ice cream, on the other hand, has 18 fat grams.

Teri and Stephanie both make gelato at Neannie's, although these days they are grooming Nathan Austin to take over the job. From my observer's post in the kitchen, it is apparent that Nathan is having fun. He has named the $8,000 gelato-making machine "Fred." I ask if this is because freddo means cold in Italian, but it turns out that he just likes to name things "Fred." In this case, at least, it has worked out well.

The gelato is made from commercial bases and flavorings, along with fresh fruit, nuts and other enhancements. Teri and her daughters tasted lots of gelato before settling on the Italian producer of their base mixes (a closely held café secret.)

The flavorings can also be mixed and matched — and serendipity has struck more than once in the small gelato kitchen. Chocolate raspberry, for instance, or kiwi lemon, and chocolate coconut. The best is when local fruits are in season — last summer customers reveled in gelato made with fresh peaches and another fragrant with rose petals and lavender.

Their most popular flavors are tiramisu and coffee break (coffee gelato swirled through with chocolate). Their pistachio is one of the most exquisite ice creams I have ever eaten — not one of those fakey bright green concoctions, but brownish colored, and rich with freshly ground nuts.

Does the flavor design process ever go awry, I wondered? Teri and Stephanie laugh, and admit to a few slips, like the time they mistakenly used salted pistachios, producing a briny ice cream no one wanted to eat. Usually the troubles are related to consistency and texture, but they work hard to avoid them since the materials are costly and every bad batch is money wasted.

In the back room, Fred is all cleaned out and ready to go. Nathan has peeled a bunch of bananas, and carefully weighed them. Everything that goes into the machine is carefully measured since inaccuracy can result in gelato disaster. He mixes the base with the flavors and the pureed fruit. When it's finished, he turns Fred on and the paddle wheel, looking just like a huge version of a home ice cream machine, starts to rotate. He pours the mixture through the hole at the top and it starts to chill as it is slowly churned by the machine.

advertise here | advertiser directory

Nathan has gone on to measure out the ingredients for the next batch, an orange gelato made just with juice and water (when milk is added it tastes more like an old fashioned dreamsicle or humorette). I am still peering fascinatedly down into the innards of Fred, who is still cranking away.

The banana ice cream is thick now — it takes only 15 minutes to produce a batch in this monster (sorry, Fred, but you are). Nathan removes the metal plate over the spout, and out flows a slow lava river of banana heaven. Teri walks by, sees the look on my face, and scoops up a small spoonful for me. What bliss.

After an afternoon of chatting with Teri and Stephanie, and watching Nathan with his buddy Fred, I am tickled. The café, which somehow manages to look sunny even on a stormy afternoon, has a cheery air; the people who work there are having a good time; the food is delicious, the ice cream sublime. As proud as Stephanie is of her strong female forebears, I'm guessing that somewhere, Neannie must be pretty proud of her girls too.