This is the machine that we, as children, called the "Malted Milk Machine". It is the very one that I grew up with, a touch point in the kitchen of our Yonkers, New York apartment.
My father, an inventive cook, would make milk shakes, egg nogs, (when we still were able to eat raw eggs without fear) and other marvelous concoctions. He had a great talent for combining strange ingredients without rhyme or reason, but with astonishingly good results.
The wearing of the paint on the front of the machine bears witness to its many delicious nights of use.
And so I deliciously continue on with my own family...
