Crème Caramel is a Saucy Minx *or* James Peterson is Teaching Me Fervor

When a lover makes a promise, and then breaks that promise, it can be difficult to mine the courage to trust again. Risotto did that to me. She whispered in my ear—when I was young and ripe and vulnerable—that she needed to be stirred constantly. She insisted. She pleaded. Not wanting to lose her, I obeyed.

Years later I learned her dirty secret: Constant stirring is unnecessary … constant stirring is for fools.

Tonight JP told me that I needed to stir my caramel constantly and because of my leftover risotto resentment, I didn't believe him. I put the sugar in the pot, looked at it every now and then, and didn't give it much thought.

My sugar burned.

So I went at it again. This time I stirred like I was supposed to and removed the pot from the heat after the lumps were gone like I was supposed to. The caramel was brownish red like the discussion and photos in his book and didn't smell like molasses. But it was hard. And for some reason the hardness unsettles me. It seems wrong.

The custards are out of the oven and have several hours of cooling ahead of them. I'll pop them out of their ramekins tomorrow and see if the hard caramel worked.

I'm not sure what the difference is, how this book is unlike the others, but I feel like I'm learning. The thousands of pictures help because if the food on my stove doesn't match the food in my book I know something is wrong and I think of ways to fix it. But the pictures aren't the whole story. JP doesn't ramble on about every detail. The book is instructional, but it isn't Baking for Dummies. The Dummies style controls for every variable and doesn't leave room for critical thinking.

The intelligence of Baking is that it documents enough background and technique to be enabling. With James Peterson's book in the dining room I am thinking and making decisions in the kitchen. I have fervor. And fervor is rare.


P.S. The photo is of the second go at caramel. The pot is an enameled cast iron pot by Copco that was a gift to my parents for their wedding. Most of the time I use it for spoon bread.

He steals my beer, but he knows what he's talking about.

I don't know enough about art or photos or aesthetics to talk about food photography with understated gravitas. I do know that the photo editors at Martha Stewart (I am a fan) started a trend of bright white, shadowless, over exposed, etherial food shots. The folks at Real Simple and Oprah are along for the ride. And so is everyone else who wants to be just like them (which is just about everyone else).

In a world of intense food guilt over any plate that isn't raw/vegan/macro/local/heirloom/organic I understand the appeal of bright white this-food-is-angelic-so-I-promise-it-won't-hurt-you photos.

I also understand the appeal of reproducing something you see and admire. What better way to learn? It's sort of the subject of my blog.

But sometimes I want to see something new. Or something old. I want something other than what all the photo editors publish.

Mark is spectacular at what he does. His most recent post is an entertaining and thoughtful discussion on personal work and lighting and it hints at the very real trauma of being married to me.

The Wasilla Goat Lady is on to Me *or* I Don't Know How David Sedaris Does It

Mark has about two hundred more Facebook friends than I do even though I'm twice as winning. That's bullshit. I'd like to catch up. I'll accept a friend request from almost anyone. But not everyone.

The Wasilla Goat Lady friend requested me today and as soon as I saw her goat avatar and note, it put me on edge.

I believe you sent me a message in October of 2008 about milk. 

Yes, I did send you a note. I also drove out to your farm and you told me I had to leave my dog in the car (Dasha spent some formative time on a ranch in Wyoming and the smell of straw and shit and mud is sweet, sweet heaven to that dog). If you're in the mood for honesty, I was a little creeped out by your weirdness. But that was years ago. We're through. So why the request now? Did you read my post? Did you know it was me? Are you on a baking blog revenge vendetta that starts with Facebook and ends with goat parts in my bed? There has to be a gross of goat ladies in Wasilla, and I was careful not to mention anything too identifying in the post. The Glad baggies were maybe a bit of a giveaway, but it's a common brand and I have a lot more ammo. I could dime you out if I wanted. But I didn't. So back off.

Or maybe it's a coincidence. I feel guilty nevertheless.

Where is the line? How careful should I be? How does David Sedaris do it? Every time I read his books—short essays about the absurdity of his life—I wonder how he faces his family after he publicly exploits them. What does he say? At this point apologizing is stupid because he's a chronic offender and I'm sorry only works for a little while. Yesterday, when I was writing about pots de crème I had this great story about coffee and milk and sugar that was really funny but I couldn't write it because I didn't want to throw my mom under the bus. She didn't do anything mean or wrong, but the story would have hurt the feelings of someone I don't even like and would have put my mom in a spot (who I do like, very very much). So I didn't write it. I try to be careful. I thought the Wasilla Goat Lady was safe. Maybe she was and maybe she wasn't.

If you haven't read any David Sedaris, buy some. Me Talk Pretty One Day and Naked are both fantastic. But don't read any of his books in public. You'll laugh so loud you'll scare people.

P.S. The photo is of David Sedaris.

Coffee Pots de Crème: Are they dessert or are they breakfast?

The world of custard is a continuum. At one end is a custard made with milk and whole eggs. At the other end is a concoction of cream and yolks. Variations fall in between. As a general rule one egg will set 2/3 cup of liquid.

I'm unable to control my imagination. I want to make porter custard, and citrus custard, and honey custard. Corn, squash, and chili custard. Monkey brains custard.

Thank you James Peterson. Your introduction makes me feel introduced and independent.

The coffee pots de crème were fantastic, easy, and quick. And they will continue to be fantastic tomorrow morning for breakfast. (About a year ago I made some earl gray tea baked custards. I used loose tea that had been sitting around a while but deserved a good purpose. I simmered an ungodly amount in the milk and the custard was delicious. Mark and I ate it for dessert and were wired until about 2 am from the caffeine.)

For anyone following along, a few notes on Pots de Crème, page 353:

I had to bake the custards almost twice as long as the recipe suggests. I used hot tap water for the bain marie and my tap doesn't get that hot. It was a bad choice. Next time I'll use water from the kettle (my usual).

Oftentimes when I bake custard the little foamy bubbles around the edge of the ramekin bake into the custard and are very visible in the finished desserts. For whatever reason the bubbles vanished this time. It might be because I covered the custards with foil (per JP's instruction) but I really have no idea.

As recommended, I used ground coffee instead of instant.

The custards were a little sweet. Next time I'll use less sugar.

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The photo for this post was taken with some super expired 4 x 5 Polaroid film. It reminds me a bit of Irving Penn's food shots for Vogue, which I love, so I'm smittin'.

New to the Wishlist

Food in the Louvre

Review that's fun to read in T Magazine here.