Overcooked custard is a shame, a waste of quality ingredients. If I go through the trouble to procure organic cream, whole milk, and duck eggs, I have every reason to give them the attention they deserve. Unfortunately, undivided attention was exactly the missing ingredient when I made crème brûlée from Dorie Greenspan’s Around My French Table. A scheduled 60 minutes of baking time in a low 200F oven stretched into a 6 hour marathon. In the mean time, I was sound asleep totally oblivious to the transformation inside the oven. So did I cheat this week by cobbling together an enticing photo with food styling tricks? No. Did I crumble under the shame and made the dessert again? No. What I have is in fact the most accidentally perfect crème brûlée I can imagine. From the silky smooth custard to the thin crackly caramel top that shattered under the tap of my spoon, this dessert is textbook perfect, except for one minor detail.
Before I tackled this recipe, I heard from other bloggers of soupy custard that would not set. The high proportion of cream and milk to egg yolks was indeed alarming. I forged ahead anyway and divided my custard into 12 mini dishes. Some were filled with a hidden surprise of homemade vanilla apricot jam, others with vanilla pear butter. By the time I slipped the tray in the oven, it was already past midnight. At the one hour mark, the custard looked far from set so I intended to bake for another half an hour. Within that small window of time, I fell asleep on the couch and did not wake up until morning.
I jumped up from the couch the second I opened my eyes and rushed to the oven in a panic. Miraculously, the custard was not burnt nor even dry out. They did turn into a warm golden shade because the long low heat essentially caramelized the lactose, rather similar to dulce de leche.
When I was ready to christen the custard with their signature crackly caramel lid, I had already forgotten about the previous morning’s drama. A judicious and even layer of dark brown sugar danced under the flame. It bubbled and hissed until a thin sheet of caramel completely sealed the golden custard beneath. I gently tapped the caramel with my spoon and it shattered into shards. Each spoonful of crème brûlée was a delightful mix of crunchy caramel and silky custard with the occasional ribbon of tart apricot jam. It was perfect in every way.
The culinary god must be smiling down on me when such a potential catastrophe turned into the most divine dessert. I am not sure I’ll be lucky enough to replicate success. If I don’t, well, I still have 10 more to enjoy. Good thing the holiday sharing spirit is alive and well at my house. It would be a pity if I can only share this experience with others through words. If you want to see how this recipe turned out for other bloggers, check out French Fridays with Dorie!
