Creme Brulee and Medical Jokes When There's No One to Get Them
I've always enjoyed creme brulee, and a few weeks ago Darling Spouse and I invested in a new toy to make it: an adorable little miniature kitchen blowtorch, that came with a set of four cute little white porcelain ramekins with fluted edges. We've made it twice so far, and although it came out great (as in, delicious) I'm discovering that there's some technique involved in burning sugar. Gaining experience has never been so tasty, and fire is always fun. (I suppose the Jock and the Nestling come by their pyromania honestly.)
Last night we went out to dinner with some old friends at a lovely Cajun restaurant. (It was a challenge to avoid bread, flour and other non-pesadech stuff, but we managed well enough.) When the server mentioned that one of their dessert specials was vanilla creme brulee, I stopped listening and ordered it.
Like the rest of the meal, the presentation was lovely: crispy brown burnt sugar crust over yummy custard, served with fruit -- in a heart-shaped ramekin. As I removed the fruit I noticed that there was a blotch of darker brown in the crust localized to the upper left of the dish; though of course to the dish's orientation, it was the upper right.
"Oh look," I wanted to say, "The S-A node." But there was no one else at the table to get the joke. I sighed, and slowly ate my creme brulee. It was awesome.