Afternoon of the Flan

I would have been better off taking my donkey and a rope and finding the nearest mesquite tree, standing on the donkey, forming a noose, looping the rope over a tree branch, encircling my neck, and kicking the donkey from beneath me.

I didn't know that 1-3/4 hours previous, however, when I took the flan mix off the shelf in the pantry. It had been sitting there since before the turn of the century, minding its own business, and I thought - how wrong of me - that because it was a mix, it would be easy, like Betty Crocker. It only called for 1/2 cup of sugar, a small fry pan, 2 cups of milk, the mix, a medium saucepan (I chose a nice copper one with a little spout for pouring.), and four "heat-proof" ramekins. Actually, the box called them bowls, but I like to be proper about these things, even if I am stupid about the cooking process involved.

To begin:

Measure the sugar. Feel guilty. It's way too much for us to eat, but I am not wasting anything as I am using up something from the pantry. And, of course, we deserve a treat (just like every other night). Put the sugar in the fry pan. Turn heat on low with the expectation that "caramelization" will occur. Stir. Stir. Stir some more. Move so that I am blocking the air from the ceiling fan because I am certain that it is interfering with the flame and, thus, the heat that is not melting the sugar. Stir. And stir. Then stir again... and again. Nothing happening. Forty minutes in, call Lois, but get no answer, so leave a message about having a cooking question. Stir. Call Jeannie and leave a message that maybe she needs a break from work for a giggle (and to give cooking advice). Stir. Stir. Stir, damn it! Call Helen. Leave a message surmising that she is at Christmas Tree Shops. Wish I were there and not here. The heat from the burner - and due to the fan not hitting the front of me at all - is really becoming irritating. Call Cyndi and don't leave a message because I am just too frustrated. But, wait! A touch of brown amidst the white crystals! How silly it was of me to call anyone! Stir. Stir. Lumps forming. Minutes passing. Glop developing. Keep stirring and pay no attention to the stuff sticking to the wooden spoon; it will come off if I jam it against the bottom of the pan and let it melt. Why do people do this? I am not one of them! FINALLY, something that resembles "caramelized" (per the instructions). I'm not sure if this should be a thin or a thick consistency, but I go with a bit thick since I am sick of waiting.

The next step is to pour said caramelized sugar into the bowls (ramekins) and "swirl it around." Number 1: I burn my index finger. Number 2: There are threads of caramel everywhere. Number 3: How is this stuff ever supposed to "swirl"? It sits and hardens. Number 4: I have candy hardened to my pan, my spoon, my spatula, my counter... I can lick some of them like an all-day sucker, but not all, so I still have to face a clean-up that I may leave for Jim.

Move on to milk and flan mix step. Now, I should have known this would be an issue. "Add milk gradually to mix in pan, stirring constantly over medium heat until milk comes to a boil. Mixture will be thin." Now, I have always questioned this. If one is "stirring constantly," how does one know if the milk is boiling? And, if one stops stirring, will the milk scald as the bubbles are awaited? Will the mixture thicken when it shouldn't? Will both happen? I already know that it takes far too much time for two cups of milk to come to a boil, so that should have been a clue to throw the mix out and save myself from the mesquite tree. I missed it, though, thus imperiling my afternoon of lemonade and a good book. At any rate, I start the process and once again, stir and stir and stir. You know what happens. I stir and think about the tree. And the rope. I also look at the solid caramel in the bottom of the ramekins and think about people who make candy. They are saints. We eat the products of their labors without a thought to their travails. Never again will I take them for granted. Then again, nearly breaking a tooth while trying to "clean" the spatula, I may never eat a piece of hard candy again. (I just lied.)

I cheat. I go run water in the dishes in the sink and come back to the stove to look for bubbles in the milk. No bubbles, but when I stir, I feel the dreaded thickening in the bottom. So, you know what I do: I stir and stir and stir! Forgive me directions! I promise never to leave the milk - any milk - again! No dice. The thickness lessens slightly, but won't give up. Might as well just go ahead and pour. The little spout on the pan works well, but the caramel at the bottom of the ramekins remains thoroughly intact. It is laughing at me. It is also laughing at my efforts to measure evenly because it knows it has me beaten. It also knows that it has one more little joke to play. It's called "The Refrigerator."

There is, of course, no room. I refuse to accept this after all the effort spent over the course of the afternoon, and I spend a few minutes adjusting ("cramming") the current contents to make way for ducklings, which they might as well be at this point. Then the transfer begins. Open the door. Cross the floor. The little devils are HOT! The door swings shut, so I return to the counter and get a pot holder. Reopen the door. Maneuver the flan. One in! Two in! Three in! One really full specimen to go. You know what is going to happen. No, the entire thing doesn't spill - just enough to make the shelf below a mess, forcing me toward the paper towels with a promise never, ever to do this again. Couldn't any of my friends have answered their phones and stopped me? Couldn't the donkey have been less stubborn and left the stall?Will the flan be edible? Or, will Jim break a tooth?

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Afternoon of the Flan: Part Two

The flan actually tasted pretty good, and some of the caramel at the bottom liquefied enough so that we got a touch of the flavor. (I have no idea how it liquefied in the refrigerator, or if this is a good or bad thing for the lifespans of other foods that reside therein, but I won't go there.) Then I had to let the ramekins soak overnight to dislodge the rest of the rock-solid sweetness. One is still soaking - that's how tough the stuff is. Jim bought pre-made tapioca as a back-up... And Brigham's ice cream is on sale at Market Basket this week. Why didn't I buy some when I was in the store two days ago? I'll tell you why: I left the coupon in the car... If I'd had that little $1-off baby with me, I could have saved myself an entire afternoon. I will use it today as there is plenty of room in the freezer.

Jim didn't break a tooth, by the way.