Thirteen years ago, my brother, sister and I cooked a meal
for my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary. Looking back, there are large
parts of that evening that escape my memory. I do remember a hugely
disappointing main course of home-made meatballs, and I remember painstakingly
crafting invitations (for a meal in their own house - genius). However, there is one memory which has burnt
brightly for all this time. And that is of the crème brûlée.
My mum is not a big pudding fan. Unlike me, she can quite happily
feel that her meal is complete without a dessert (she is partial to a peanut M
& M however). There are few exceptions to this rule but crème brûlée is the
most notable. Now, I would forgive you for thinking that this means my mum
would be likely to order a crème brûlée whenever it’s on a menu. The truth is
far from that. All those years ago on her anniversary, we treated my mum to a crème
brûlée made by my brother’s friend – otherwise known in my mother’s eyes, as
the chef who made the perfect crème brûlée. After that, there have been years
of failed attempts – those with sugar that didn’t produce a true crack, those
with custard that was too thick, custard that was too thin and, the very worst
offenders – those with fruit in the bottom. None have come close.
