Don’t Eat the Fire

At dinner the other night, we made a family decision: more creme brulee. That most elegant and simple dessert has become a huge favorite with the girls. The grown-ups already loved the satisfying crack, the silky custard, those wonderful bites that mix yolky cream with hardened puddles of caramel.  To the girls, it’s been a revelation, and Bea hops gleefully around the kitchen when I descend to the basement fridge to bring up the ramekins, and then fuel up my culinary torch. Charlotte prefers her sugar unburnt, left granular on top to mix in with the custard in each spoonful. Bea watches the little blue cone of fire and then waits patiently for the crust to harden and cool (“We don’t eat the fire, Mama, because it’s too hot”) before crunching away, dribbling custard down her chin and asking for seconds.