crème caramel | Gladsome Lights

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Though I did more cooking than gardening the last few days, flowers are making me happy. How wonderful to have enough of the cutting varieties to decorate the house — I remembered to bring in some zinnias yesterday. And our Pristine rose is blooming its sweet September gift.

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I made flan this week. It was the third time for me, and the most enjoyable all around. As in my lemon cake, I allotted plenty of time for the project because it still seems like a big deal; I hadn’t made it for a couple of years at least.

I know some people just make a custard and put caramel sauce on it, but from my first attempt, I wanted to do the caramel in the traditional way, and it’s not hard. It just takes some concentration, and it is a little odd melting sugar in a pan the first time you try it. P1110231

I like that you can make the caramel as a separate project, almost, and get that part of the recipe all done before starting the custard itself. That made it a pleasure to “slowly and constantly stir the sugar” as I stood by the stove and realized that the aroma of melting sugar had taken me to the county fair and the experience of walking past the cotton candy booth.

But actually I was still standing in my kitchen stirring, fascinated by the warm sweetness in the air and the stages the sugar goes through on its way to becoming caramel. I didn’t exactly stir constantly, as I kept pausing for a few seconds to P1110237 take a picture, and when I did my spoon got all caked with partially melted sugar, but it all turned out fine in the end.

I was using custard cups this time, and wasn’t sure if the quantity of caramel in the recipe designed for a pie plate would suffice for all the cups, so I made 50% more caramel, which turned out to be more than needed. When it was ready, I set the burner to “warm” and for each cup in turn I put in a spoonful of the hot syrup and tilted the cup quickly to swirl it around the bottom and up the sides a little way. P1110239 P1110243

What was left over I added to the bottom of the cups, and then set the “caramelized” cups in a roasting pan to wait for the custard.

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Then I got busy with the blender. In the background, though, the caramel was cooling and hardening on the other side of the kitchen and kept making “plink!” noises as it squirmed against the glass cups.

You can find the quantities of ingredients in: my first flan post from 2011. It’s definitely a rich combination of foods, but I like the resulting density of custard better than anything I’ve eaten elsewhere. P1110256

After the custard is poured into the containers, hot water is added to the pan and everything bakes for about 40 minutes. I had a little extra custard that I put into a ninth cup, which one couldn’t exactly call “plain,” but it was without caramel.

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And here are the baked puddings, all tender, creamy and brown.

In the end, all the extra caramel was so hardened at the bottoms of the cups that it didn’t come out. There was just the right amount that stuck to the bottom, now the top of the custard, and enough liquid to run out over and form a puddle when I turned the cups upside down. They are perfect ~~little~~ medium-sized flans. Mr. Glad and I agree that if we are to get the most enjoyment out of them, one of them ought to be shared between the two of us, but the first ones were consumed extravagantly. P1110269

Ever since I met him, my dear husband has spoken very fondly of flan. Perhaps it has something to do with the associated memories of a trip he took to Mexico with his family when he was a teenager.

Until this moment, when I was looking for a link to post, I didn’t realize that flan is just the word Mexicans and some others use for crème caramel. Perhaps because we have so many Hispanics in California, I always assumed it originated in Latin America.

I’d never tried to make anything of this sort fancier than cup custard, from milk and eggs. But recently Mr. Glad came home from work with a recipe gleaned from the many Filipina women he works with, and when we were next at the market together we bought the main ingredients, in three cans.

Before removing from baking dishes

I did some more research before attempting to make this dessert. It was the sugar-melting-to-caramel that was new and frightening to me. The cans sat on my counter for a couple of weeks until I could also lay in a supply of eggs and find myself with time to cook on this rainy and cold day.

There are so many family recipes out there, and so much advice about techniques, I think I’ll just post the ingredients I used, which were pretty much according to one of the “Mexican Flan” recipes. I noticed disagreement about whether to stir or not stir the sugar when it is caramelizing; I stirred. I ended up filling one small pie plate and four ramekins with the quantity I made, which, by the way, would not fit at one time into my blender. I used:

1 cup sugar for the caramel
1 12-oz can evaporated milk
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
3 large eggs
3 egg yolks
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup canned Nestle Media Crema (Mexican food aisle)

I thought the finished custard should be smoother on the sides. One has to run a knife along the sides to loosen the custard before turning it out on a plate, and that seems to rough it up a bit. Maybe a ramekin is not the best shape of baking dish? Also, a lot of the caramel stayed in the bottom of the ramekins as hard as candy, so you don’t see the flan sitting in a puddle of the syrup. That’s o.k. There was plenty of sweet stuff on the top. I haven’t turned the pie plate out yet to see if it is smoother.

The caramel wasn’t difficult. I was sure I would burn it or spill it when my husband came into the kitchen and started asking me a stream of questions at the crucial moment, but it survived even that distraction.

I baked the custards for about 40 minutes. I ate mine when it was still a little warm, but firm, and it was one of the best flans I’ve ever eaten. It wasn’t watery as they sometimes are. The husband also pronounced it Very Good.