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As I've explored the delicious world of cooking, I've struggled with setbacks from under-spiced curries to over-spiced hot chocolate, raw chicken to burned water*. One of the greatest has been a matter of personal taste, specifically, my partner's personal taste. She loves packet custard (particularly while camping), but has no great fondness for traditional baked egg custards. This wouldn't worry me in the slightest, save that crème caramel gets grouped with all the other baked custards.
From memories of eating store-bought tubs on childhood skiing trips to the results of one of my first successful forays into cooking, crème caramel has long been a personal favourite. Faced with a partner who found them uninteresting and not worth the preparation effort, I was determined to devise a recipe she would enjoy. Early attempts tried to bring out the strength of the vanilla bean. They didn't receive negative feedback, but had they been worth the preparation and sitting time?
A few months ago, trying to combine specific ingredients into a desert, I took an unorthodox approach to my old favourite that actually paid off. Almost by mistake, I had worked out a recipe for a smooth crème caramel with intense flavours that didn't overwhelm the delicate dish. It was one of the few recipes I had written down in full as I went, making it unusually reproducible. Better yet, my partner enjoyed it.
It was the best crème caramel I had ever made, but I wasn't happy with it. Had someone asked me whether I'd been satisfied with my previous best effort, I would have stood by the dish I'd prepared. But after showing myself that I could best that, I had set myself a new standard that had to be achieved. I tweaked the ingredients, changed the proportions and tried to compensate for my unpredictable oven. Perfection seemed within my reach, and I was determined to find it.
Then something strange happened. Possibly for the first time in my cooking life, I just followed my previous recipe without making any intentional alterations. The question of whether I can bring myself to follow exactly the same recipe a third time remains to be seen. For now at least, I find myself strangely bereft of desire to make any improvements. Perhaps that is perfection, or as near as I need go.
* Anyone claiming that you can't burn water simply lacks adequate imagination. All you have to do is try melting snow over a camping stove without packing it down. Patches of the metal, with no snow touching them, get far too hot and impart an undeniably burnt taste onto the water.
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