Tag: creme

The crème brûlée of the fabulous world of Amélie – Italian Cuisine

The fabulous world of Amélie (photo Wikipedia).


To Amélie Poulain they like simple things. Bounce the pebbles along the Saint-Martin Canal, put your hand in a bag full of vegetables and, above all, break the crust of the crème brûlée with the spoon. The "burnt cream", in fact, is its favorite dessert as well as a symbol of Fabulous world of Amélie, the masterpiece of Jean-Pierre Jeunet of 2001 that tells the adventures of a young maid of Montmartre, of a good soul that seeks only to make others happy.

The origin

The first trace of the crème brûlée in history dates back to the end of the seventeenth century, documented in a French cookbook. In the first nomenclature it seems that the sweet, to the detriment of what seems, is not of French origin, but English. In fact, in the recipe book, the cream is called "crème anglaise", an English cream, suggesting a paternity of British origin. The sweet, in England, is mainly associated with the tradition of Trinity College of Cambridge that, since 1979, prepares it by imprinting, on the crust, the coat of arms of the school, forged with a special red-hot iron. A common mistake, then, is to confuse the crème brûlée with the Catalan cream that, unlike the first, is prepared on the stove and not cooked in a bain-marie. Another difference is the use of cream, which the Catalan cream replaces with a whole milk with a fat percentage of 3.5%.

The fabulous world of Amélie (photo Wikipedia).
The fabulous world of Amélie (photo Wikipedia).

Preparation

The crème brûlée does not need too flaccid preparation. First of all, to cook it you need 6 egg yolks, 3 tablespoons of sugar, a lemon peel, 600 ml of cream and 6 tablespoons of brown sugar. After having beaten the reds with the sugar in order to obtain a white cream, bring the cream to a boil for about 30 seconds and then add it to the previously whipped yolks. Then pour the cream into a clean pot, adding the yellow part of the lemon peel and then bring it to a boil, making sure that you do not stop stirring until the cream has thickened. Once the lemon is removed, pour the mixture into the appropriate earthenware bowls or into a round baking dish, and allow to cool for at least 6 hours. Two hours before serving, sprinkle with brown sugar, which you will caramelize with the appropriate round iron. In the absence of the latter, put the cream almost in contact with the oven grill so that the sugar dissolves in a few seconds. You may need to turn the bowls or baking dish so that the caramel is homogeneous, but it all depends on the grill in question. Only after this operation will create the famous caramelized crust that, in the film, Amélie broke with a teaspoon.

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Treacle tart

I mean, what the fucking fuck do you call this??!

I have for a long time thought that treacle tart is a thing I ought to be able to make, but I have always been scared off by this “baking blind” instruction.

That’s that thing, that I’m sure you’re all terribly familiar with and do it all the time, (in the evenings and weekends just for a laugh), where you roll out your pastry into a tin and then cover it with ceramic beads or beans and cook it before the filling goes in and then cook it again with the filling in it. A more pointless, time-wasty and stupid instruction I’ve rarely seen and so have always avoided it.

But tonight we’ve got some nice people coming round for dinner so I thought I’d break my baking blind, treacle tart duck and do it because the alternative is to cower in darkness – and that’s only hilarious for so long.

So off I went to Waitrose brmm brmm in my little car, and got some sweet pastry and a tin of golden syrup and some creme fraiche to go with it and came back and blithely stumbled into the worst and most useless recipe for anything I’ve ever cooked, ever. Except for that gumbo, remember that?

GARY RHODES I HATE YOU.

Just bad. Bad and wrong and unhelpful and stupid and ill and presumptuous and irresponsible. While the tart was doing its final cook in the oven I sat down for a bit with Waitrose Kitchen and had a flick through and alighted on a Fergus Henderson recipe for treacle tart that was far more detailed, complex and basically entirely different from the Rhodes recipe.

I experienced a terrible bumrush, of the sort you get when you turn over an exam paper and realise that you have spent the last week revising for a different, wrong module, or that the person you have just been massively bitching up is within earshot, or that your period is three weeks late.

I knew then. I knew in that moment that my tart was a bummer. And so it was. I can’t be bothered to start listing the catclysmic death roll-call of things wrong with it, but let’s just say that the BEST thing about it is that sides are burnt to shit.

FUCK! What a waste of my time! I could have been doing loads of other things! I could have been asleep.

I have nothing else to add. There is no nice ending to this story.

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