At the local supermarket last week, Gaston pronounced that he wanted to buy some of the pre-prepared packages of crème brûlée available in the refrigerator section.
It took a few nights for us to get to it. Last night, we indulged. Actually, we were clearing out the fridge. And Gaston was tasked with getting down, sticking his head into the gas oven, and determining how to light the broiler element.
No Sylvia Plath-imitations on my part, thank you very much.
The brûlée was good. It even had real vanilla powder.
Better yet, it still tasted good once I’d checked the ingredients on the package. Nothing was listed that my grand-mère wouldn’t have recognized.
It’s just as well we didn’t discover this treat earlier.
