Friday I was hunting up recipes for pumpkin pie, so that Kelly and I could make one for Thanksgiving. I'd thought I had one in my cooking magazine, but it turned out to be a recipe for pumpkin cheesecake. Riffling through our cookbooks, my mind was taken by a random thought (at least it seemed random at the time). "You know what I wanna make? Flan!"
"Eeew!" Jean cried. "Flan is so bland!"
Kelly took up the cry, because to Kelly, there are really only two or three edible foods, and I usually don't suggest them. Soon I was overwhelmed with protest, and what had been an idle thought became a resolve. "I'm going to make flan!"
So yesterday I made flan. I cut the recipe in half, improvised on some of the ingredients, and sorta guessed on some ambiguous wording in the recipe, so what came out wasn't really flan as it is et in Espa�a. The texture is rather coarse, it tastes too much of cinnamon, and it 'weeps'. Still, it is recognizable as flan.
This afternoon, I gave Jean a sample, and she made a kind-hearted attempt not to scowl. Then I held a forkful out to Kelly, who, distracted by television, allowed it to get into her mouth. Moments after that she jerked her head back, gave me a dirty look, and ran into the kitchen to spit and rinse her mouth out.
So no flan for this clan.