Then, we all were, unknowingly, drawn into the Hostess' bizarre family tradition of literally scraping the leftovers off the plate of the guests, and fashioning some sort of food sculpture/performance art with it. Then, they decide who made the best work. Stephanie immediately drafted all company to commence the creative process. I had eaten so much, I felt I might rupture something were I to move with too much enthusiasm, feigned or otherwise.
I am an only child, and always grew cross when I was young and others tried to force me to play house, attend a parade, or have a talent show in their backyard. I don't know why--my lack of siblings somehow makes me rather brittle when it comes to "co-operating" and I have to warm up into it. However, now that I am an adult, I am able to recognize these non-constructive tendencies, and take the plunge.
So, while many of the guests and inhabitants of the loft were flurrying around the table as I looked on with glazed and sated eyes, I underwent a 10 second internal drama of physical discomfort and a sense of resentful alienation. Those who were caught up in the whirl of the game kept shouting out tasks that needed to be contributed--"Someone needs to start arranging the Christmas lights on the table to make it look like a stage!" and "I think if you put some mashed potato onto your knuckle it will be more clear that the cranberries are supposed to be her boobs."
You see, it had been decided there was to be an all-food version of the Roquettes Christmas Spectacular, and everyone was busy dressing up their hand in foil cupcake-tin-tutus and mashed potato stockings--which are surprisingly adhesive. I reluctantly volunteered to fashion a Christmas tree out of Leftover Taro and Bits of Kale--straining not to impose my neuroses on the revelry.
As I began, my reluctance fell away, and my interest grew, and as I held my iPhone awkwardly over a bowl of fruit in order to shoot the performance to be uploaded online for The hostess' brothers and parents to compare, I realized that this is the traditional joy and wonder of holiday gatherings. This is what they mean by "revelry and games". I, like Scrooge, had been transformed, in the most stereotypically bourgeois, artsy-fartsy way possible. And it was wondrous. The performance was inspired, and every food encrusted hand stayed impressively in character. Needless to say, Stephanie won, though her brothers made a valiant effort with their own sculpture of a lactating breast, in honor of the many babies being born in Steph (The hostess)'s family that year. Yes--we're all pretty strange.
I actually went to the Potluck because, though I live in Philadelphia, I did not go home for Thanksgiving. I decided to stay and do a catering gig, because it pays double on Thanksgiving, and though I was very tempted to go with my Boyfriend to his family's in Cincinnati, he left of Tuesday and I felt that I needed to amass more income, and that discretion is the better part of valor in this case, as I somewhat dropped the ball financially last year. Well, my boyfriend introduced me to the people at the loft a few years ago and it has been a crucial part of my life since.
So he encouraged me to, instead of spending thanksgiving alone in my room with a bottle of wine and some excellent examples of Joan Crawford's work (though that definitely has a time and a place as well), go to this Thanksgiving potluck after finishing my 6am-12pm catering gig.
And go I did, after that afternoons preparations which I will now describe:
I had initially only planned to bring a bottle of wine, Because that's what Johnnie, Stephs boyfriend and housemate, said to bring. I wanted to be the most useful house guest I was able, so I bought a large, lovely bottle of wine from the local wine store. My boyfriend said "There are like 10 girls going, so don't be surprised if there is an excess of cake". Since my first comment to the invitation had been "OOh, why don't I bake a CAKE!", I reckoned this was probably a good prediction on his part. So, I took the easy, commitment free route of buying the bottle of wine, two days in advance, thinking how great it would be not to fret over what to make and have some extra hours to write and work out before the dinner.
When I arrived back home from catering around 2pm, I was in a state of paralyzing indecision. I thought perhaps I should nap, since I only slept 2 hours the night before, waking up at 5am for the catering gig and being a habitual night owl. Then I thought "I'll go out for a jog" but I didn't go right away. I thought "I'll walk my dog, Lemon". But I remembered her leash was actually soaking in a pitcher of laundry detergent and water because it occurred to me the other day that maybe it wouldn't look so brown if I washed it once and a while.
But some internal force jerked me back from any intention towards these various purposes, like a dousing rod, and finally I admitted to myself "I cook something for this dinner". I knew I'd only be burdening my hosts with more excess leftovers, that nothing would be lacking. But I simply had to.
Because I will be going to Philadelphia for two days, and because I got a bunch of free Fage yogurts, grapefruit juice, and organic single serve milk boxes from the catering gig, I was feeling non-consumery, and wanted to challenge myself to make something using only the ingredients I had in my pantry and fridge. I had no flour, sugar, butter or cream. I had only organic skim milk powder, 4 eggs (which I later discovered to be three because a room mate borrowed one. I keep track of these things, being an only child.) some pure maple, and a few other random bits. Pecans, cranberries, persimmons. Raw organic cacao powder. Festive things I buy to surround myself with festive colors and smells, but have no actual recipe in mind at the time of my sentimental compulsions.
I looked up various custard recipes. I found nothing with the exact ingredients I had. but it looked like the basic premise of the whole custard thing was just dairy and eggs. I had both those things--why the fuck shouldn't I be able to make a custard just like anybody else? And so, I went ahead with it.
All I did, was I looked at a custard recipe, and made sure that in my substitution of maple syrup for sugar, and my use of 1 cup of powdered skim milk to compensate for not using heavy cream or condensed milk, added the oz. of liquid that they asked for. The result was a very not-sweet, subtle coffee table item with, the greatest obstacle of all achieved, PERFECT texture. It was not the sweet or rich one at the party. The amazingly rich chocolate tart or the lemon curd apple crumble are the first items I remember from my food induced delirium. But I decided that I love custard now, and this is an incredible coffee table, teatime, or brunch item, as well as a vehicle for a brilliant sauce. As I write this post, I am eating the remains with a cup of hot earl grey tea.
Um the Actual Recipe Vs. my blathering:
Fragrant Maple Custard:
3 eggs
1/2 cup pure maple syrup (and then the leftover 2 tablespoons that appeared to be in the bottle)
13 oz. water
1 tbsp. raw organic cacao powder
3/4 cup Organic skim milk powder
Cinnamon powder, for looks
I placed a pecan in the center after I took it out of the oven, also for looks.
Preheat the oven to 350 Degrees F., setting your rack in the center of the oven
In a large bowl, blend the milk powder and cacao with a small amount of the water to make a creamy, thick mixture, about the consistency of cake batter.
Add in the eggs with an electric mixer on lowest speed. Add maple syrup, and slowly add in the remaining water.
Pour the custard in 6 small ramekins, or a larger glass baking dish such as a Pyrex, round, and about 9 inches diameter.
The Ramekins or custard dish much be placed in a larger metal baking dish, which is filled with water to 1 or 1.5 inch high on the side of the custard dish.
I used a non stick pie pan, and I preheated the water in the oven.
Place the custard dish(es) into the pan of water, and bake for 35-40 minutes, or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean.
Then, it's ideal to let the custard cool on a rack to room temperature.
I don't have a special rack for cooking things, so I remove one of the oven shelf-racks and place the custard level on two overturned pans on top of the stove.
I did make a mulled cranberry persimmon sauce to go with it, but I don't consider that particular one notable though I might post a mulled sauce recipe later on, as I think mulled things are AWESOME.
The important discovery for me here is the custard. Key points to reiterate: it's NOT VERY SWEET. It reminds me of the sweetness profile of certain favorite Chinese and Korean bakeries of mine, that have cookies cakes and rolls European in appearance but are much, much less sweet. This custard is an excellent breakfast custard, vehicle for a rich sauce or reduction, or lovely item for a brunch or tea party.
Do what you want with it--I will be making another to bring to on my visit to Philadelphia this weekend, that's for sure. :)
