Crème Brulé

So I was in La Jolla, CA with my family a couple weeks ago trying to find a place to eat. Driving and driving, trying to get out of the rich and ritzy part of La Jolla to where the regular people are, to no avail. I was in a pretty foul mood, but I couldn’t blame it all on the rich fancy people who don’t eat. Something bad happened right before I left home eating away at my ability to have a positive attitude. I mean, La Jolla was beautiful, the inn we stayed in was sweet and quiet, and right next to the beach. We went to sleep to the whooshing sound of the surf. But it’s hard to appreciate even the most serene place when there is a big stinky stink waiting for you back home. Eventually my sisters found this place called Bernini’s Bistro. I hardly ever order dessert at restaurants, mostly because I am cheap. But as I flipped through the menu the one thing that really stuck out was “Creme Brule: made from scratch!” The movie Amèlie came to mind. One of her favorite things is cracking open the crème brulé with her spoon. Amèlie, in my opinion, is essentially a movie about somebody who is lonely and can’t figure out how to get unlonely. Loneliness was exactly my problem. I ordered light arugula salad; I wanted to make sure I had room. The waitress brought the crème brule in a little oval shaped ramekin with a scalloped edge. I jabbed at it with my spoon and plopped some of the smooth yellow custard into my mouth. For some reason I excepted it to be warm, but it was about room temperature and lemony. The crunchy burn sugar crust was bitter and stuck to my teeth, the contrast with the custard was fun. There I was expected some sort of gooey comfort food, and what I got was something much lighter and more dynamic. Huh.


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