You’ve just had a conference with your daughters’ school. While the conference itself was cordial enough, you kept getting the impression that your daughters’ teachers were trying to figure out where your daughter’s personality came from. The sound of your own voice sounded so nasally with guilt you couldn’t even listen to yourself.
The fictional character in your head, and you don’t mean the casual guy with the sports jersey who serves drinks at the stadium but the tall handsome blond-haired character you has begun flirting with one of the secondary characters who is prettier, taller and younger than you are ever going to be.
You overheard a really sad break up story in the coffee shop and the phrases “We just needed different things,” keeps running through your mind, reminding you of all the times you stayed in a relationship because you couldn’t utter these words for yourself.
The dog that is your first child is sighing a lot. When she gets off the floor she moans, and walks over to you, nuzzling into your neck with her woes of discomfort and disappointment and old age.
You’ve just realized that the puffiness around your eyes is not a temporary symptom of the whisky binge from the week before, but the actual, way your eyes look now.
You realize the days of impulsive travel where you ran away to Argentina (or Tuscany) for a steak are so far behind you that you can barely reach back to the time where you might have thought that was a viable idea.
You’ve just heard that a friend of friend who is 28-years old and beautiful and young has a terrible kind of brain cancer.
The indoor cats got out and you were out in the yard, chasing them around, and stepped in the cold dog dodo pile that halos around your one pair of fashionable shoes.
You took a yoga class and you had that weird, “world is large” feeling you sometimes get during asana practice, but instead of feeling peace you’re choked with terror.
Somehow, your daughters have co-opted your husband during the bedtime routine and it’s been two, three or four months, (it’s so long you don’t know anymore) since you shared a bed.
It’s not all bad though. Even if you feel naked, vulnerable, and as though everything you’ve ever done has a mixed up haphazardness to it there is still
Chocolate Pot de Crème
This is basically chocolate pudding, though easier to make and richer.
Makes: Eight five-ounce ramekins
Preheat oven: 325 degrees F
Pot de Creme:
1/4 cup milk
2 1/4 cups heavy cream
1/2 of one fresh vanilla bean
8 ounces (1 1/3 cups) E. Guittard 61% Cacao Semisweet Chocolate
4 egg yolks
1/8 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1. Boil milk, cream and vanilla bean together. Pour over chocolate and let steep for few minutes. Whisk until the liquid is smooth.
2. In another bowl, whisk yolks, sugar and vanilla extract. Add chocolate liquid to yolk mixture.
3. Strain, then pour into ramekins set in a deep baking pan. Pour hot water to half way up sides of ramekins. Cover the baking sheet with foil.
4. Bake for 40 minutes. Serve chilled with dollops of whipped cream.