Custard Advice for the Modern Gentleman

The method by which a gentleman handles eggs reveals much about him.

Can he grapple with nuance – recognizing that pans should be neither too hot nor too cold?   That there should be some butter but not too much butter?

Does he demonstrate care?  Does he slowly drizzle sugar into egg yolks, and does he fold whites gently without deflating the foam?

Is he observant?   Does he continue whisking his ice cream base until the sugary mixture falls in fully emulsified ribbon-like form, or does he settle for a grainy final product?  Will he notice when the poaching water is too hot?

And, maybe most importantly,  does he show a command of basic, commonsense skills?  Seriously, holding an adult conversation, balancing your checking account and matching your pants to your shoes are no more difficult than boiling water, separating eggs or operating a (*#$ ing kitchen timer.

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I Like Pig Butts and I Cannot Lie

Failure is often very useful.

I have never been one to allow the unique demands of the Jeff Lifestyle to crimp my culinary range.   I don’t begrudge the extra time I spend waiting for the bus, the smaller kitchen or the sink full of dishes.  I can, nearly without exception, cook whatever I want.

That exception has been barbeque.  Until this past Sunday.

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