Cremé Brulée: The Best and, Yes, the Worst

When it comes to crème brulée, I had never not finished one. To me, they are all rated somewhere between a 7 and a 10, with most of them crowded in the 9-plus range.

There’s the tap-test, of course. It should take a firm and determined whack with the spoon to break through that amber crust. It should shatter like the thin coating of ice left on a spring pond.

I like my crème brulée like I like my rice pudding — as cold as possible. Anne prefers, or at least doesn’t mind, it warm. (She won’t go near rice pudding. Neither will my friend T (Terry the chocolatier). The more for me.

The texture of the egg, cream and sugar mix in the crème brulée should be silky smooth. No great revelation there. My first memorable encounter with crème brulée came at a place called The Freelance Cafe, in Piermont, NY. (Sadly, it no longer exists.) Memorable because it was an early date with Anne, but also because they took their crème brulée very seriously. The first time I had it there it was life-changing. It would be my favorite dessert for all time. On our second trip there I couldn’t wait to finish dinner so I could order it again. It did not disappoint, but three spoonfuls in the waiter passed by our table and stopped in his tracks. “So sorry, sir, I’ll get you another!” he said.

“Why?” I asked, “it’s delicious.” “The texture is all wrong, I can see it from here,” he said. He took my dessert and returned with another with a more perfect texture. I’ve been a crème brulée snob ever since. But, really, how can it disappoint.

My first of the trip, which I have upgraded from a 7 to a 9.4 remains a favorite, but at our Times dinner the night before the Opening Ceremony, I had what will now be, if not my favorite, at least my second most memorable. It arrived with plenty of fanfare and a ladle full of flaming Grand Marnier, which was spooned on top of the crust, leaving a pool of it that I was tempted to do the backstroke in. At the crack of the crust it seeped into the dessert, leaving heavenly spoonfuls of orange goodness.

But all is not well in the land of crème brulée. My most recent order came to the table looking like it should. It passed the tap test with flying colors. But the tap revealed a runny, broken concoction that made me wonder if it had sat out in the Paris heat for too long. I tasted it. The flavor bore no resemblance to any of its ingredients. I kept trying it, thinking maybe it didn’t go so well with the wine I was drinking (snob alert!). Crème brulée has never let me down before. It was bad. Not bad in a 5 or 6 scale kinda way. In a first for me, I didn’t finish it. I’m giving it a 1, only because it didn’t make me sick, which I definitely thought was possible. I asked my colleague Dawn if she dare taste it to confirm what I thought was the impossible. “Ugh, what is that?” she said.

The Freelance Cafe waiter would be horrified!