Crema Catalana

I remember, when I was growing up and going to Catholic school, I decided I wanted to read “all the laws.”

I came from a school system where the “rules” were clear. There were 10 of them; they came directly from God. They were conveniently printed on two stone tablets, and they had been copied into a hardcover book with a golden finish that was given to me in preparation for my first Communion. I didn’t always remember all of them, but I was aware enough of them not to break one without knowing it.

What I wanted, I think, was a sort of “rules of the road” manual that I could consult. Of course, I couldn’t have been older than seven at the time, so the depth of wanting “rules of life” book was rather lost on me. In my mind, it was clear: if people were always talking about breaking laws on the news, there must be a list of them somewhere. I would find it and memorize it… and then I would be home free forever.

Oh, and yes, I was the kid who worried about breaking rules. Just so we’re clear, that was definitely, 100% me.

I considered this again today in my Classic Spanish lit. class, where we are studying the prevalence of this very sort of book in the early Spanish Renaissance. They were books describing the perfect courtesan, the perfect secretary, the perfect student, the perfect merchant. Prescriptive texts that basically told you what you should do, what you shouldn’t do, what you couldn’t do, what was frowned upon, what was unacceptable. Some of them were novelized, for the sake of reader-friendliness, but most of them are presented as a series of rules:

41. Never exaggerate.

84. Know how to profit from one’s enemies.

117. Never talk about oneself.

186. Know how to identify faults, even if they have come into fashion.

216. Speak clearly.

235. Know how to ask for things.

262. Know how to forget.

Baltasar Gracian’s Oráculo manual y arte de prudencia was first published in 1647. I’m by no means saying that it should be a prescriptive text for everyone, or even for anyone… but it’s interesting how much we have in common with 17th century Spanish courtesans.

Crema Catalana
1 cup sugar, divided
¼ cup water

2 cups whole milk
1 cinnamon stick
Zest of half a lemon and half an orange
4 fresh egg yolks
1 pinch salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Farenheit. Over low heat, stir ½ cup sugar and water in a small, heavy saucepan until sugar dissolves. Increase heat to medium-high and bring sugar and water to a boil. Boil without stirring until the syrup is deep amber, about ten minutes, brushing down the sides of the pot with a damp pastry brush. Be careful not to let the caramel overcook.

Meanwhile, heat the milk, remaining half cup of sugar, cinnamon stick, zest and salt over low heat just until the sugar dissolves. Whisk eggs together in a medium bowl until blended. Slowly add milk mixture, whisking constantly until combined.

When caramel is cooked, pour immediately into a large baking dish or individual ramekins. Arrange in a metal baking pan, and pour enough hot water into the pan to come halfway up the sides of the ramekins or dish. Bake until just set, about an hour. Remove cups or dish from water and allow to stand at room temperature for about half an hour before chilling at least four hours in the refrigerator.