So my DH has this friend and he likes to cook like we do and a bit of a rivalry has developed.
They had a dinner party in January. The service was slow but the food was wonderful, especially the oysters rockefeller. So we came back with a party on Valentine's Day with leg of lamb and shrimp boulettes. But since we had to leave his party before desert he brought the desert to ours.
O....M.....G.
I cannot begin to describe how ridiculously sinful it was. It was basically a pear tart with crème brulee on top or – as I like to think of it – pure sex in buttery flaky shell. The burnt sugar had just the right thickness and crunch to it. The velvety smooth custard was dotted with vanilla bean flecks. But don't let that fool you, there was nothing "vanilla" about it; yet it did make it rich and decadent. The pears had just the right bit of firmness and just the right bite to them so that it contrasted with the crème in just the right way making them both taste better for it. And it all came together on a bed of layered buttery goodness. As the French might put it: a little death on a fork.
The next day when I realized there was some left... well the feeling of joy that overtook me was very much akin to pre-orgasmic. I kid you not. It was honestly so good it was sexual. Now that it's all gone I find myself at random times thinking about it, wanting more, wondering how I could get it. Wondering if, under other circumstances, I would trade sex or more. I realized just how ludicrous that is but still I swear I think I would.
J – if you are reading this – Girl don't get mad at me. You knew how good it was. That's why you kept saying you wanted to make sure I got a piece. What can I say? They both have their talents. ;)
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