Crème de Pot

CdPPdCOn Election Night 2004, I went to my friend Adam’s house to watch the returns. He greeted me warmly at the front door and introduced me to an inflatable replica George W. Bush and encouraged to give it a damned good thrashing. The awkward knuckle sandwich I served to its facial area caused the thing to fall backward, which was oddly satisfying, but seeing it immediately right itself with a smile on its face was unsettling. Though clearly a bad omen, I said nothing and sat on the couch, surrounded by friends, drinking gin, and feeling increasingly demoralized as the evening wore on. When the outcome became depressingly clear, Adam disappeared upstairs and returned a few minutes later dressed in a pink leotard and tutu, proffering Valium on a small silver tray. He was a very thoughtful host.

Having failed to kick Bush out of the White House, we decided to do the next best thing– kicking his effigy out of Adam’s, down 19th Street, and into the middle of the Castro Street intersection where we watched drivers do their damnedest to run it over with their cars. It was wonderfully cathartic. It was also the moment I understood that Human Companionship + Mood Altering Substances= Election Night Emotional Survival. 

In 2018, I am now far too old to be mixing drugs and alcohol willy-nilly willy-nillily pell-mell cavalierly and have yet to secure my Election Night companionship, but I do know what I’ll be serving to those who do decide to endure this biennial ritual with me:

 

Crème de Pot Pot de Crème

Heroin BottleI’ve been wanting to make this for æons eons ages but never quite knew the best way to go about it. This is largely owing to laziness and the fact that some members of my family believe marijuana is a gateway drug to heroin use. But it was also, in part, due to the fact that I don’t really enjoy what are referred to in the Locoweed Universe as “edibles”. They can be a bit whiffy and, for the impatient, it’s easy to have too much of a good thing. Remind me to tell you about Easter Sunday 2005 some time.

But now cannabis use is perfectly legal where I live and I’ve found a wildly simple (if not inexpensive) way of getting it into food without it tasting as though it had even a passing acquaintance with little Miss Mary Jane herself.

I’ve based recipe on Melissa Clark’s New York Times dessert. I should state very clearly that I have absolutely no knowledge of Ms. Clark’s views on this particular herb. Rather, my decision was based on two criteria: 1.) It’s a damned good, very easy recipe and 2.) She’s fun at parties.

Makes: a) 4 to 6 servings, b) those who eat it temporarily less anxious about election outcomes, c) total sense when you think about it, or d) all of the above. 

Ingredients:

• 1 ½ cups of heavy cream
• ½ cup of whole milk
• 3 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, roughly chopped
• 1 ounce of unsweetened chocolate , savaged in the same fashion
• 4 large egg yolks
• 3 tablespoons of sugar
• a very heavy pinch of salt
• 100 milligrams* of a golden, waxy  magic substance from Jetty Pen Dablicator™. I chose “Reckless Rainbow” because the name is so layered with possible meaning I wouldn’t even  know where to begin unpacking it all.
• Freshly whipped cream or the fatty, white, and dollop-able of your choice.

Preparation:

  1. Heat your oven to 300°F. Bring cream and milk to boil in a heavy saucepan, remove from the flame. Next add the chopped chocolate, mortifying it so thoroughly that it blends completely with the hot dairy.
  2. In a large bowl, whisk together egg yolks, sugar, and salt. Do this by hand because it is a marvelous way to expend aggressive energy. Really get the metaphoric cane out of the cupboard and have at it. When beaten into silky, almost ribbon-like submission, incorporate the chocolate mixture into the egg amalgam.
  3. Jetty PenAdd your cannabis-based waxy substance now, whisking confidently to ensure its even distribution.
  4. Divide the mélange into small (2 to 4 ounce) containers: tiny ramekins, espresso cups, old prescription bottles (excellent for those who need a reminder that what they’re about to consume is indeed medicinal), or tiny French yogurt pots one has brought back from Paris in one’s suitcase because one is pretentious.
  5. Set the filled containers in an appropriately sized, baking dish (Pyrex, metal roasting pan, what have you) and place the dish on the center oven rack. Fill the pan with hot tap water until the level reaches about halfway up the sides of the pot de crème vessels. Cover with foil, making certain to poke a few air holes into said foil with a fork for ventilation.
  6. Remove from the oven when the edges are lightly set and the center jiggles slightly like a high school football player’s belly at his 10 year reunion (about 30 to 35 minutes) and refrigerate for several hours until the desserts cool and set. (At least three hours.)
  7. Serve to your friends with freshly whipped cream and the assurance that you will be there for them come what may. Should the election results be to the satisfaction of yourself and your friends, congratulations. If the opposite is true, REFUSE TO GIVE YOUR GUESTS A SECOND HELPING AND TELL THEM IT IS FOR THEIR OWN GOOD. In this case, my best advice is to go upstairs, put on that tutu, bring on the Valium, and pray that we’ve only got two more years of this shit.

* This amount works well for me. I am a 6 foot tall, 200+ pound male. Adjust dosage at
your own risk.

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About Michael Procopio

I write about food and am very fond of Edward Gorey. And gin.
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10 Responses to Crème de Pot

  1. Trevor says:

    Genius. I’m pretty sure you should save a pot for the next morning. Just in case.

  2. Anne Taylor says:

    Here’s to true blue survival, Michael.

  3. carole chase says:

    I can hook you up with a guy named Franny in Cleveland for some delish chocolate chip and cannabis cookies. It’s like getting the munchies and curing them at the same time!

  4. Mary says:

    Sounds perfect and exactly what we’re needing this close to Election Day! I’ll have my pink tutu ready just in case.

  5. Jan Morrison says:

    I went to a party a few weeks ago and was offered what I heard to be a “cannonball” and which I said to the hostess looked like my mother’s Philly nugget balls. I found out a few minutes later that they were canna-balls. Fug! I’m an old hippy but weed was never my drug. All my close friends, who have seen me stoned, watched with their eyes wide and looks of either amusement (I love them but they’re cruel) or horror (I love them but they’re sappy) on their dear faces. I didn’t get high at the party naturally but had my usual reaction when we got home. If I sat on the couch I began to worry about the squished cells on my bottom so I’d stand up. Then I’d fret about the poor cells of my feet and so it went. Unlike the 70s there was no waterbed to find.
    For your midterms I watched hours of This is Us until I was a weepy mess and then I slept on the couch unable to check the results because of 2016 flashbacks. I woke up and life was a bit better. Enough to make me want to live.

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