by Tamar Myers
30
Creme Brulee
“Burnt cream,” the richest of all custards, presumably originated in seventeenth-century England, and not France, as one would suspect. The brittle caramelized topping is a pleasing contrast to the soft, cool custard.
2 cups heavy cream
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped
5 large egg yolks
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Garnish: Fresh berries of your choice
Preheat the oven to 325° F.
Scald the cream and the vanilla bean in the top of a double boiler. Off the heat, let the bean steep in the cream for 10 minutes.
Lightly beat together the egg yolks and 1 cup sugar. Slowly whisk in Vi cup cream, blending thoroughly. Pour into the remaining cream, whisking as you pour. Add the vanilla, then strain into 4 or 5 flameproof custard cups. Skim off any foam.
Bake in a bain-marie for 45 to 50 minutes, or just until custard is set. (The custard will be wobbly but will solidify as it chills.) Let cool to room temperature, then refrigerate for several hours.
Sprinkle with the remaining sugar and place under the broiler just until the sugar caramelizes. Watch carefully. Let cool for 5 minutes, then refrigerate for 15 to 20 minutes so the custard can firm up again. To serve, garnish with berries.
SERVES 4 OR 5
Variation: Pumpkin Creme Brulee
Add ½ cup cooked or canned pumpkin puree, 2 tablespoons cognac, ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon, ½ teaspoon ginger, and ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg to the cream and egg mixture. Serve with gingersnaps. This is best made the day before so the flavors can blend.
31
“Tell us again, Uncle Melvin.” Alison had asked to sit next to her new idol at the birthday dinner I was throwing for myself at my newly liberated inn.
True to his word, Gabe’s contact at the pet shop had come out the day after my big ordeal and lured the giant reptile out from under the bed with a live goat. Sine, it took him several days to do it, but the fact that the event made national news should have been payment enough for Harold. But oh no, when the snake handler found out that Charlie the Python was not his to keep—the snake was official evidence—he was anything but charmed. Now I was going to have to pay almost five hundred dollars in pest removal charges, thanks to Colonel Custard’s last stand.
“Uncle Melvin,” I said through gritted teeth, “has told that story one too many times. In fact, I’d say the first time he told it was one too many.”
“You’re just jealous, Yoder.”
“I most certainly am not!”
“Give it up, sis,” Susannah had the nerve to say. “My shnuggy-wuggy is a famous hero.”
I rolled my eyes, as did Freni and Mose, who had joined us for dinner. In fact, Freni cooked the meal, although it wasn’t quite up to her usual standard. The dear woman thought it was possible that Charlie had laid eggs during his time down in the floor vents, and that at any minute we could be overrun by baby pythons. Larry from the pet store had tried, but without success, to convince her that the snake was a male. After all, the twenty-five-foot monster lacked any visible appendages.
Our ocular gestures were not missed, by Susannah. “I saw you guys roll your eyes. Well, I’ll have you know that someone from Letterman’s office called this afternoon. They might have him on the show.”
“Cool,” Alison said, and gazed adoringly at her pseudo-uncle.
“Might?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Does Dave have an aversion to praying mantises?”
“Hey,” Alison cried, “that’s not nice.”
“You’re quite right, dear. Sorry.”
“For your information,” Susannah said, “it was all set up, but then I spilled the beans and told the staff about Melvin running for office. They said they’re not so sure about having a politician on as a guest, but I don’t see why.”
“They won’t mind when I become President,” Melvin said.
My eyes got another good workout.
“Don’t laugh, Yoder. Elspeth confessed to killing Roy. She’d beaten him so badly he was going to require serious medical attention. Decided to finish him off and make it look like he’d left town. Then she buried him in the exhibit vegetable garden, just like I suspected—”
“Excuse me. I’m the one who figured that out.”
“Whatever,” Susannah said. “Go on, sweetiekins.”
“But sis,” I hissed, “you said you didn’t want him to win—”
She clamped a moist hand over my mouth. Her palm smelled of peanut butter.
“That was then; this is now. Please finish your story, pooky-wooky.”
Melvin’s left eye glared at me, while his right focused on the footprint that graces my dining room ceiling. “As I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted, she confessed to killing the colonel too, so that her nasty secret wouldn’t be uncovered if the road was widened. Made an appointment to meet him here at the inn the morning you were playing tourist with your guests. She left the gun behind on purpose to make it look like suicide.”
“Which clearly it didn’t,” I huffed.
“She was going to kill you, Yoder, on account you knew too much, until I came along.”
“But that’s just it. It was I who knew too much—” Wet, warm peanut butter covered my mouth again. “Please,” Susannah whispered, “I’m begging you. Let it go-”
“Thwhy thwould I?”
“Because our sex life has been over the moon since Melvin solved these murders.”
“Oh, gross,” Alison said. “I heard that.”
“Yah?” Freni asked. Her hearing is not as sharp as a twelve-year-old’s. “What did you hear?”
“Auntie Susannah said her and Uncle Mel’s sex life—”
“Ach!” Both Freni and Mose clapped their hands over their ears. If Melvin would only have covered his eyes, we’d have had all three monkeys accounted for.
It was clearly time to change the subject. I forced Susannah’s hand aside.
“Well, Alison, dear. Tell us why you left the door to the chicken coop open.”
“Me?”
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Alison stared at her plate, which, by the way, was far from empty. “How did you know it was me?”
I was being unfair, and I knew it. It had occurred to me that Alison was the culprit and, in fact, had left the door open to support her claim of spotting Bigfoot. This was all part of her plan to get my attention. Her reaction to my question confirmed this. Still, we should not have been having this conversation in public.
“Who knows all the words to ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’?” I asked, proving that someone as tall and gangly as I can turn on a dime.
But Alison, bless her heart, seemed relieved to have been found out. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
I smiled at my pseudo-daughter. “Apology accepted.”
“Hey,” Susannah said, “that’s not fair. We’re missing out on something here, aren’t we?”
“I’m the one who originally spread the Bigfoot rumors,” Alison said. She seemed almost proud of her sin now.
The elderly Hostetlers nodded wisely, but the stubborn Stoltzfus shook his head. “Don’t be so sure they’re just rumors, Alison. The boys and I found some really big tracks out there in the woods.”
“They probably just belonged to Mags,” Susannah said. In her own dear way she was trying to make up for depriving me of the credit I deserved for solving the colonel’s murder.
Mose, ever the peacemaker, and sensitive far beyond the restraints of his gender, picked up a heavy platter. “Does anyone want more of this suffocated steak?”
“That’s ‘smothered,’ dear,” I said. “And please, everyone, have another piece. Just save one for Gabe.”
The love of my life, the shining beacon in my darkest hour, had driven into Pittsburgh to exchange the ring and pick up what he promised was going to be the birthday present to top all presents. It was one of a kind, he’d as
sured me. I’d been expecting him home by six, but it was already going on seven, and still no Babester.
“I tell you what, sis,” Susannah said, still trying to smooth things over, “you’re really lucky to have found him.”
“Are you implying—”
The front door opened, and there were voices in the lobby. Then Gabe entered the dining room preceded by a woman half his size. For a second there, I thought I was looking at the ghost of Granny Yoder—same grizzled features, same dark beady eyes.
“Hey, everyone,” Gabe said jovially, “I want you to meet my mother, Ida Rosen. She’s agreed to live with Magdalena and me after we’re married.”
Susannah giggled. “Or maybe not so lucky.”
Author’s Note
I would like to thank Roark Ferguson of Roark’s Reptile Safari in greater Charleston, South Carolina, for his knowledge of big snakes.
Discover Tamar Myers
An Amish Bed and Breakfast Mystery with Recipes Series (PennDutch)
Too Many Crooks Spoil the Broth
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Crime
No Use Dying Over Spilled Milk
Just Plain Pickled to Death
Between a Wok and a Hard Place
Eat, Drink, and Be Wary
The Hand that Rocks the Ladle
The Crepes of Wrath
Gruel and Unusual Punishment
Custard’s Last Stand
Thou Shalt Not Grill
Assault and Pepper
Grape Expectations
As the World Churns
Hell Hath No Curry
Batter Off Dead
Butter Safe than Sorry
Belgian Congo Mystery Series
The Witch Doctor’s Wife
The Headhunter’s Daughter
The Boy Who Stole the Leopard’s Spots
The Girl Who Married an Eagle
Den of Antiquity Series
Larceny and Old Lace
Gilt by Association
The Ming and I
So Faux, So Good
Baroque and Desperate
Estate of Mind
A Penny Urned
Nightmare in Shining Armor
Splendor in the Glass
Tiles and Tribulation
Statue of Limitations
Monet Talks
The Cane Mutiny
Death of a Rug Lord
Poison Ivory
The Glass is Always Greener
Non-Series Books
Angels, Angels Everywhere
Criminal Appetites (anthology)
The Dark Side of Heaven
About the Author
Tamar Myers was born and raised in the Belgian Congo (now just the Congo). Her parents were missionaries to a tribe which, at that time, were known as headhunters and used human skulls for drinking cups. Because of her pale blue eyes, Tamar’s nickname was Ugly Eyes.
Her boarding school was two days away by truck, and sometimes it was necessary to wade through crocodile infested-waters to reach it. Other dangers she encountered as a child were cobras, deadly green mambas, and the voracious armies of driver ants that ate every animal (and human) that didn’t get out of their way.
At sixteen, Tamar's family settled in America, and she immediately underwent culture shock: she didn’t know how to dial a telephone, cross a street at a stoplight, or use a vending machine. She lucked out, however, by meeting her husband, Jeffrey, on her first day at an American high school. They literally bumped heads while he was leaving, and she entering, the Civics classroom.
In college Tamar began to submit novels for publication, but it took twenty-three years for her to get published. Persistence paid off, however, because Tamar is now the author of three ongoing mystery series: One is set in Amish Pennsylvania and features Magdalena Yoder, an Amish-Mennonite sleuth who runs a bed and breakfast inn; one, set in the Carolinas, centers around the adventures of Abigail Timberlake, who runs an antique and collectable store (the Den of Antiquity); and the third is set in the Africa of her youth, with its colorful, unique inhabitants.
Tamar now calls North Carolina home. She lives with her husband, a Basenji dog named Pagan, two rescue kitties: a very large Bengal named Nkashama, and an orange tabby cat who goes by the name of Dumpster Boy. Tamar enjoys gardening (she is a Master Gardner), bonsai, travel, painting and, of course, reading. She's currently working on her next Amish mystery.
tamarmyers.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Praise for the Pennsylvania Dutch Mystery series
Dedication
Acknowledgments
1
2
3
4
5
Pear and Ginger Custard
6
7
8
9
10
Baked Vanilla Custard
11
12
13
14
15
Blood Orange Custard
16
17
18
19
20
Lemon-Scented Flan
21
22
23
24
25
Stirred Custard
26
27
28
29
30
Creme Brulee
31
Author’s Note
Discover Tamar Myers
About the Author
