Flim Flam Flan

Flim, Flan, flan. It sounds like a Latin declension. I spent hours memorizing those in high school. But this is not Latin class. This is flan class.

I recently was called upon to make flan for a family member who was ill. Only an ill family member could get me to make flan. Flan is a cream based dessert, or so says wikipedia. I am one of the original dessert kings, but there are certain desserts which will not pass my lips: tapioca, custard and flan. There is a trend there somewhere.

The recipe on the little Jello box does not seem difficult. Pour the caramel packet in the bowl. Pour the dry packet into a pan and stir in four cups of milk. Bring it to a boil over medium heat while stirring constantly.

The nasty part was “stirring constantly.” I had to stand still next to the stove for what seemed like hours while stirring constantly.

I do not like to stand still. I like to multitask. But I did not want to report to the ill family member how I burnt the only package of flan in the house. So I stood still and stirred.

My back hates to stand still. It revolts and sends pains darting in all different directions. It wants to weave and bob but I cannot do so while attached to a hot pan by a wooden spoon.

Oh what we do for love.

I have been trying to think of what other activities require one to stand still for long periods of time.

Getting fitted for a suit. I can’t remember the last time I did that. They were still making cuffs.

Standing at attention in the Army. I have never been in the Army.

Waiting in line for tickets to the Red Sox. I only know people who do this.

My conclusion is that making flan is a unique torturous activity. I think it is on the short list of banned activities of the CIA. The pain of making flan must be right up there with child birth. Fortunately, I have not been there either.

Flim, flam, flan. I’m done, done, done.