Classic Caramel Flan

The week between Christmas and New Year exists outside of time. Nobody knows what day it is. Nobody cares. The world operates on leftover energy and leftover food, and in the Papadopoulos household, leftover food is a religion unto itself. The Christmas lamb became sandwiches, then lamb and rice, then lamb soup with avgolemono sauce. The kourabiedes are still going — Mama made enough to supply a small army and we are a small army. The melomakarona are getting better with age, the honey soaking deeper into the cookies, turning them from good to transcendent.

I took the week off from real estate. Not because the market stops — it does not — but because I need a breath between the year that took my father and the year that comes next. I spent Monday in pajamas watching television with Sophia, which is the most decadent thing a Greek woman can do because Greek women believe rest is suspicious and relaxation is for other people. By Tuesday I was restless. By Wednesday I was in the kitchen making galaktoboureko — the custard pie in phyllo with lemon syrup — because my hands needed purpose and purpose tastes like semolina and lemons.

Alexander spent the week with a friend in St. Petersburg, a small taste of independence that he needed and I granted with grace I did not feel. Sophia spent the week reading and studying and occasionally emerging from her room to eat leftovers and complain about boredom, which is the permanent state of teenagers during school breaks — too free to focus, too idle to rest.

I drove to Tarpon Springs on Thursday to see Mama. She was at the bakery, of course — the bakery between Christmas and New Year does a steady trade in people buying last-minute desserts and tourists buying baklava to take home. Mama was behind the counter with flour on her apron and a look of satisfaction that only comes from doing the thing you were born to do. I helped for a few hours. We worked in silence, which is the best kind of working — two women who know the same rhythms, the same recipes, the same motions. Fold, tuck, brush, layer. The phyllo does not require conversation. The phyllo is the conversation.

New Year is coming. 2017. A year without Baba will become the second year without Baba, and the numbers will keep climbing and the absence will never shrink but I will grow larger around it — stronger, more capable, more myself. I made vasilopita today for New Year — the Greek cake with the hidden coin. Orange-scented, buttery, golden. I hid the coin and I thought of Baba and I whispered into the batter: let the luck find whoever needs it most. Then I closed the oven and waited. Waiting is the hardest part of every recipe. And every grief. And every year.

The galaktoboureko and the vasilopita were already made — already doing their work of carrying tradition forward into an uncertain year — but the impulse behind them, that need to coax something creamy and golden and patient out of an oven, did not leave me when the week did. This Classic Caramel Flan is what I make when that same instinct surfaces outside of the holidays: it asks of you the same quiet attention, the same willingness to wait, the same faith that what is trembling and fragile in the pan will set into something beautiful. Baba would have eaten two slices and declared it better than anything.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes (plus chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 cup granulated sugar, divided
2 tablespoons water
4 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk
1 can (12 oz) evaporated milk
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Preheat oven to 325°F. Place a 9-inch round cake pan or deep pie dish inside a larger roasting pan. Set aside. Bring a kettle of water to a boil for the water bath.
Make the caramel. In a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine 1/2 cup of the sugar and the water over medium heat. Do not stir — swirl the pan gently as needed. Cook until the syrup turns a deep amber color, 8–10 minutes. Immediately pour the caramel into the cake pan, tilting quickly to coat the bottom evenly. Allow to harden for 5 minutes.
Make the custard. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and egg yolks with the remaining 1/2 cup sugar until smooth and pale, about 2 minutes. Add the sweetened condensed milk, evaporated milk, whole milk, vanilla extract, and salt. Whisk until fully combined and no streaks remain. For the silkiest result, pour the mixture through a fine-mesh strainer.
Fill and bake in a water bath. Pour the custard mixture over the set caramel in the cake pan. Pour the boiling water into the roasting pan to come 1 inch up the sides of the cake pan. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 50–55 minutes, until the edges are set but the center still has a slight jiggle when gently shaken.
Cool and chill. Remove the flan from the water bath and let it cool on a wire rack to room temperature, about 1 hour. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight. Do not skip the chilling — the custard must fully set.
Unmold and serve. Run a thin knife around the edge of the pan to loosen. Place a large rimmed serving plate upside-down over the pan, then flip in one confident motion. Lift the pan away slowly to allow the caramel to flow over the top. Slice into wedges and serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Classic Caramel Flan — The Custard That Carries You Into the New Year