Some months ago, Mumbai witnessed a tantalising, yellow deluge. Sweet, creamy custard — lashings of it — poured down enormous billboards. It descended in satiny folds onto hot, crisp jalebis and gooey cupcakes. It swirled onto ice-cream and gulab jamuns. And Cinderella-style, transformed itself from a humble, ready-mix sweet dish to a drool-worthy dessert.

Those enticing advertisements prompted me to rediscover an old friend. After all, custard was the one-size-fits-all dessert for those of us who grew up in pre-tiramisu times. It arrived at the dinner table with predictable regularity. Sometimes spooned over bananas and chunks of leftover apple. Occasionally drizzled over plump stewed peaches or slices of plum cake. But most often plopped alongside a brash red raspberry jelly.

There were, of course, days when the custard formed dispirited little puddles. Or became so stodgy that it clung onto the serving spoon with sullen obduracy. But still, its sunshiny, vanilla-infused flavour had the power to soothe and comfort.

Imagine then my shock when, years later, I discovered that what we’d been mixing and spooning so assiduously was not custard at all, but a rank pretender. The yellow powder that came out of those cheery cardboard boxes was largely maize starch. While the Oxford Companion to Food specifies that custard is “a mixture of eggs and milk, thickened by heat”.

The real thing sometimes popped up in swish restaurants in the guise of crème Anglaise — a delicate sauce poured over walnut pannacotta or berry tartlet. But this elegant cream is only one aspect of the versatile custard. There’s the gloopy stuff that sits on rich trifles; the soft filling in pillowy doughnuts; and the cinnamon-sprinkled heart of delectable Portuguese custard tarts.

Custard tarts were an immensely popular treat in Europe in the Middle Ages. In fact, a London bakery maintains that these tarts launched one of the most famous and controversial romances in history. Apparently, the gluttonous Henry VIII first approached Anne Boleyn, not because of her sultry charms, but because of the Maid of Honour tarts that she was devouring from a silver tray. The king sauntered across for a nibble, and the rest is history.

Henry VIII was so enamoured of these crisp, buttery tarts that he ordered the cook to work exclusively for the palace. The secret recipe was eventually leaked to a London baker and is still used by a charming little teahouse in Kew called The Original Maid of Honour.

The French created enchanting desserts like floating island, in which a white meringue was topped with silky, flowing crème Anglaise. They used custard to layer pastries, enhance fruit crumbles and stuff into chocolaty éclairs. While thick savoury versions were used as a garnish on dishes like German wedding soup.

Custard — the real, posh deal — is quite tricky to make. It involves the use of Bain-Maries and water baths and has to be cooked very, very slowly on a very, very low heat. And sometimes, all it takes is an ill-timed doorbell or sneeze to reduce it to a curdled mess.

Which explains the popularity of the yellow powder in the little cardboard boxes. Arthur Bird, a Birmingham chemist, had a wife who adored custard but was allergic to eggs. So in 1837, he developed an imitation that was not only free of eggs but also stress. Housewives around the world embraced this three-minute approach to custard-making.

Meanwhile, custard travelled to India alongside Victorian morals and crinolines. Which is how caramel custard became a standard item on the menus of colonial clubs and Parsi restaurants. And fans really must head to Britannia Restaurant at Ballard Estate in Mumbai to tuck into the pale custard drenched in bittersweet caramel sauce. Or even better, find themselves some hearty lagan nu custard.

This dense-as-a-cake dessert — often called custer by a community that refuses to waste its breath on extra syllables when there is food to consume — is always served at Parsi weddings and is rich with charoli (small, spiced seeds) and almonds. “Custer,” writes Bhicoo Manekshaw in her Parsi Food and Customs , “is copied from the traditional baked custard and has put the original dish to shame with its richness and flavour.”

You do get this nutty, quintessentially Indian custard at a few restaurants. But perhaps you should rush out and befriend a couple of Parsis of marriageable age. Because lagan nu custard is best eaten to the rustle of silks and the strains of the Birdie Dance . While you wait for your Parsi friends to oblige, there are enough custards out there to keep you stuffed and happy. Crème brulee is quite the dessert du jour in fancy restaurants. Custard flash-frozen with liquid nitrogen and spherical blobs of custard ravioli are hot favourites with the molecular gastronomy crowd.

Or, like me, you could just toodle down to Prakash General Stores and pick up your own little cardboard box of yellow powder.

Classic crème Anglaise

Ingredients

* 1/2 cup whole milk

* 1/2 cup cream

* 2-inch piece vanilla bean, split

* 3 large egg yolks

* 3 tbsp sugar

Method

1. Combine milk and cream in a doubleboiler or heavy saucepan. Scrape in seeds from vanilla bean; add bean. Bring milk mixture to simmer. Remove from heat.

2. Whisk egg yolks and sugar in medium bowl to blend. Gradually whisk hot milk mixture into yolk mixture. Return custard to saucepan. Stir over low heat until custard thickens, about five minutes.

DO NOT ALLOW TO BOIL.

3. Strain sauce into bowl. Cover and chill.

Bhicoo Manekshaw’s Custer (almost)

Ingredients

* 1 ltr full cream milk.

* 200 gm sugar

* 200 gm cream

* 8 large eggs, well beaten

* 4 tbsp blanched and ground almonds

* 1 tsp crushed cardamom

* 2 tbsp charoli

* 2 drops vanilla essence

* 1 tbsp rose water

* A pinch of salt

Method

1. Set the oven to 300°F

2. Bring milk to boil and simmer till reduced to half. Add sugar, simmer and stir for about five minutes. Remove from flame and add other ingredients and mix well.

3. Pour mixture into baking dish, place in a pan of hot water and bake for an hour.

4. Serve at room temperature or chilled.

( Shabnam Minwalla is a journalist and author of The Six Spellmakers of Dorabji Street )

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