Excerpt of Death Comes in through the Kitchen by Teresa Dovalpage

Better than birthday cake

Tocino del cielo is flan’s decadent, slutty cousin.

Tocino means bacon. But tocino del cielo (or tocinillo, as
it is also known) is a misleading term. The reason why a
dessert that falls in the same category as flan and egg
custard is named after cured pork has always eluded me. The
del cielo part is easier to understand: it was “from
heaven”—where people used to think everything good came
from.

When I was a little girl, I always got a tocinillo for my
birthday. Meringue cake? Forget it. We were given one every
year through the ration card, but I was happy to let the
party guests have it.

I’ll tell you a little secret: though my grandmother Hilda
was the kitchen’s queen, it was mom who made the best
tocinillo. Mom had “the touch” for sweets, and this is
something you don’t learn. Either you have it or you don’t.
In most dishes, particularly those involving egg yolk,
butter and sugar, you need to find el punto de caramelo,
that specific, indefinable moment when it’s done.

Mom’s soups or stews didn’t always turn out right, but she
got the right punto for tocinillo and flan. She didn’t brag
about it, though—and she wasn’t being deferential. She
didn’t want to embarrass Grandma, who was la reina. But she
was also afraid that if her talents were recognized she
would be asked to cook more often.

That, my friends, didn’t sit well with her. Mom was, and
is, a liberated woman, a career woman, not a housewife.
Though born and raised in a rural town, she was rather
avant-garde. She managed the local clinic and served as the
president of the Cuban Federation of Women in our block.
She was also active with the Committee for the Defense of
the Revolution, where she was elected treasurer twice. But
housework she didn’t enjoy.

Would you like to try her tocinillo? Then follow my
instructions. But be warned—this isn’t an easy recipe.

Start by making the syrup. Boil half a cup of water and a
cup of sugar with a few drops of lemon for ten minutes,
stirring constantly. (Keep an eye on it all the time, as
syrup is one of these unpredictable sweet sauces that gets
burned when you least expect it.) Then allow it to cool.

While you are at it, heat half a cup of sugar (again stir,
stir!) in a smaller container. Put it aside.

Now, let’s start with the tocinillo as such. Beat five
yolks and two whole eggs together. But do not overbeat! I
think mom’s success lay in the fact that she didn’t beat
eggs as if they were going to be used for, let’s say,
merenguitos. Make sure they are well mixed, however.

Add the syrup and a bit of vanilla extract—one teaspoon
will suffice. Then strain it, using a colander, pour
everything into a pan, and get ready for the most difficult
step: the baño de María.

Baño de María, which my Yuma boyfriend calls “water bath,”
consists of putting a small pan inside a large one and
adding hot water to the larger pan until it reaches halfway
up the side of the small one. (Did I confuse you already?)

The small pan, naturally, is where you pour in the strained
mixture. Be careful not to burn yourself with the hot
water, as I have done so many times. That explains why I am
not a fan of baño de María!

Bake in the oven for around an hour. Next, turn the
tocinillo over on a plate and drizzle it with the burned
sugar. Refrigerate for three or four hours and enjoy. You
deserve it!

Comments

Cocinera Cubana said….

Hola, Yarmi! One way of avoiding the water bath hassle is
using a pressure cooker. Place the tocinillo mold inside
and boil for around fifteen minutes.

Maritza said…

Yes, this is complicated! Not just the water bath, but
everything else. It will take me a whole day, I am afraid.
Better to buy it at Versailles, hehe.

Anita said…

I’d rather wait until I go to Havana and try your
tocinillo, dear.

Yarmi said…

Cocinera, you are right, the pressure cooker is a
possibility, but I am ashamed to say that it scares me to
death. A childhood trauma! So here is the story: when I was
five years old, a neighbor’s pressure cooker exploded and
she was left badly disfigured. I do own one, but only use
it in emergencies.

Maritza, I bet that if you make your own tocinillo, you
won’t need Versailles at all.

Anita, I will make one just for you when you come.

Besitos, Yarmi