FLAME ON, BABY!

I've had this kitchen torch that's been sitting on my shelf for—what—maybe two years, and for the longest time, I was petrified by the thought of trying to use it and having it blow up in my face, flaying me with agonizing bits of hissing shrapnel, thin slivers of metal burying themselves in my brain, ripping away my sanity and turning me instantly into a deranged Batman villain with a name like The Torcher-er, a man obsessed with the painful application of kitchen blowtorches to his hapless victims.

It turns out that real life is much less dramatic.  This morning, I had the idea of learning how to use the torch since I had a nearly empty can of butane:  no chance of explosions.  I ripped open the packaging, quickly figured out how to put the torch's head onto the butane can (it fits like a puzzle piece, easy-peasy), then started playing with the moving parts until I had figured out (1) how to produce a flame, (2) how to adjust said flame, and (3) how to extinguish the flame.  I'm happy to say that I succeeded on all fronts:

I'm ecstatic!  This opens up a vista of new culinary possibilities, the most obvious of which is crème brûlée.  This coming weekend, I'll try making crème brûlée three ways:  two panna cotta "cheat" versions (vanilla and chocolate), plus one "authentic" version with a proper custard.  After that—who knows?  Baked Alaska?  Seared peppers?  Crispy chicken skin?

More news as it happens.