Flan de Queso
The love child of a Flan and a Basque cheesecake
The Spanish relationship with milk-based desserts deserves serious study. If I could go back in time and swap my dissertation on Sir John Soane’s relationship with death in his architecture for one on Spanish puddings, I would.
Spend any amount of time in southern Spain and you’ll discover that dessert is rarely a grand affair. Instead, it’s an endless procession of things that are creamy, wobbly, spoonable, set, soaked or, in many cases, all of the above at once.
Looking back, most of the desserts I grew up eating there can be categorised as either custard, custard pretending not to be custard, or bread that has somehow found its way into custard.
The Spanish have an impressive talent for turning dairy into dessert. Arroz con leche, Natillas, Pudín. Torrijas - bread soaked in sweetened milk and fried until golden. And if bread feels like an unnecessary middleman? Simply thicken the milk and fry that instead. Leche frita. Fried milk. You couldn’t make it up.
My family eat almost exclusively in ventas, wonderfully unpretentious roadside canteens where portions are generous and dessert is included whether you planned for it or not. You could skip pudding, I suppose, but a fridge-cold, creamy, wobbling thing feels like the natural companion to a strong coffee at the end of lunch.
These are not desserts that rely on presentation. There will be no quenelles or fruit garnish. They arrive in ramekins or foil cases straight out the display fridge.
And so we arrive at flan.
I’ve eaten an alarming number over the years and have learnt that there’s a “flan” for everyone. If dairy isn’t your thing, try tocino de cielo, little more than egg yolks and sugar syrup transformed into something improbably tasty. Then there’s flan de queso, my personal favourite. It’s the love child of a flan and a Basque cheesecake. Less eggy than a traditional flan, creamier and gently tangy. My recipe isn’t traditional.
The texture is what gets me. Smooth and creamy, yes, but with wobble.
It does make serving slightly more adventurous. My version occasionally produces a slice that leans to one side, like a ship on choppy water. I quite like that. And then there’s the whipped cream, from a can, because that’s all you’re getting in a venta and there is no better pairing. (There is also no better sound, when squirting at home)
The whipped cream tower in this photo collapsed almost immediately. I considered re-plating for another picture, then thought, nah, flan is supposed to be fun!
I’m really proud of what I’ve done with this recipe, because I reckon you could remember it without looking back at having made it only once. Much like the famous French yogurt pot cake, I’ve made the measurements all whole. Whole eggs, a whole
