It is [a] paltrie cap,
A custard coffin, a bauble, a silken pie.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, THE TAMING OF THE SHREW, CA. 1593
She had a strong sweetish odor that all her rose water and soap could not subdue, an odor I loved because it made me think of warm custard.
ISABEL ALLENDE, EVA LUNA, 1987
Milk and eggs, gently baked until they set—could anything be simpler, more soothing to the palate, to the stomach, to the soul? Because they are so easy to digest, custards have long been spooned to children, to babies in the nursery and to invalids. (One early-American recipe is called “a sick-bed custard”—the original comfort food.) That’s a clue to these desserts’ appeal: There is something inherently nurturing about them. Unlike desserts with more “texture,” custards offer no challenge, no resistance—you can just glide on in with the spoon.