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Dessert in a Hurry: Clafouti

Thank you sir. May I have another?

You know how it is. You’re yacking it up in a bar. The drinks are flowing and you’re feeling a deep and abiding love for mankind in general and your tablemates in particular, so you invite them over for a little home cooking at your place in a couple of weeks. But tequila slammers being what they are, you don’t necessarily recall issuing the invitation the next morning, in which case, you probably won’t remember that you’re supposed to be getting a company meal on the table two weeks hence. So when your pals call to confirm three hours before they’re set to arrive, you really have only two choices: fake sick (in which case I’d suggest choosing an extremely communicable vector-borne disease – mononucleosis, swine flu, or a herpes outbreak, depending on the nature of the friendship) or suck it up and get the chow on the table.

In the event you choose door number two, here’s what you do.

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