Is it Sunday Again? In Hilton Head

I made a Dessert Pact with myself several years ago. I vowed that I would order creme brulee whenever it appeared on a restaurant's menu, for the rest of my life. I signed this treaty with Super Hubs as my witness, and have no intentions of betraying this possibly legally binding agreement with myself. And why should I? And creme brulee is quite honestly the yummiest dessert I have ever encountered; the creamy, custardy luscious goodness served in a too-cute ramekin- OMG I love it! So imagine my thrill I mean chagrin this evening when the adorable waiter from Slovakia handed me the dessert menu after I had just finished a light-meal-by-choice of shrimp cocktail and Caesar salad. I was all, "Dang! There it is; creme brulee. I was not going to have dessert, what with the vacation pounds I've put on. But now I must order creme brulee, as my pact clearly states. Jeez my life sucks!"

I have no such pact about key lime pie or tiramisu or chocolate mousse. Or cherry cobbler or Red Velvet cake. It's only creme brulee that I'm wild about, ever since I was given a taste at a dinner party hosted by a friend. It became my favorite gourmet dessert, and I vowed that I would never learn to make it. That would entirely diminish its pizazz. Its fabulous glamour. The romance of it all.

So now, because of my pact, I've been forced to eat creme brulee in New York City, Disney World and Rome. I've tasted it in several fine establishments in Chicago, and now in Hilton Head Island. I'm having a torrid little affair with burnt cream and I feel so naughty!

But a pact is a pact, and I am nothing if not an honorable woman. So I relished creme brulee tonight, while overlooking the Harbour Town Golf Course. And Super Hubs enjoyed key lime pie. It was entirely lovely.