Reinventing Flan Parisien — Without the Guilt
There are sensations that linger in your mind no matter how much time has passed. Just like a former smoker might nostalgically recall the pleasure of that first inhale, I often find myself daydreaming about the silky, creamy, wobbly indulgence of a flan parisien. The kind that melts slowly on the tongue, leaving behind a trail of eggy, milky sweetness and the warmth of real vanilla.
But when you commit to a plant-based lifestyle, some of those sensory memories begin to feel like ghosts. You know they exist, you remember their magic—but you also know you’ve chosen not to chase them anymore. Because you believe, fiercely, that no creature should suffer for a fleeting pleasure. And sometimes, that belief comes at a cost.
But I’m not the type to simply let go and move on.
No, I’m a problem-solver to the core. A pragmatic dreamer. If something doesn’t exist yet, I’ll roll up my sleeves and create it—even if it takes me a lifetime. And while I’m not trying to resurrect the dead, recreating a dish like flan parisien—so deeply rooted in dairy and eggs—can feel almost as impossible.
Still, we tried.
We remembered. We talked. We went deep into our memories, dissecting every bite we’d ever taken. What made flan so irresistible? Was it the vanilla? The rich creaminess? The gentle wobble? The barely-there crust?
The truth is, it’s the sum of all those things. The magic is in the balance.
So we began. Vanilla first, then milk alternatives, then egg substitutes. We tested every imaginable combination, chasing that specific texture—that quivering yet firm consistency that defines a true flan. We discovered that soy milk and oat milk, when precisely balanced, could offer the full-bodied richness of whole milk. Cornstarch gave us the delicate firmness. Vegan butter, used wet, contributed that luscious melt and subtle hold.
And all the while, Alexia—my right hand in the kitchen—was guiding our journey with her extraordinary intuition. She’s spent years perfecting plant-based patisserie, and it shows. She can glance at a list of ingredients and tell you instantly what’s missing—or what’s unnecessary. Her talent borders on the supernatural. Honestly, she’s our magician.
So when she finally landed on the perfect combination—when she handed me a slice of flan that looked, smelled, and tasted like the finest flan parisien you’d find in the streets of Paris—I was nearly in tears.
It was everything I remembered and more: rich, wobbly, milky, tender, fondant, and bursting with real vanilla.
It was proof that with enough passion and persistence, even the most “impossible” flavors can be reborn—without cruelty, without compromise.
Life is beautiful.
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