"and now we are old, with debts and regrets"

Anyone remember that line from a Carly Simon song? "It was so easy then." In fact, didn't it all seem so easy THEN, whenever THEN was? I have been thinking about "then" recently, prompted by the events of the last week (which all did end up happily, more more than less), and reminiscing about my dear, dear departed friend Oscar.

I met Oscar when I was an undergraduate. It seems to be a thousand years ago, but it was only 28. He was a graduate student, and while there was nothing on paper to say this should have happened, we became friends. I hesitate to use the word "best," because I don't know what that means anymore, i.e, what's a "best friend?" I think the best way to say it is that we became "soul mates," or something like that, but there aren't adjectives or descriptors that I have that will name the relationship correctly. Will it suffice to say that 14 years after he died, I can still see Oscar's face, and that I still miss him, just about every day? I miss the phone calls, I miss finishing each other's sentences, I miss the friendly name calling, the meals together. I miss it all.

There's a line in the most famous of Japanese novels, "The Tale of Genji, " that every student of Asian literature has memorized by heart: "Genji died, and there was no one to take his place." And that's how I felt and still feel about Oscar.

My Nana was still pretty much all "there" when Oscar died, and I told her the story. I remember that she had two wise pieces of advice. One was "Feel bad, but feel worse for his parents. No parent can understand why their child dies before them, and they never will " (Nana had lost a daughter right after she delivered her). Her second piece of advice was "If God decided you were entitled to a friend like Oscar, there will be another one. But God is very busy, Norman, and you will just have to be patient."

Well, there are times when I think God should unbusy him/herself a little, and deal with some issues that are way more important than one gay man feeling heartsick at missing his friend. But she was right, as she so frequently was, and is. And about two years ago, someone came into my life, who will never replace Oscar (and would never try), but who filled that space that was absent for so, so long.

And if you're a careful reader of this blog, you'll know who that is. Any guesses? C'mon. And if you're reading this and you know it's you, 'fess up. I know you peek in from time to time.

So, in thinking about Oscar, and new friends, I thought of a dinner that I cooked for Oscar and his then boyfriend. Oscar was housesitting at this incredible apartment, where even the bathroom overlooked Central Park West. I don't remember all of that meal, but I remember that it was cooked with the recklessness that only 20 and 30 somethings have: there must have been butter, oil AND cheese in that meal, and for dessert, "floating island" or "oeufs ala neige." Now this is a dessert that has long gone out of fashion. I went and looked it up the other day, and all of the warnings on it "difficult. Very difficult. Very time consuming." Well, I don't remember it that way, and as I read through the recipe, I don't understand the warnings.

But what was amusing to me, as I read it, was I kept on thinking "Oh, heavens. We would NEVER eat that these days. Way too rich. WAY too fattening. WAY too much cholesterol."

This was immediately after I had just choked down half of a ruben sandwich at the Carnegie Deli that probably gave me enough calories for the week, and sufficient cholesterol for a month. And then I compared it to some of my other desserts.

NONSENSE.

It's time this dessert came back. It DOES take some time, but it's a show stopper. Leave out the caramel if that scares you, but make the meringues and the custard.

You out there, buddy? You reading this? Up for an afternoon of having fun making things we shouldn't eat? C'mon. I'm waiting for you to accept the invitation. It's no scarier than being my friend is.

You start by separating eight eggs. This may be the hardest thing to do in the recipe. Put the yolks to the side for a while ,and get out your mixer to make the meringue. Start beating with the whisk attachment, and slowly, like by tablespoons, add half a cup of sugar, until you have very stiff, firm, glossy meringues. This will take a while, but they will stay stable enough while you make custard.

To make the custard, pour a quart of milk WHOLE milk and put a vanilla bean in it, in a wide saucepan. Bring it slowly to a simmer. When that happens, start taking nice big scoops of meringue and drop them into the custard, and poach the meringues for three minutes on each side. It's very easy to just scoop them up and turn them over, and you'd be surprised how resilient these "islands" or "oeufs" can be. Put them on a tray and to the side. You won't need them for a while.

Now, beat the eight egg yolks with a half cup of sugar. Use the mixer, and the paddle if you can. Beat for longer than you think you'll need to. You want something thick, lemon colored, and unctious. Maybe five or six minutes. Then, when you've done this. Clear a space and be a bit careful now. You're going to pour about a third of a cup of that warm milk into the eggs, to temper them. Then pour the whole thing back into the pan, and stir. Stir gently, until you see a distinct change in texture. That's creme anglaise you just made. Take out the vanilla bean, and take the stuff off the heat.

Now, you can serve this immediately, which is how it's mostly done, but I like it better cold, so I chill the creme anglaise, and chill the meringues, and put them together at the end. If that's what you're going to do, put off making caramel until you're ready to serve. And when you are, pour a cup of sugar into a saucepan and start heating. Don't stir it. WHATEVER YOU DO DON'T STIR IT. You'll watch the process happen. It's very neat. When it's a little less brown than you like it, stop the heating. Serve up your creme anglaise with a nice meringue in each portion and pour the caramel over it.

You can flavor the creme anglaise with rum, or anything else you like, to be honest. I like it just the way it is.

This is enough for eight people. If you think that through, it's not that bad a dessert, and even we 50 somethings can eat it, although not after a ruben sandwich.

"It WAS so easy then." It's not so easy now, but some things are. I think that if my friend doesn't figure out I'm talking about him, I'll make this for him the next time I see him.

Hey, Oscar didn't get the subtle either.

O, if you're reading this from heaven, you know who I mean. You also know I still miss the Saturday morning calls from "The empress of the north" and I wish you were still around.