Each and every time I order a ‘flan de la casa’ – allegedly a homemade flan, which is a kind of baked custard-y, crème caramel-style pudding – I look out for the giveaway sign that it’s been bought in, from outside the premises: no holes. If it’s perfect and smooth, this more-ish little pud has, without fail, been purchased from a catering company. For a flan, we seek imperfections. We also always hope to remember to say “sin nata” – without cream – and then, as we forget again, we feel that if the squirty cream’s on the plate, we should really eat it. This is guilt and pleasure served on puddle of runny caramel sauce. And I love it.