Flashback: The great sugar fix

Banner image of hand tools beside plate on dinner table.

Okay, it’s confession time: I have a sweet tooth.

I’m not talking about sneaking an Oreo cookie when no one is looking. I mean I eat the whole damn package. And then another. With Nutella.

In fact, one of the reasons I enjoy cycling so much is that it gives me a chance to stay slim while embarking on sugar binges that would put most people into a diabetic coma.

It was on one of these escapades in New Zealand that I made my sweetest discovery of all – the jujube jewel in my candy crown, so to speak. Dulce de leche.

Let it roll around your tongue for a moment. Dulce de leche. Even the name is delicious.

Translated from Spanish, it literally means “sweetness of milk,” and like most great innovations, it was the result of a complete cock-up. In 19th century Argentina, a servant forgot the milk and sugar she was heating on a stove. When she returned, she found that the concoction had caramelized into ooey-gooey goodness. It has been hitting the bulls-eye on taste buds ever since.

So I decided to make a batch.

That is until I remembered that I hate making desserts – always have. I think it goes back to my childhood and my mother’s Betty Crocker cookbook, the cover of which featured a woman laughing maniacally as she held a flaming birthday cake over her head.

More to the point, I don’t like the idea of mincing around the kitchen in a flowery apron. I’m in touch with all sorts of things on my so-called feminine side, but that’s where I draw the line.

I solved this problem – and fed my sugar addiction – by designing the most man-tastic dulce de leche recipe on the planet. Enjoy.


I am currently off the road as I save funds for the next leg of my journey. Regular posts will continue, however. Each week I will publish a flashback – a story from my past travels that never found a home on this site. Enjoy, and please remember that your comments, likes and shares are always appreciated.


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