Jackass

My other great eating experience of last year was Buenos Aires. The restaurant food of that cosmopolitan city was in part so bound up with the atmosphere of the place itself that it is hardly worth trying to imitate in a home kitchen. Not with my skills, anyway.

Argentines are utterly hooked on dulce de leche, a soft brown goo that is literally caramelised milk, a sort of big brother to Finnish kinuski toffee sauce. It is especially good as a sauce for ice cream and in puddings. The stuff is like crack, and one taste is enough to make you psychologically dependent.

In New York you can get dulce de leche nearly everywhere, even at our corner bodega. But when I looked into how the milk is caramelised, I came across what sounded like urban legends about boiling sealed tins in a pressure cooker. The laws of physics dictate that rising heat and pressure in a closed space spell danger of explosion. The internet was full of stories of hot tins flying round kitchens, burnt limbs and cooks who had lost their sight. The general message was DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, just as at the start of Johnny Knoxville's Jackass.

Food blogging is on the whole fairly tame. Here was a unique chance to build, at home, with three minutes' reflection and an investment of $1.79, an Improvised Explosive Device of the kind you usually hear about only on the news from Baghdad.

I dug the deepest pan out of my cupboard, a ten-litre one. The label on the tin of condensed milk said CAUTION - NEVER HEAT UNOPENED CAN. I threw the label away. I put the unopened tin in the pan and filled the pan almost to the brim with water. The critical thing is that the tin stays properly submerged throughout, at least an inch (2.5 cm) under water - Archimedes could no doubt explain something about this that I can't.

While the tin boils there is a constant clop-clop-clop. If the flame was even a touch too high, the sound swelled into a frighteningly syncopated KLONK-UTI KLONKK KLONKKKKK KLONKKKKKKKK, in which, depending on your degree of paranoia, you could hear a train careering off its rails or an imminent explosion. My brother kindly suggested I use the pan lid as a shield, leave the flat and come back in good time to mop the caramel off the ceiling.

I stood the nervous strain of the wait for three hours. In that time spots of rust had already appeared on the tin. Two hours would have given caramel sauce, three produced a semi-solid pudding, and four ought to give a dessert that more or less stands up on its own. I let the pan cool to room temperature with the tin still under water. When I finally opened it, oven gloves on as if I were handling a fuel rod from the Loviisa nuclear plant, warm brown matter burst out of the hole made by the tin opener at considerable escape velocity. My reflexes worked. I dodged in time: my eyesight is still intact.

The warm dulce de leche was unbelievably good, as if made to be a sauce for ice cream or slices of apple. You can also spread it on toast. There is a recipe for the tin method in English as well.

Recipe card

Dulce de Leche - Don't Try This at Home

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• Boiling 2-4 hours, mine 3 hours
• Cooling to room temperature, under water

You will need

1 tin

sweetened condensed milk

Method

1. Put the unopened tin in a deep pan (mine holds 10 litres) and fill the pan almost to the brim with water. The tin must stay at least an inch (2.5 cm) under water the whole time it boils.
2. Boil steadily. If the flame is too high, the tin starts to clatter alarmingly.
3. Two hours gives caramel sauce, three a semi-solid pudding and four a dessert that more or less stands up on its own.
4. Let the pan cool to room temperature with the tin still under water.
5. Open the tin wearing oven gloves and keep your face clear, as the warm contents may burst out of the hole.

You can of course make caramelised milk from scratch, from milk, sugar and vanilla (recipes en español and in English). No danger of explosion there, just long, tedious boiling, so feel free to try that one...