En Flambe

As I've mentioned before, my brother Justin is a stellar cook. He earned his associate culinary degree for fun, and now one of his favorite pastimes is cooking with an audience. One of his specialty desserts is flambe - anything that involves a healthy dose of liquor burned off some sort of fruit. When I was there a few weeks ago, it was a heavenly bananas foster. And then last night, it was figs in port and plum and pear in brandy. Cooked, flamed, reduced, and poured over vanilla ice cream.

Though I didn't attribute it in any way to the nearly fatal case of acid indigestion I experienced at their house last time I was there, it was in the lineup of things consumed prior to my belly swelling up like a balloon. This time around, I admit that a nagging bit of worry entered my mind as I shoveled in figs and plums, but I pushed it to the side as being overly cautious.

Two hours later (post-viewing of Disturbia) I regretted not having exercised more caution. Despite my best efforts to overcome the gag reflex, I ended up tossing my flambe. I can't figure out the problem. I've certainly had enough dark liquor to know I'm not allergic, nor am I allergic to any of the fruits nor have I had any inkling of lactose intolerance. But since flambe sends my stomach up in flames, I'll stick to the fire-free desserts from now on.