Pots de Crème: A Fancy Dessert for People Who’ve Given Up

Friends, I have a treat for you.

Could I have just made chocolate pudding and called it good? Absolutely. In fact, I almost did. I came this close to cracking open a box of instant pudding mix, because I am a woman of ambition but also a woman of limited energy and deeply questionable time management skills. But then—Ivy got a look in her eyes. You know the one. The "I want something fancy" look. The same look that has led me down more than one rabbit hole. (Of course I’ll sew you the fancy dress that is way above my pay grade. Yes, I can make 50 Amuguri toys for you) And friends, when Ivy wants something fancy, I am morally and emotionally obligated to deliver.

So what did I do? I made a dessert with a name so French, so undeniably pretentious-sounding, it practically sips a Bordeaux and critiques your posture.

Pots de Crème.

Say it with me: Po de crem. (Or, if you're me, potz duh krehm, because my high school French teacher gave up on me halfway through sophomore year.)

I know it sounds like something that should involve at least two types of imported chocolate, a copper saucepan, a culinary degree, and maybe a beret. But surprise! Thanks to the Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond, and the unholy magic of my pretty red blender, this might be the easiest fancy dessert I've ever made. Like, easier-than-scrambling-eggs easy. Like, "should I be allowed to serve this to other people?" easy. And yet, it tastes like you snuck into a Parisian bistro kitchen at midnight and bribed a pastry chef with a bottle of wine.

So for you, dear reader—possibly slouched on your couch in sweatpants, wondering if “spooning peanut butter from the jar” counts as dessert—I present: Pots de Crème. You're welcome.

Let’s get to the chocolatey magic.

You will need:

• 12 oz semisweet chocolate chips (or chopped chocolate if you're feeling unnecessarily extra)
• 4 whole eggs
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
• A pinch of salt
• 1 cup very hot, almost-boiling coffee (YES, coffee. Trust me.)
• Optional: whipped cream, sea salt, shaved chocolate, berries, a sense of accomplishment

Instructions:

1. Throw your chocolate, eggs, vanilla, and salt into a blender.

   You don't even have to melt the chocolate first. I know. I'm suspicious too. But go with it.

2. Pour the hot coffee over the top.

   Lid on tight, and blend the ever-loving heck out of it. Like 30–45 seconds on high. You want it smooth, velvety, and suspiciously adult.

3. Pour the mixture into little cups, ramekins, old teacups, or anything that looks charming on Instagram.

   This recipe fills about 6 small cups or 4 "I'm having a day" portions.

4. Chill for at least 2 hours.

   Overnight is great. But even after an hour, they’ll be set enough to eat with a spoon while you pretend you're saving them for dinner guests.

5. Top with whatever you like.

   Whipped cream is classic. A sprinkle of sea salt makes you look like you read Bon Appétit in your free time. Ivy likes hers with sprinkles, because sprinkles make everything better. I like mine with Venti sized.

The Great Illusion

Now, let me be very clear: this is not pudding. It is technically a custard, but don’t let that word scare you. There’s no baking, no water baths, no ramekins trembling in your oven while you whisper desperate prayers to Julia Child.

You make this in a blender. Like a smoothie. But instead of kale, it’s chocolate and hot coffee and the power of wishful thinking. And you get to feel like a Michelin-star chef while doing it.

The result? A dessert that’s rich, silky, slightly grown-up thanks to the coffee, and absolutely life-affirming. Like pudding’s mysterious European cousin who summered in Marseille and never returns texts. You’re not totally sure what makes her so magnetic, but here she is, sitting on your kitchen counter in a pretty glass cup. And you made her. With four ingredients. While wearing pajamas.

Ivy’s Verdict

She took one bite, closed her eyes, and said, “Yes.” Which, honestly, is the greatest compliment this house chef could ever receive. It’s the equivalent of a Michelin star, a hug, and a Venmo tip all rolled into one.

Of course, ten minutes later she was eating it while watching YouTube with her feet on the coffee table, but still—the moment was mine.

A Note for the Overachievers

If you’re the kind of person who has things like cardamom pods or edible gold leaf just lying around, go wild. Pots de crème are your canvas. You can infuse the coffee with cinnamon or orange zest, swirl in some peanut butter, or hit the top with a spoonful of cherry jam like a renegade chocolatier.

But also: don’t overthink it. This is a no-fuss, maximum-impact dessert that will make your dinner guests gasp, your children swoon, and your own heart whisper, “I still got it.”

So the next time you want something sweet, something elegant, something that sounds like it costs $14 at a bistro with moody lighting—don’t reach for the pudding pack.

Make Pots de Crème.

Impress no one but yourself. That’s the real magic anyway.

And if you happen to shout “YOU’RE WELCOME!” at your family as you serve it up like some kind of benevolent dessert wizard… well, I support that energy entirely.

Now go blend something fancy.