Professor Butter Beard and Fire-Breathing Dragons
"Never laugh at live dragons, Bilbo you fool!" – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again.
“What is it with you and dragons,” I was asked again just last evening. The question could have easily been, “What is it with you and Vincent,” or “with Chinese Five Spice,” or “with long wizardly beards.” Lately, I am able chuckle at the question, enlightened with the knowledge (and pride) that it has been an extremely long journey of discovery to finally recognize my internal truth and honestly respond, “They are all the glorious puzzle pieces that have bonded to create the one and only me.”
Dragons have been my “spirit animals” since childhood, romping alongside my other fox and owl guardians. My first exposure to a dragon drawn from folklore was most likely “Smaug,” the red-golden dragon in J.R.R. Tolkien’s universe. I remember being fascinated by his vicious size, his jewel-encrusted underbelly, the mysterious whisps of smoke he exhaled as he snored, and the enormous priceless treasure he guarded.
Since then, dragons have grown to represent my recent personal renaissance and rediscovered strength through struggle and achievement. They now decorate my physical armor in the artistic medium of tattoos, external symbols of my rediscovered bravery, fought-for pride and grateful soul.
I have included within this week’s essay some of my favorite artistic images of dragons – imaginings that have greeted me as I progress through my continued studies of Medieval Art history. But recently, I have found myself being drawn to achieve a more personal and ancestral understanding of Scottish dragons and what they represent.
Long before fantasy dragons became part of popular culture, Scotland had its own dragon traditions. These creatures were rarely described as winged monsters descending from the clouds. Instead, they were enormous serpent-like beasts said to inhabit lochs, rivers, caves and remote glens. They were feared not because they could fly or breathe fire, but because people believed they were dangerous creatures living in the local landscape surrounding them.
Many of the creatures described in Scottish dragon folklore were known as worms, wyrms or beithirs. They were described as enormous serpentine creatures, sometimes so large they could dominate an entire valley or blockade a river. And, unlike the other dragons of medieval fantasy, many Scottish dragons were surprisingly wingless. Ancient traditions also describe them as legless or with only tiny limbs, making them appear far closer to giant serpents than reptiles. Rather than exhaling lethal fire, some legends claimed they possessed poisonous bites or poisonous breath capable of killing livestock and bringing sickness to those unfortunate enough to encounter them.
In much of Scottish mythology, the ability to breathe fire was not a dragon’s defining feature. Many legends instead describe creatures that poisoned water, attacked livestock, stalked lonely places and terrified nearby communities. These stories portray dragons as physical dangers rather than magical monsters. Farmers feared for their animals. Travelers avoided certain routes. Entire communities believed particular caves, rivers or lochs were home to something they should never disturb.
Rather than existing in imaginary kingdoms, dragons were believed to inhabit specific locations across Scotland. Deep lochs, fast-flowing rivers, sea caves, marshes and isolated glens appear repeatedly throughout the folklore. Now, when I stand at the shore of a misty Highland loch at sunset or gaze deeply into the entrance of a remote mountain cave, I find it so easy to understand why my ancestors imagined ferocious creatures living within.
But, honestly, I do wish for them the ability to expel a volcanic eruption of flames. Or maybe, I am just longing to add that fearless feature to my own growing list of personal magical revelations. Until then, I am limited to a hand-held blow-torch or a scorching hot oven to create the lusciously caramelized char on a Basque cheesecake or Portuguese Egg Custard Tart.
“What is it with you and dragons?” They’re me, my friend. They’re me.
Professor Butter Beard’s Portuguese Custard Tarts
2 Dozen Tarts
Dough:
One package of your favorite frozen puff pastry dough (I know, I know…. But do you really want to make your own puff pastry?)
Custard:
2 ½ cups whole milk, divided
6 Tbsp all-purpose flour
1 ½ tsp fine sea salt
12 large egg yolks (save the whites to make an Angel Food Cake)
2 tsp vanilla paste
2 ½ cups granulated sugar
1 cup water
Cinnamon, to lightly dust over finished tarts
1) The night before baking, defrost the frozen puff pastry dough. You will use both sheets (Usually, frozen puff pastry packaging contains two prepared sheets).
2) To prepare the custard: Whisk ½ cup of the milk, 6 Tbsp flour and 1 ½ tsp fine sea salt in a large bowl until smooth. Set aside
3) Whisk the dozen egg yolks and vanilla paste together in a second large bowl. Set aside.
4) In a medium saucepan, whisk together the remaining 2 cups milk, 1 cup water and 2 ½ cups granulated sugar. Cook, stirring occasionally until the sugar is dissolved and the mixture is just about to simmer. Slowly whisk the hot milk mixture into the flour mixture until smooth. Then whisk this mixture into the egg yolks until evenly combined. Strain the resulting mixture into a clean bowl. This custard base will be extremely thin. Let the custard rest at room temperature for one hour (up to two hours).
5) Unfold the first defrosted pastry sheet and lightly use a rolling pin to smooth out the creases. Starting at the long side, roll the sheet into a log and pinch the seam to seal. Do the same for the second sheet.
6) Preheat your oven to 450 degrees.
7) Spray two 12-cup muffin tins with cooking spray. Using a very sharp knife, cut the first log into 12 equal pieces. Place one piece in each muffin cup, cut side up. Using moistened fingers, press the dough pieces evenly into bottoms and up sides of muffin cups until the dough just reaches the top of the cup. Refrigerate this first tin while you prepare the second.
8) When ready to bake, whisk the custard to recombine. Fill your first tin to just below the rim of each cup. Bake until the custard is puffed and spotted dark brown, between 25 and 30 minutes. Repeat with the second tin. You will have extra custard. Go ahead and discard.
9) Let the tarts rest in the tin on a wire rack for five minutes, then remove and cool the tarts on the rack for at least 30 minutes. If desired, lightly dust the top of the tarts with a dash of cinnamon before serving.
