Pregnant with my first, I found that I didn't so much have morning sickness, but it was more a case that I found foods that were perfectly fine suddenly no longer held their appeal. For example, I'd always loved chicken in any shape, way, or form, but now it seemed absolutely disgusting. Another once-loved food but now hated was eggs.
My OB/GYN worried about me getting enough protein and calcium (I tried to explain that pepperoni pizza and ice cream covered both of those food groups), so he suggested that I find ways of combining things that would camouflage the taste that was now such a problem.
I decided that custard was a good idea. It combined milk and eggs, so there you go, covered protein and calcium, all wrapped up in one delightful dessert. How could that be hard to swallow?
I whipped out my Betty Crocker Cookbook (and this is the original one that I still own and is now over 50 years old, as is also the first pregnancy that produced my son) and set about making it.
My OB/GYN worried about me getting enough protein and calcium (I tried to explain that pepperoni pizza and ice cream covered both of those food groups), so he suggested that I find ways of combining things that would camouflage the taste that was now such a problem.
I decided that custard was a good idea. It combined milk and eggs, so there you go, covered protein and calcium, all wrapped up in one delightful dessert. How could that be hard to swallow?
I whipped out my Betty Crocker Cookbook (and this is the original one that I still own and is now over 50 years old, as is also the first pregnancy that produced my son) and set about making it.

We were living in a one-bedroom apartment in Yonkers, NY, and it had a small kitchen, probably what today would be called a "galley kitchen." It was very efficient in that all the appliances were centered area with just a small space to walk around the room. There was no place to put even a small table, it was how it little it was.
So, I went about putting together all the ingredients , followed the directions almost well enough to put what looked like it would eventually become custard, and put it in the oven.
I'm not known for patience with some recipes. I kept waiting for it to "set" but it seemed to be having a hard time. I checked the oven temperature, reviewed the process, and yet it was still more likely an egg soup, and not the kind you'd get in a Chinese restaurant.
Throwing caution to the wind, I bent over and decided I would open the oven door and just take a peek. Closed it again. Waited some more. Still looking very watery, but there was some consolidation beginning to appear. Waited more. Finally, my anticipation got the better of me, so I opened the door partially to reach in and give the baking dish a "shake" to see if it was at least wobbly.
"Partially" is the operative word here. Leaning in to grab it, I didn't account for my growing belly, which promptly smacked the door closed, trapping my arms just above my elbows, where they were just wide enough to not allow me to pull free.
No pregnant woman has never screamed that loud, ever, even while giving birth to quadruplets without the benefit of a spinal block.
My husband rescued me, and the next day we paid a visit to my OB/GYN to take a look at the second-degree burns on my arms. He prescribed a salve, and left me wearing short sleeve maternity tops in the dead of winter.
I decided that eating pepperoni pizza and ice cream was a safer way to get those important vitamins and nutrients into my system. I have never made custard EVER again, but here's the recipe in case you want to live dangerously and try this.
Ingredients do not include asbestos oven mitts.
So, I went about putting together all the ingredients , followed the directions almost well enough to put what looked like it would eventually become custard, and put it in the oven.
I'm not known for patience with some recipes. I kept waiting for it to "set" but it seemed to be having a hard time. I checked the oven temperature, reviewed the process, and yet it was still more likely an egg soup, and not the kind you'd get in a Chinese restaurant.
Throwing caution to the wind, I bent over and decided I would open the oven door and just take a peek. Closed it again. Waited some more. Still looking very watery, but there was some consolidation beginning to appear. Waited more. Finally, my anticipation got the better of me, so I opened the door partially to reach in and give the baking dish a "shake" to see if it was at least wobbly.
"Partially" is the operative word here. Leaning in to grab it, I didn't account for my growing belly, which promptly smacked the door closed, trapping my arms just above my elbows, where they were just wide enough to not allow me to pull free.
No pregnant woman has never screamed that loud, ever, even while giving birth to quadruplets without the benefit of a spinal block.
My husband rescued me, and the next day we paid a visit to my OB/GYN to take a look at the second-degree burns on my arms. He prescribed a salve, and left me wearing short sleeve maternity tops in the dead of winter.
I decided that eating pepperoni pizza and ice cream was a safer way to get those important vitamins and nutrients into my system. I have never made custard EVER again, but here's the recipe in case you want to live dangerously and try this.
Ingredients do not include asbestos oven mitts.
Ingredients
- 3 large eggs, slightly beaten
- 1/3 cup sugar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla
- Dash of salt
- 2 1/2 cups very warm milk (120°F to 130°F)
- Ground nutmeg
- Heat oven to 350°F.
- In medium bowl, beat eggs, sugar, vanilla and salt with wire whisk or fork. Gradually stir in milk. Pour into six 6-ounce custard cups. Sprinkle with nutmeg.
- Place cups in 13x9-inch pan on oven rack. Pour very hot water into pan to within 1/2 inch of tops of cups (see box, below).
- Bake about 45 minutes or until knife inserted halfway between center and edge comes out clean. Remove cups from water. Cool about 30 minutes. Unmold and serve warm, or refrigerate and unmold before serving. Store covered in refrigerator.