Staying home from school with a sore throat, at least before my tonsillectomy as a six-year-old, usually involved a cadre of special "sick treats."
One of the best was Hanscom's egg custard.
Smooth as silk, it was topped with a golden brown haze of nutmeg dots, nestled in a tiny crinkled-foil cup. I'd scrape off the nutmeg bits and eat those first.
Hanscom's Bakery was a Philadelphia institution, with outposts even in the suburbs. For a while, I recall a corner of the Acme had a Hanscom's display, with treats stacked high.
My grandmother had treats from Hanscom's, too, from time to time. Although, with Nanny, I recall more frequently having a whole chocolate frosted Tastykake Junior to myself and thinking it the very definition of heaven. I don't recall her ever making my sister and I share; we always had our own slab of cake.
While I've always been a cake girl, those egg custards are the things I associate with Hanscom's, and which I miss dearly. Smooth and filling, they were a great comfort food.
I could really use one of those custards. Right. About. Now.