Suddenly, without any real notice, spring happened over the weekend.

The daffodils, shyly hiding their bonneted heads all through February, are in full glory. The spiky clumps of florescent-yellow forsythia grow larger each day. Soon, it will be time to get out the trusty $50 lawn mover I bought three years ago. We are already doing industrious things. Kelly finished painting the living room - twilight-colored walls, and two shades of pale, pale gray for the trim and the fireplace. I baked banana bread and made broccoli soup. One of our dogs spent the weekend sunning herself in the backyard sunshine. Kelly said she thought she was on spring break.

In climes way, way to the north of here, an early sign of winter’s end is the sugaring season, the late winter weeks when the temperatures are above freezing during the day and below freezing at night, creating the prime pressure for sap to flow out of a tapped maple tree. I remember going to a sugaring of some sort when I was a very little girl living in upstate New York. Honestly, at the time, I think what impressed me more was the ice-cutting construction, a chilly Lego-block building built with giant ice cubes, sawdust and mean-looking metal tongs.

But I can’t feign the same hardiness of New Englanders. In North Carolina, at least in my parts, it’s been above freezing here at night, well, probably most of February. I can, however, enjoy the maple syrup and be happy that winter is surely and steadily warming up to spring.

I’ve had maple syrup on the brain for much of the winter, since Kelly’s mom handed us a big jug of the caramel-colored liquid gold for Christmas. As soon as we got home, I quickly stashed the little plastic jug in the back of the fridge, adjusting the milk and the Brita water filter pitcher just so, all the better to hide it. Real maple syrup is a luxury in North Carolina - our trees, mainly pine, some magnolia, are more likely give us cones, and in the magnolia’s case, brown, waxy leaves the size of pontoons. All through January and February and now March, I’ve eked out the jug’s contents onto squat bowls of oatmeal and dripped it gingerly onto waffles.

When I was in Florida, of all places, Lauren sent my maple syrup daydreams over the edge. She recently wrote about the terroir of maple syrup for her employer, the Burlington Free Press…fancy pants stuff, indeed, but it makes perfect sense. If wine and cheese are stamped with the unique taste of where they come from, why shouldn’t the sap that comes out of maple trees?

And that’s when I started thinking about dessert.

These simple custards are comforting and sophisticated, nursey food with a sly, long lick of maple. Maple appears twice in the recipe, so the flavor is reinforced, but it is so gentle that it doesn’t mind and even benefits from a little of the vanilla’s bullying. More maple sugar is even better sprinkled on top, a crunch and a dusting of winter’s end.

Maple Custard Cups, adapted from Gourmet, March 2006

2 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup dark amber or Grade B maple syrup
3 tablespoons granulated maple sugar (I found mine in the maple syrup/ sugar/baking section of my local Whole Foods; it’s also a heady condiment for that morning oatmeal)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350F.

Whisk together all ingredients in a large bowl until sugar is dissolved, then pour through a fine-mesh sieve into bowl or a measuring cup with a spout. Divide custard evenly among six ramekin cups, then transfer cups to baking pan. Boil enough water to cover the custards midway to three-quarters up the side of the ramekins. Pour boiling water into the pan, then cover loosely with foil (this is a hot water bath; it’s how you bake any custard). Bake until custards are just set and a knife inserted in center of one comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes.

Carefully transfer cups to a rack and cool to warm, about 30 minutes. If you are not going to eat them immediately, cover with plastic and refridgerate. They are best eaten the day you make them, sprinkled with more maple sugar.

Yield: six custards