Not just small children.
I've finally been able to read a substantial portion of a certain online writing that I thought would be inspirational, but instead gave me heartburn. I have since thrown away the fluffy concept behind Cosmomorphic Cookies and returned to the dirty, filthy, sugar-coated roots.
It started about 7 months ago. I was broke. And I was craving something really sweet. I was reading an article about the levels of integration of food within society. Apparently, when Wal-Mart starts selling it, it's become mainstream. The food in question: salted caramels. Not just salt in the paper cylinder. Salt from Brittany. Raked by old men with wooden raker-things. Their touch, as gentle as combing a child's hair, in order to preserve the crystalline structure of the salt that floated on the surface.
The caramels I knew were from a bin at the grocery store. Gross, mass-produced, grainy, and lacking that delicate fleur-de-sel. Obviously not the right type. And without money to do a comprehensive taste testing, I was going to have to make it myself if I was going to eat it at all. One sleepless night, I snuck out of bed and melted some sugar in a heavy bottomed pot. I put in a pat of butter and some sugar. Then I stirred it for about 20 minutes. That was my first rookie mistake. I think I tried to salvage that grainy glaze but it eventually found itself in the compost pile. Did I mention I made this first attempt at caramels without wearing my thick, coke-bottle-yet-chic faux-tortoise shell glasses?
After poking around online for recipes on how to make the perfect chewy, non-violent caramels, I had amassed an arsenal of photographs, tips, and recipes. I picked the recipe with the most appetizing photos. From there, I read and re-read the recipe. It was like going to war. Or performing a musical theater number. I practiced resisting the urge to stir. When I got my trusty cooking thermometer, there was nothing to stop me now!
Batch #1: cook sugar, golden syrup, and water over medium flame until the temperate reaches the first magical number (it's higher than you think). Pour in the scalded cream with half a stick of butter melted in, all at once. It will bubble like a cauldron. Wait for it to cook to the second magic number. Pour out. Let cool. It will be the most beautiful, golden, creamy, chewy thing you have ever seen. Friends came over and ate hand over fist, tearing pieces off of strips I had cut off the main slab. The secret? Salt. Korean Salt. Korean Bamboo smoked salt? It was the only salt I had.
Batches 2-6 came out also beautifully. The caramels are more toothsome if they are deeper/thicker. Then, I coated them with dark chocolate and sprinkled more salt on top. Except, the salt topping was fancy pyramid shaped volcanic salt from cypress. It was pretty. I gave these bonbons away at the office, to friends, mailed them to England. If I'm every grown up enough to go to a potluck dinner social, this will be my dish.
Thus, back to basics. Back to the glorious magic of food science. Watching the sugar turn from active granules into a slick, smooth, creamy, buttery, pliable cube of heaven gave me the same sense of wonderment as seeing snow for the first time. I was enthralled by the magic powers of the oven. My friends and co-workers looked forward to my weekly adventures. I had a cupcake thing going on for a few months. Then a carpal tunnel syndrome setback where I couldn't do anything. But now. Now, I'm back with a vengeance.
I'm going to bake, gosh darn it! Because it's cheaper than roasting crown rack of lamb, and usually involves chocolate.
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