Every now and then I wish I could poke little children with spoons. Why? Because there are few things in this world that we like to see inflated. A soufflé is one of them. A bratty little puffy-cheeked child is not.

Somewhere in time, children learned that the way to personal satisfaction was to fold one’s arms, inflate your cheeks and take as deep a breath as your little lungs will allow. You’d hold your breath until you got your way, no matter what kaleidoscope color action was happening on your face. Often, there would be a pleading parent in the immediate vicinity. This is called the Face-Off, and it ends horribly each time — with either a passed-out toddler or a bruised adult ego.

Ego-wounded adults, this is where spoons come in. We know that poking any soufflé with a spoon results with its collapse almost upon contact. My clever mother knew that the only way to deflate me during these patience-trying times was to poke me — lightly, but firm — with a spoon (or a pointer finger, if a spoon was not available). This resulted in giggles, which signaled that I had started breathing again. Mom, 1, me, 0. The experiment concluded with positive results every single time.

Children and souffles weren’t meant to remain inflated for long periods of time; they have to depuff at some point. With both subjects,  a little prodding allows the depuffication to happen sooner rather than later. I hope this information is helpful to the moms and dads who suffer through the public tantrums of their children (like the family I ran into at the supermarket a few months ago).

(Click “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe)

This soufflé is made in a ramekin built for two (about 16 ounces), to be shared between a wary adult and his/her beloved enfant terrible. If you’d like to keep your spoon to yourself, bake the soufflé in two smaller ramekins. (Just cut baking time in half and keep a watchful eye to make sure eggs don’t overcook. You’d be missing out on a creamy center surrounded by fluffy goodness.) For a vegetarian version, omit bacon.

EGG SOUFFLE WITH BACON AND ASPARAGUS
Yield: 2 servings

3 strips thick cut bacon
1/2 cup onion, minced
6 asparagus stalks, tips reserved and stalks cut into coins
4 large eggs
3/4 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, shredded
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease a 16-ounce ramekin or two 8-ounce ramekins.
2. In a nonstick frying pan, cook bacon over medium-high heat until crispy. Place bacon strips on a paper towel-lined plate to drain. When bacon is cooled, cut into bite-sized pieces and set aside.
3. Drain all but 2 teaspoons of bacon fat from pan. Add minced onion and sweat for 3 to 4 minutes, until onions are almost translucent. Add asparagus and cook for about a minute more. Remove pan from heat.
4. In a small bowl, whisk together eggs, heavy cream, Parmesan, salt and pepper, until ingredients are incorporated. Stir in onions and asparagus.
5. Line bottom of ramekin(s) with bacon pieces. Pour egg mixture over bacon. Arrange reserved asparagus tips on top of the egg mixture and place ramekin on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake in oven for 35 to 40 minutes, until center slightly jiggles and top of soufflé is somewhat browned. Serve immediately, before it falls!

Optional: You can sprinkle a tiny bit of shredded Parmesan over the top of the soufflé before baking, if desired.

– Cynthia Furey

There are just some things you never tell a bride-to-be and her groom. Especially if you’re responsible for making their wedding cake and it’s not finished yet even though you’re just four hours away from the start of the ceremony. Oh, and to top it off, you’re lost in the middle of a major metropolitan city 45 miles away from said nuptial confection. Give or take a few miles.

It was literally hours before my friends Marvin and Sarah would be married in a beautiful ceremony overlooking the San Pedro Harbor, and I was somewhere near Slauson and Crenshaw in the slums of Los Angeles, looking for a Mr. Wisdom and his wheatgrass farm.

“Hello,” my frantic voice screamed into my cell phone. “Mr. Wisdom? I can’t find you. Are you sure you’re down here?”

“I am on Slauson near West,” he answered slowly. “In a pink house.” Looking around, I saw dogs running rampant on the sidewalks and the thick layer of trash that lined the gutters, but no pink house. I began to wonder if it really was “wheatgrass” I was buying, and not the other kind of “grass” that might be awesome at first but could possibly result in my arrest. (I promised myself that upon my arrest, my one and only phone call from jail would be to a bakery for a new wedding cake.)

I drove around some more and finally, a bright pink house emerged from the dilapidated rows of buildings. He exists! I parked in a red zone, stepped over some homeless people lining the sidewalk and pushed my way through a creaky screen door. After weaving my way through bedrooms and hallways (and feeling weird about walking through a complete stranger’s home), I found an older, distinguished man in a white linen suit. Dazed, he looked up from his newspaper and smiled slowly. Oh my God, I thought. I really did commit to buying a massive quantity of weed.

“Are you Mr. Wisdom?” I asked tentatively.
He smiled even wider. “I am he.”
“Great! I’m Cynthia, here to pick up the wheatgrass I ordered.” Please don’t hand me the contents of a Ziploc bag.

Mr. Wisdom took me behind his house to a shed surrounded by another batch of homeless people. “You know, I’ve been growing wheatgrass for more than 25 years,” he said, ignoring all of them. One of them looked at me, nodding his head knowingly as if he was listening to some internal lecture and needed to convey his understanding.

“I will help you carry,” he said to me. I nodded back.

Mr. Wisdom opened the rickety shed to reveal his pride and joy – rows and rows grass flats, tall, in bright shades of emerald green. Some glittered under the sunlight that managed to make its way through cracks in the roof.

I grabbed a flat and started walking toward my car with Orlando, the bobble-headed homeless man. After I thanked him and handed him some cash, he admitted to me that he had a drinking problem.

“Do not,” I instructed while pointing to the cash, “buy booze or drugs with this.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” he promised. He swore to his God that he wouldn’t, and as I got in my car, he rambled on about the bible.

Orlando was interesting and I kind of wished I had more time to listen to his stories, but I had to leave. I now had three hours, including drive time, to get home, finish the cake, pack everything into the car and drive to the wedding location, which was about an hour and two freeways away without traffic.

But, at least I had the wheatgrass. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for more)

The next few hours was a blur of activity – last minute frosting, setting up the stand (which my handy boyfriend Devin made), driving to San Pedro with the A/C blasting while praying that the cake wouldn’t melt in this sudden heat wave we were having. It didn’t, and luckily, I did manage to take a few photos to prove it.

ABOUT THE CAKE
Marvin and Sarah wanted a cake to match their purple and white eco-friendly theme. While perusing cake photos online, I came across this one from New Jersey’s PinkCakeBox bakery that we would use for inspiration. There were 107 chocolate cupcakes with white chocolate frosting and 107 vanilla cupcakes with lemon curd and cream cheese frosting. (I had made quite a few extra just in case some didn’t survive the car ride.)

THANKS
Mr. Wisdom and Orlando weren’t the only people who deserve thanks for making this cake possible. There was also Bob, the lead man at a downtown L.A. purveyor, who agreed to sell me a specific brand of high-ratio shortening that I needed for the cake recipe. (Apparently, you can’t just walk into a store and buy this stuff.) Bob never sells to the public but after a few pleading phone calls, he relented. I now had a 38-pound tub of fat (pictured below for your viewing pleasure), the same tub that I tripped over when there was a fire in my closet.

My boyfriend built the cupcake stand out of masonite and PVC, with an intricate metal tubing system running through the center PVC pipes. He covered the masonite with contact paper, and together we glued purple ribbon along the edges. When it was done, it stood proud over four feet tall.

The cake recipe comes from Chef Simpson of Orange Coast College, where I went to culinary school. It was a recipe I fell in love with while I was taking the beginning baking class.

And Joe, my former partner in said culinary school, spent one night filling 100 vanilla cupcakes with lemon curd. I’m sure his hands ached for days afterward.

It may take a village to raise a child, but it takes a small army to make a wedding cake. Thank you guys so, so much, and thank you, dear readers, for reading.

– Cynthia Furey

When someone yells “FIRE!!” from your walk-in closet, one of two things can happen: You’ll either respond in ways that would make a ninja press his hands together and bow, or you’ll trip, faceplant, and yell back something totally unintelligible. How do I know?

So I’m in my kitchen measuring ingredients for a friend’s wedding cake (full rundown next week), elbows deep in cake flour and with a 38-pound tub of high-ratio shortening at my feet. I had hired Robert the Repairman to hook up the stackable gas washer/dryer I bought off of Craigslist (which by the way: not recommended.)

It was a totally uneventful evening until that frantic call-to-action of “FIRE!!” was put into place. I dropped my sifter and in an effort to bypass 38-pounds of fat, I tripped over my own toes and faceplanted slow-motion style into the speckled Berber carpet, rug-burning my lips in the process.

But I got up! I got up and as slowly as I seemed to fall, I yelled a stretched “WHAAAAT?” in the general direction of where smoke was now wafting from.

Robert the Repairman came running into the kitchen and together we filled glasses of tap water and ran back to the closet, where flames and ashes were shooting out of the dryer’s drum. And all the while I’m thinking, I’ve owned this home for a week and already it’s burning down?

Luckily, it only took a few minutes to put the fire out. Then we moved the behemoth appliance outta my house and waited for the Craiglist guy to pick it up. I got my money back (thank goodness), but I’m still working on my sanity.

So how do you go back to sifting flour after something like that? Well, you don’t.

Catastrophes give me the munchies, and all I wanted to do was eat away the buzz that was coming from my nerves. After that debacle, the question wasn’t “how long are my clothes going to smell like burning lint,” but rather “what am I going to stuff my wounded lips with?”

The answer was pie. Pie heals all wounds.

One of the first things I did on the day I moved into this place was make an apple pie for the sole purpose of watching it cool on my very first pie window. At various times of the week, I would be a geek and take it out of the fridge to place it on the pie window – just so I could see it there again. The whole pie was still sitting in the fridge, so I pulled it onto the counter and ravaged most of it like it was the last time I’d ever eat pie. Crisis-driven hunger solved. Lack of sanity, however, is another story. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

From experience, I can attest that this pie is good to make when life gets a little fiery. Brushing some of the cooked pie filling onto the crust will give you a bubbly, caramelized flavor – and a pretty sexy pie. The below recipe for butter pie crust was doubled and adapted from Gourmet magazine’s September 2009 issue. For the original recipe, click here.

Might I also say that it’s good to be back to a regular blogging schedule? I missed you guys.

CRISIS-AVERTED APPLE PIE
Yield: 1 9-inch pie (about 8 servings)

• For crust:
• 2-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 sticks (1 cup) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup ice water, divided
• For filling:
• 10 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and sliced (about 6 slices each apple)
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 3/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup water
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup light brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1/4 teaspoon cloves
• 1/4 teaspoon salt

1. To make pie dough: In a food processor, blend flour, butter and salt until a coarse meal forms (when it looks like graham cracker crumbs). Add 1/4 cup of ice water and pulse. Add remaining 1/4 cup of ice water in tablespoons, and pulse between each tablespoon until dough forms. Be careful not to overwork dough, you want it just combined and holding together. (If dough is too wet, you can always add more flour.)
2. Remove dough from food processor and place on a lightly floured work surface. Divide dough in half and flatten both halves into 5-inch circles. Wrap in plastic and chill in refrigerator for at least one hour, or up to three days.
3. To make pie: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Roll out one pie dough disk and place in 9-inch pie plate. Prick pie dough with fork.
4. Peel, core and slice apples, about six slices per apple. Place in a large bowl and toss with lemon juice. Set aside.
5. In a medium saucepan, add butter, flour, water, sugars, spices and salt. Bring to a boil and remove from heat. Pour all but 1/4 cup of the mixture into apples and toss. Arrange apple mixture in prepared pie crust.
6. If making a regular pie, roll out second pie crust and place over apples, crimping edges with a fork. With a small knife, cut four slits into the center of the pie. If making lattice crust, roll out pie dough and cut into strips, arranging them into a pattern over pie. Crimp edges of pie.
7. Using pastry brush, brush remaining sugar mixture over top of pie crust until coated. Bake in oven for 45 minutes or until crust is golden brown and apples are softened. Remove from oven and cool on a rack before serving.

– Cynthia Furey

We’ve all been though this. Moving, I mean.

I haven’t touched a stove in two weeks (unless you count the serious cleaning that was needed), mainly because I’m straddling between an apartment and a home of my very own. The new place is a condo that overlooks a small lake with ducks, lily pads and waterfalls. Inside my tiny, tiny space are cathedral ceilings and my very own kitchen pie window. I actually have a windowsill in which to sit pies. Heaven, anyone?

So while I heave and haul 28 years of my life into hand-me-down cardboard boxes, let’s spread a little link love, shall we? I haven’t poked around the blogosphere in awhile – and it looks like I’ve missed a lot. Regular posting should resume next week. Here goes:

• First, the heart-wrenching news we’ve all heard about Gourmet. It’s been a few days, but it still stings like rubbing alcohol in an open wound. I’m anxious to see what’s going to happen to food journalism in the near future, (and what next editor Ruth Reichl will touch with her golden hands) but man, what a low blow. And for the employees, too – who according to reports, got just a couple of days to pack up and leave. What happens now?
• Esquire mag has named Jose Andres’ The Bazaar as its Restaurant of the Year.
• Food Frenzy writes about a man who’s living off of nothing but grated cheddar cheese.
• Heart-of-gold blogger The Chickenless Kitchen makes Pineapple Citrus Tartlets with honey and gets creative with cutting pie dough (nice work!).
• There’s a neat muffin concept over at The Other Side of 50: Ham and cheese on rye. Big yum!
• I LOVE those super-awful supermarket brownie bites they sell in plastic tubs. These from Night Baking look so much more appetizing – so I may have found a new brownie to worship.
• It’s called the Sex Panther. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. But you can see it for yourself at This Is Why You’re Fat.
• One of my favorite blogs out there is Tea & Cookies. Our beloved Tea recently tackled Purslane.

Once upon a time, there was a young(ish) food writer who wanted nothing more than to go to a cooking club potluck. Sadly, each month on the day of the meetup, there was always something that got in the way. Usually, it was the same thing.

“I have to work.”

While she tackled her workload, visions of au gratin pans and Corningware platters danced through her mind, always in theme with the cooking club’s genre of the month. Once, it was Chinese food. Then Italian. As she wrote (and wrote and wrote), she thought wistfully of what she was missing out on.

“How I wish I could go,” she would say.

Then one day, she got her wish. Her absentminded fairy godmother had come back from a long vacation, tanned and ready to jump back in the game. It was time to go to the potluck.

This time, the theme was 1950s food.

“So, what are you going to make, muffin?” her Valiant Boyfriend asked.
“Hmm,” she pondered for a few moments. “Baked Alaska!” she declared, disregarding that the party location was a 45-minute drive on the freeway, and that the local news had declared it the Hottest Weekend of the Summer.

No, in this fairy-tale world, transporting a Baked Alaska in a steaming-hot car down the 405 on The Hottest Weekend of the Summer wouldn’t be a problem at all. So it began.

First, a batch of brownies came out of the oven and cooled on a rack. Then, chocolate mint, chocolate and vanilla ice cream was smooshed into a plastic wrap-lined bowl, layer upon layer until the bowl was full. Then, the platter of brownies was placed on a plate, the bowl inverted and the excess brownies trimmed. A cloud of egg whites and sugar haloed the ice cream, and a mini-torch containing the fires of hell singed the meringue with a brown crust.

The baked Alaska was finally ready for its entrance at the party. All three piled into the car to begin the trek, with Valiant Boyfriend at the wheel.

But oh, what a perilous journey it was! The Baked Alaska, tried as it might, seemed as if it was no match for the harsh, stagnant heat. It melted. A lot.

Knowing that the poor dessert was on its last leg, Valiant Boyfriend weaved in and out of lanes, dodging slow cars and crammed interchanges, while food writer scanned the horizon for signs of lurking police cars. It seemed as though the journey would never end, but at last, all three made it to the party. As for the Baked Alaska, its health was grave: A gaping hole and melting ice cream pooled at the bottom of its plate. Into the freezer it went for a recharge, and (much) later, it was as good as new. It was a showpiece dessert, and everyone lived happily ever after. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

CHOCOLATE MINT BAKED ALASKA WITH BROWNIES
(Brownies adapted from Epicurious)

• For brownies:
• 1-1/4 sticks unsalted butter
• 1-1/4 cups sugar
• 3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 2 cold large eggs
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

• 1 quart vanilla ice cream
• 1 quart chocolate mint ice cream
• 1 quart chocolate ice cream

• For meringue:
• 6 large egg whites
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

1. Line an 8-inch baking pan with parchment paper and spray with nonstick cooking spray. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. To make brownies: In a heatproof bowl, combine butter, sugar, cocoa and salt over a pot of simmering water, stirring until butter is melted and mixture is smooth and hot. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.
3. Using whisk or wooden spoon, stir in vanilla. Add eggs one at a time, stirring after each addition. When batter is blended, add flour and stir until combined. Count 40 strokes with your spoon, and then spread mixture into prepared pan.
4. Place in bottom rack of oven and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center is slightly (but not completely) moist with batter. Remove from oven and cool completely on a rack.
5. For ice cream filling: Line a medium bowl with plastic wrap. Spoon vanilla ice cream into bowl and pack down to fill. Repeat with remaining ice cream in layers. Cover and freeze until firm.
6. To make meringue: In a mixing bowl, beat egg whites and sugar until soft peaks form. Add vanilla and cream of tartar and mix until stiff, glossy peaks form.
7. Remove molded ice cream from freezer and invert from bowl onto brownies. Cut away excess brownies (and by all means, eat them!) from edges of ice cream. Transfer ice cream/brownies to a serving plate.
8. Using a spatula, spread meringue onto ice cream and swirl to create peaks. Use a blowtorch to brown the sides of the meringue. Serve immediately, or freeze for later use.

– Cynthia Furey

Hey all, I had a column published in The Orange County Register today. It’s not available on the newspaper’s site, so here it is! Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

*******

You can tell a lot about a person by the way he takes his chocolate mousse. A chocoholic may often choose bittersweet chocolate over milk or white, while daring palates may choose fruit- and alcohol-flavored mousses or those with herbs and spices over the traditional versions. A voracious eater will inhale a mousse no matter how rich it is, licking remnants off of his spoon while other diners at the table will slowly relish every bite. (It’s fun to watch and analyze your friends.)

Traditionally, the French mousse au chocolat is made with melted dark chocolate and egg yolks, using egg whites to lighten. Modern versions call for things like whipping cream and even gelatin to achieve the desired airy state. Purists may claim that the only real mousse is the traditional one, but in reality, you really can’t argue that any of the recipes that steer away from the original are wrong. The beauty of mousse is because there are literally hundreds of recipes out there, so you can choose a recipe to suit every mood and accommodate every taste.

A close cousin of chocolate mousse is the chocolate pots de crème, a dessert that’s baked and served in lidded pots. (Since most of us don’t have these traditional pots on hand, we can achieve the same baking results by using espresso cups and covering the custards with aluminum foil.) The ingredients are almost identical to those of the mousse (eggs, chocolate, cream), the reason being they are both in the custard family of desserts. Making a mousse almost warrants making a pots de crème, based on that fact alone.

The following recipes omit the use of raw egg whites, using whipped cream to lighten them instead. While a mousse is light in texture, a pots de crème is dense, with an almost chewy mouthfeel. A mousse is put directly into the refrigerator to chill, while a pots de crème is baked in a bain marie, or water bath, before chilling.

I like to serve the mousse and pots de creme side by side, for a “chocolate two ways” dessert – thought it might be a bit too rich for those not completely addicted to chocolate.

CHOCOLATE MOUSSE
Yield: 6 servings (about 6 ounces each)

• 8 ounces bittersweet chocolate
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 3-1/2 cups heavy whipping cream
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 4 egg yolks

PROCEDURE:
1. In a large, microwave-safe bowl, microwave chocolate and butter on high power for 30-second intervals, stirring until chocolate is completely melted. Set aside.
2. In a small pot, combine 1 cup of the heavy whipping cream with sugar and vanilla. Heat until the cream mixture comes to a rolling boil. (See cook’s note for variation.)
3. While pot is on the stove, whisk egg yolks in another bowl until they are pale in color. Very slowly pour in the hot cream mixture, stirring constantly, until combined. (Be careful, pouring too fast may result in curdled eggs.) Pour eggs and cream into melted chocolate and stir to combine.
4. Whisk remaining heavy cream until stiff peaks form, about 4 to 5 minutes. Reserve 1 cup of whipped cream for garnish. Mix one-third of whipped cream into chocolate. Fold in remaining whipped cream until combined.
5. Pour mousse into serving cups or dishes. Refrigerate for 4 hours or overnight. Serve topped with reserved whipped cream.

Cook’s note: In this step, you can experiment with flavors by steeping herbs, adding spices or alcohol. Try adding a tablespoon of Cointreau for an orange flavor.

CHOCOLATE POTS DE CRÈME
Yield: 6 servings (about 6 ounces each)

• 8 ounces bittersweet chocolate
• 4 cups heavy whipping cream
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 5 egg yolks

PROCEDURE:
1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Place 6 oven-safe ceramic cups in a 9×13 baking pan. In a large, microwave-safe bowl, microwave chocolate on high power for 30-second intervals, until chocolate is completely melted. Set aside.
2. In a small pot, combine 1 cup of the heavy whipping cream, sugar and vanilla. Heat until the cream mixture comes to a rolling boil.
3. Whisk egg yolks in another bowl until pale in color. Very slowly pour in the hot cream mixture, stirring constantly, until combined. (Pouring too fast may result in curdled eggs.)
4. Pour cream mixture into melted chocolate and stir to combine.
5. Whisk remaining heavy cream until stiff peaks form, about 4 to 5 minutes. Reserve 1 cup of whipped cream for garnish. Mix one-third of whipped cream into chocolate. Fold in remaining whipped cream until combined.
6. Pour custard into cups, and fill pan with hot water. Cover pan with aluminum foil, leaving one corner open to allow steam to escape. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until centers are just slightly jiggly. Remove cups from pan, cool for 20 minutes. Refrigerate for 4 hours or overnight. Serve topped with reserved whipped cream.

– Cynthia Furey

… lounging on powdery beaches with the scent of plumeria wafting through the breeze. I’m in Hawaii for the week. Regular posting will resume next Wednesday — thank you for reading and hope all is well with the rest of the world.

Am I too late for this bandwagon?

If bacon has left the building and ham is the new swine product of choice, then I’m totally running a little behind on the up-and-up here. It’s like I got the memo that bacon was on the out, but I tossed it into a pile of other memos that include not wearing acid wash jeans after 1986 and how Pluto isn’t a planet anymore. Bacon is so last year, the memo says. Artisanal ham is what we’re supposed to be doing now. But guys, I dunno about this. The 80s can have its acid wash, but as for bacon and Pluto, I can’t let go. Not yet.

Pluto was that odd-tastic planet that was too faraway to see or understand until a few years ago. And apparently, scientists didn’t like what they saw, so it was hastily snipped out of textbooks and disowned by the planetary family. All because it was a “dwarf” planet. Harsh.

And bacon! What has it ever done to us to make us want to drop it like a hot potato? This bacon thing, to me, is not a fling. There is still so much to explore before we throw in the towel.

Fortunately, there are others that feel the same way with both Pluto and bacon. And if any of you bacon/Pluto fans are out there in hiding, you’re not alone. But we are indeed fighting an uphill battle, one that we may ultimately lose. But on the bright side, we can still keep bacon and the former ninth planet in our hearts. Pluto may have been nixed, but there’s still time for bacon to realize its full potential. And, if the meat candy’s decline is ultimately imminent, so be it. We tried.

But let’s send bacon out with a bang, shall we?

I guess the only thing I can contribute here is a better-late-than-never bacon recipe, with the breakfast meat rolled into a chewy caramel. Salty, sweet, chewy and sticky, with a crunch. It’s bacon in it’s most familiar forms, suited for war, ready to take on the inevitable uphill battle.

BACON CARAMELS
Yield: 80 to 100 caramels

• 14 strips thick cut bacon
• 2 cups sugar
• 1/2 cup water
• 1/2 cup light corn syrup
• 1 cup butter
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 2 teaspoons vanilla

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Lay bacon strips on sheet and bake in oven for 20 to 25 minutes or until crispy. Remove bacon to paper towel-lined plate to cool. Crumble 5 to 6 strips of bacon and leave the rest in strips.

2. Line an 9×13 (or larger!) rimmed baking sheet with parchment. In a heavy-bottomed pot (I love my Le Creuset), add sugar, water and corn syrup over medium-high heat. Let mixture bubble and stir occasionally, to evaporate water. Sugar will begin to caramelize and turn a lovely shade of amber.

3. Use a thermometer to monitor caramel. When it reaches 320 degrees and is golden brown in color, slowly whisk in cream, butter and vanilla, until completely combined. When caramel reaches 243 degrees, remove from heat and pour into lined baking sheet. Cool for 15 minutes, and add bacon strips. Cool further, until caramel is pliable and easier to handle.

4. Roll caramel and bacon strips jelly-roll style once, and trim off excess. Continue to roll and trim until you’ve finished off the pan. Cut the bacon caramel logs into bite-sized pieces. Top with reserved bacon bits.

Serve on a platter, or roll in wax paper. Keep refrigerated, but let come to room temperature before eating.

P.S.: Short posts this week and next because I’m in vacation mode. I’ll be back in full swing at the end of September, when hopefully, I will have moved into a new home. Thank you always for reading!

– Cynthia Furey