The Art and Play of Candy - The Process

In the last post, I talked about how I got to be a candy maker.

Whenever I do something so infrequently, I worry that I will have lost the knack of it. But somehow, making turtle candy always comes back. My hand remembers. That and the sheets of brief notes that document the process and history of our candy journey. Mom learned long ago not to trust her memory, and daughter of my mother, I rely on these previously written jottings.

Candy making is an adventure. Each year something is introduced into the formula - a better way to melt the chocolate; a new source of nuts to buy; a "never-buy-that-brand-again" epiphany; an introduction of an instant read thermometer or a way to keep the sticky caramel from clinging to the pan (line them with parchment paper!).  The early notes from the eighties, written in my Mom's tiny handwriting - how many pounds and what kind of chocolate and nuts - include who came to make candy and how many days the candy was made. Notes on temperature, clues on sources for ingredients and even prices might show up in each yearly paragraph.

For us, candymaking is about tradition but also innovation and experimentation. How would those dipping chips work (not so well)? What if we first did a batch of caramels to wrap and then did the batch of caramels for turtles (oooh, that was a keeper in terms of kitchen efficiency and helper energy)? What is the perfect temperature to make sure the caramel isn't too sticky of too hard (I know!  Who could believe how many times that has changed!!)?

One such innovation? In the last post, I described how mom and helpers would use spoons to drop quarter size dollops of hot liquid caramel onto the nuts spread over the pans. This was quick and almost frantic work. Once the caramel was done, we had about fifteen minutes to work with it before it began to stiffen and harden. We had to wait a few minutes to begin because it was too hotly runny to set. So it was a race to get it onto the nuts in distinct small pools and not burn ourselves or have it harden too much to slide off the spoon.

A casual conversation one year about how Al poured the caramel at Seroogy's (through a big funnel with the flow controlled by a wooden stick) led us to our biggest innovation. That and a visit to the Vanilla Bean, a Madison candymaking and baking supply store which stocked this helpful tool. Pouring the caramel into this little white funnel with a ball-ended stick let us quickly - and safely - drop just the right amount of caramel on the nuts by quickly lifting the stick up and down to control the caramel flow. It was lightning fast.  From three or four people pouring the caramel, one can easily do it.  While a small detail, it took alot of the unpleasant labor from the day. Oooooh. Innovation!

Stirring the caramel

This year's fun was provided by our new instant read thermometer, an unexpected addition. I usually use two other methods - my old candy thermometer and our cooking timer/temperature probe. I use the stove time probe to get a general sense of the temp but have never trusted its accuracy in candymaking where a few degrees difference in temperature means a batch of candy lost. The candy thermometer was the final arbiter of caramel doneness.  I could rely on the probe to beep when we were near the right temp and use most of my 45 minute caramel-stirring time playing games, daydreaming or reading.

Tools of the temperature trade

But this year, my old dog candy thermometer lagged 8 degrees behind the probe and I knew I was in trouble. I grabbed the instant read, popped it in and got a close reading to the probe. Saved! I also used the instant read thermometer to see what temperature my tempered chocolate was. I never used a thermometer for this, just the feel of the chocolate and look of the drips. I was delighted to find the temper at a perfect 87F. Cool!

So, in the process, I get a chance to wrap myself in tradition and experiment like a mad scientist.  No wonder I look forward to candymaking each year.

In the next post, the recipe!