The Tao of Martha (43 page)

“They’re open for business, too.”

He grins. “I love today.”

I smile back at him. “I love today, too.”

But I have no time to swim in the well of emotion.

For I have cookie recipes to ogle…and Apology Scarves to knit.

A
ND
T
HEN
W
E
C
AME TO THE
E
ND

M
y gratitude for getting back to the banalities of my life is immeasurable, and I’m thrilled that my greatest worry at the moment is treat-based.

Over the course of this year, one of my goals was to learn to cook the kind of comfort foods that I normally buy premade. I’ve since mastered brisket, pulled pork, buffalo chicken, corn pudding, apple pie, and cheesecake, among other dishes. (Invite me to your next barbecue; you shan’t be sorry!)

None of the above was particularly difficult, either, once I had a few tries under my belt. Cheesecake’s crazy-simple; it’s just that it requires a special pan and a water bath, which always seemed daunting but wasn’t. Given the ease of preparation, I now feel like a huge sucker for paying ten dollars for a half pound of all things pulled and smoked when I could have made them at home for pennies on the dollar.

Therefore, when I ran across a recipe for easy toffee, I was all, “Oh, I
got
this.” I love toffee like a fat kid loves cake. (I realize this statement is redundant given my present pant size, but humor me, okay?) Good toffee is like crack, which explains why vendors dole it out in tiny cellophane wrappers.

I searched through Martha’s repertoire for toffee but I kept running into recipes that required a candy thermometer or were made with corn syrup. Neither of those options worked for me. I recently ruined a batch of cinnamon rolls because my candy thermometer reads a constant seventy degrees, regardless of being immersed in boiling buttermilk.

As for toffee made with corn syrup?

No.

The key to perfect toffee is butter. Each bite should be creamy and melt in your mouth. Corn syrup is too sweet in this instance.

Anyway, this recipe seems like a no-brainer, and I quickly assemble the four required ingredients. I mean, four ingredients? Come on! Easy toffee, indeed.

While I melt butter and brown sugar in a saucepan, I chop walnuts and sprinkle them over a buttered eight-by-eight Pyrex pan. Then I stir some more and admire my beautiful cooking vessel. A few years ago I took a cupcake boot-camp class and we used these amazing copper saucepans that were shaped like soup bowls. I was in awe of how consistently they heated, so when I found out I could order one, I did.

Fifteen phone calls, countless e-mails, and twelve months later, the pan finally arrived. Somewhere around month three, the clerk at the cooking school asked if I wanted to cancel my order, but at that point I was committed. I was going to get my pan, damn it, no matter how long it took.

Really didn’t see it taking a year.

Around the sixth month, I figured this was an elaborate ruse to scam my credit card information, and at nine months, I contemplated giving up. But that’s
when the clerk told me that the French workers were back in the factory and my pan would arrive any day. Ninety days, any day—same diff. Yet the pan was worth the wait.

So, my mixture boils and it already smells heavenly. The sweet tang of the butter makes my mouth water. It’s all I can do not to stick my tongue in the middle of it…and give myself second-degree burns.

I reduce the heat and stir vigorously. I considered using a wire whisk here, but was afraid if the whole mix became sticky, that would be the wrong tool. So I’d grabbed a white silicone spoon for stirring.

I’m supposed to keep mixing for seven minutes. Around minute five, the toffee bubbles up and then reduces down, turning the most gorgeous caramel color. I want to wear this color, I want to paint my walls this color, and I want to pour this color directly into my maw all shot-girl style. This color is tantamount to
perfection
.

That’s when I notice a blob, so I figure the candy’s starting to congeal. I must be getting close to being done. Huh. Looks like there’s a chunk of unmelted butter in there, which is odd, considering the mix has been boiling for a while now. Weird.

I pull out my spoon to inspect, but all I’m left with is the stem. The bowl of my spoon has completely disintegrated into the toffee. Um…apparently I wasn’t using silicone. I immediately grab the pan and dump the contents in the garbage
disposal, but not before calculating exactly how much melted plastic might be “dangerous” to consume.

Okay, Easy Toffee, that was not your fault.

Let’s try this again.

After washing my awesome pan, I reload all the ingredients and begin the boiling/simmering process again. The instructions are very clear that I have to heat and stir for seven minutes. I imagine the timed element is the trade-off for not using a candy thermometer or having to mess around with the “soft ball” stage, which always sounded less like a treat to me and more like a medical condition.

So I boil and then I reduce. Around the four-minute mark, the contents bubble up like they did before, and again my kitchen fills with a heady aroma. This time I’m definitely using a silicone spatula, so all should be well.

Around five minutes, the mix turns dark and begins to swell again. (No soft balls here, amirite?) I reduce the heat a bit more and I continue to stir. Personally, I’d have taken this off the stove at the four-minute mark, but the recipe was really clear about the time constraints, so I keep going.

At minute six, the toffee begins to blacken and smolder. Yeah, I think we’re done. The smoke pouring from the pan seems ominous, but maybe this is one of those instances like when roasting marshmallows—the crusty blackness looks horrible, but inside it’s an obscenely gooey treat. So I pour the mix onto the walnuts and sprinkle the chocolate chips on top.

As soon as the toffee comes into contact with the nuts and chocolate, it begins to bubble and smoke in earnest and the Pyrex’s contents morph into a bowl of molten lava. I quickly reread the recipe and at no point does it mention this should look like Mount St. Helens.

Yet the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so I tentatively dip the end of the spatula in and I blow on it until the candy hardens. Mind you, I’ve never
seen
black toffee before, but perhaps that’s a thing now.

Black toffee is not a thing now.

This toffee tastes like war or Lucifer’s tears. This toffee is a molten pool of broken Christmas promises. If sadness had a flavor, it would be the contents of the Pyrex. Actually, I snagged a tiny bite of the portion with melted spoon in it and it was WAY better than this roiling mass of roofing tar.

Um, listen, Easy Toffee…I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but this is unacceptable. I’m marking you down as Does Not Meet Minimum Standards of Performance. You’re on notice. The first batch was clearly my fault, but this time, it’s all you.

Because I am not someone who has her ass handed to her by a fouringredient recipe, I try again.

Apparently, I am someone who has her ass handed to her by a fouringredient recipe.

Once the smoke dissipates, I take another stab at the toffee.

Five and a half minutes later, I’m ready to stab the toffee.

EASY TOFFEE, YOUR NAME IS A LIE. I CURSE YOUR VERY EXISTENCE.

“Smells like a tire fire in there,” Fletch comments from the other room.

Pfft. You should taste it.

I’m determined to not be beaten by this stupid recipe. This time I turn down the heat far lower than recommended. I bet the cook who wrote this recipe doesn’t have my miracle pan; ergo, her toffee took longer.

No dice.

Okay, let me revise my previous statement.

Whoever posted this recipe on the Internet is a dangerous person who is responsible for murdering stick after stick after stick of my delicious European butter. He or she is a psychopath intent on ruining the holidays for people who are new to making candy. That person lures you in all friendly-like, all, “Hey! Want some toffee! It’s easy! So easy that ‘easy’ is its middle name!” Then you try it his way, again and again and again and a-goddamned-gain, and you end up with a kitchen that smells like two-for-one day at the crematorium.

Why? Why does someone want to ruin toffee for me? What’s the end game? Who are you and what do you have to gain by messing with me? Does the warden know you’re posting recipes from the computer in the prison library? Listen, I’M SORRY YOU WEREN’T HUGGED ENOUGH AS A CHILD, OKAY? But don’t ruin toffee for innocent bystanders. That’s not going to make your daddy love you.

Defeated and redolent of charcoal, I’m down to my last stick of butter. It’s do-or-die-or-be-stuck-using-corn-syrup time. I’m going to do this, but I’m going to do it my way. I’m not going to follow the directions; I’m going to follow my instincts. The minute I think everything looks ready, then it will be ready. Seven minutes is for suckers; boil and be done.

Then I melt and stir and reduce, and four minutes into the process, I determine I’ve reached a stopping point. Gingerly, I remove the pan from the stove and pour the mix over the walnuts. Then I carefully tap out the half cup of chocolate chips and cover the pan with a cookie sheet
and place it in the oven—not to bake, just to retain heat—while everything melts together.

Ten minutes later, I inspect the contents. The chocolate’s soft enough to spread, so I do so with a clean spatula. Then, per the instructions, I slice the toffee into small portions now before it hardens.

I wait until the concoction’s fully cooled before taking an extraordinarily small bite, and I’m immediately struck by how buttery this confection is. Holy cats, this was worth sacrificing almost two pounds of Plugrá. This is amazing! This is delicious! The combination of walnuts, semisweet chocolate, and sweetly caramelized butter is transcendent! These little toffee bites are going to be the star of the show on my holiday cookie platters!

Then? When people ask me how I made it? I’m going to tell them, “I have the best recipe. It’s so easy!”