The scientist, striding into the kitchen with his glass beaker and white lab coat and digital thermometer, is eager to explain all. Little of which the home cook wants explained. She finds it stunning enough that onion caramelizes and souffle puffs and corn pops. No beaker or button-up or beep needed. What is cooking if not testament to the minor miracle?
And yet, sugar, plain and white, periodically inspires nostalgia for the periodic table of the elements. It must be the appeal of the crystal. Grainy in the bag. Gritty on the tongue. It can be pulverized to powder or, dipped in water, can dissolve. The sugar crystal, clinging to the sides of the hot pan, inspires insurrection. It calls its compatriots back from complicity with chocolate sauce or caramel swirl, turning the pan of liquid to a mass of granular defiance. Left unsupervised near a stick or string, the sugar crystal will mutate to the monstrous proportions of rock candy, dangerously jagged.
Sugar specks, heaped in a pan, seem steadfast, even inert. And yet, subjected to heat and patience, and swirling and staring, the grains clump, then–amazingly–melt. The persistent cook can watch the switch from milky white to crystal clear. Bubbles come quick and tiny. Then big and slow. The syrup deepens to bisque, honey, toast, amber and then caramel.
And beyond. As the compound concentrates, it thickens, in the nomenclature of the trade, from “thread” to “pearl” to “blow” to “soft ball,” “firm ball,” “hard ball” and “soft crack.” Each known, intuitively, to the trick-or-treat professional. At its final destination, 310 degrees, sugar snaps cleanly into “hard crack.”
That, or burnt. This is the dark side of sugar’s alchemy. Should the confectioner take the lengthy process as an opportunity to wash an apple or sort through her chopstick collection, she will return to the stovetop to find that sugar has sped through its life stages, like a time-lapse botany film, progressing from grain to liquid to syrup to candy to disaster.
Even charred, bittersweet sugar can make a fine foil to the full-bodied pear or the pale custard, trembling in its ramekin. There’s a reason they call it crme brzlZe.
The cook sweeps crisp apple through pliant caramel, admiring the undulating ripples. She bites. And finds herself mute–in either awe or lockjaw. She needs no chemist to explain that the result is purely delicious.
CARAMEL APPLES
Makes about 15
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1 1/4 cups packed light brown sugar
1 1/4 cups dark corn syrup
2 cups heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
15 or so small apples, chilled
1. Melt: In a large, heavy pot, melt butter over low heat. Brush some butter up the sides of the pot, foiling any escape plans.
2. Boil: Stir in sugars, corn syrup, 1 cup of the cream and salt. Bring to a brisk boil over medium-high heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Pour in the remaining 1 cup cream in a thin stream, stirring constantly, so that the mixture keeps boiling. If any sugar crystals manage to scale the sides of the pot, wash them down with a damp pastry brush.
3. Thicken: Clip a candy thermometer to the pot, making sure the tip is not touching the bottom. Boil briskly, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is 238 degrees, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat. Pour caramel into a heatproof medium bowl. Stir in vanilla. Cool to 200 degrees.
4. Dip: Stab an apple stick, chopstick or sharp twig into the stem end of each apple. Dip apple in caramel, swirl, and set on a parchment-lined baking sheet. If dipping caramel gets too tacky, microwave a few seconds and stir smooth. Let apples cool. Enjoy.
–Adapted from “The All-American Dessert Book” by Nancy Baggett
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LeahREskin@aol.com
