Years ago, my mother was the
peanut brittle maker in the family. Every November, she would line the counter
with marble slabs, get out her cook pot and go to town. I used to love the
smell of the house when it was cooking. If the onset of the holiday season has
a fragrance, this is it.
As my mother got older and less able to manage big batches of peanut brittle,
my younger son decided to take over the reins. When he was in high school, he
thought it would be a smashing idea to make batch after batch of peanut brittle
to give as holiday gifts to his hoard of friends and favorite teachers. Recipe
in hand (and after an intense quizzing of my mother), he laid the marble slabs
out on our counter and set to work.
Everything went swimmingly until it was time to spread the brittle. Mother had
told us to wear rubber gloves and then carefully spread it out (and I only wish
I could show you the hilarious pinching hand movements that she used to
illustrate) the hot brittle and leave it to dry. I poured the 260-degree molten
lava brittle-in-waiting onto the slabs and we stuck our gloved hands right
in. This literally brought us to our knees. Andrew collapsed to the floor
saying, “I can't do this. Ahhhhhhh!” While I caught myself as my knees buckled,
spun to the left, and plunged my hands into a pan of lukewarm water that was
setting in the sink.
The brittle hardened and was delicious, but neither one of us could imagine how
my mother managed to spread, by mere gloved hands, this boiling mass. We took
her a sample the following day that met with her approval, and asked how she
managed to deal with the heat. It was hot, she agreed with us, but after you
let it set for a minute or so, it becomes less so, and easy to spread. What?!
That minute, that crucial minute, had been left out of the instructions. She
just assumed that, between the two of us, we were smart enough to not plunge our
hands into boiling liquid. Apparently not.
Andrew has now perfected the method, come up with
recipes of his own (with an eye toward a cookbook), and ditched the marble
slabs for a rimmed cookie sheet. A lover of anything with bacon, he
recently tried this recipe recently published in the St.
Louis Post-Dispatch. He had this to say, “I thought it was a great
combination of sweet and spicy. The bacon offers a light smoky flavor without
being too overpowering. I am a big fan of the brittles using Spanish peanuts,
but this one called for roasted. It makes the process a lot shorter, but I still
prefer the overall flavor of the Spanish peanuts. I'll make it again, with my
own spin, adding a seasonal beer (as he is wont to do).” Personally, I loved
it, not just for the hint of smokiness, but for the ancho chili kick.
Bacon Peanut Brittle
2 tablespoons butter, divided
2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup light corn syrup
1 tablespoon ancho chili powder
Pinch cayenne pepper
1 cup salted, roasted peanuts
2 cups cooked, crumbled apple
wood-smoked bacon (see note)
1 teaspoon baking soda
Note: The trick is to buy
thick, meaty apple wood-smoked bacon, then dice it and cook the bacon slowly
until the fat is fully rendered and the meat is a reddish mahogany. Press the
bacon pieces between paper towels to make sure all the excess fat is absorbed.
If you don’t do this, the candy will have a cloudy appearance.
Use about ½ tablespoon of the butter to coat a rimmed
baking sheet.
In a large, heavy saucepan over
medium-high, combine the sugar and corn syrup. Stir until the sugar dissolves
and the mixture is bubbly and slightly thick, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the ancho
chili powder and cayenne, and then cook for 2 to 3 minutes. The sugar mixture should
now be at the hard ball stage, or 255º to 260ºF.
Stir in the remaining butter, as
well as the peanuts and bacon. Continue cooking until the mixture is golden
brown and reaches 300º to 305ºF degrees. Stir well, then add
the baking soda and stir again. Immediately pour onto the prepared baking sheet
and use a silicone spatula to spread evenly. Set aside to cool, about 30
minutes.
Once the brittle is cool, break
into pieces by hitting the bottom of the sheet pan on the counter. Store in an
airtight container at room temperature or in the freezer for up to 1 month.
Yield: About 1 pound
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The recipes are the heart of the book, and they’re as memorable as the setting.
Standouts include the Grilled Butterflied Leg of Lamb with Red Wine-Garlic
Butter, Roasted Prosciutto-Wrapped Scallops, and the Marathon Pasta served
annually before the New York City Marathon. Each dish is tied to the seasons,
with monthly sections ensuring you cook with the freshest ingredients. I’m not
usually a lava cake fan, but the Chocolate Peanut Butter Lava Cakes—with their
molten peanut butter centers—have me rethinking my stance. The Chocolate
Challah Bread Pudding with Peanut Butter Sauce is another winner; I’m already
planning to make the sauce alone for dipping banana slices. .PNG)
Practical touches abound. A “Pantry” section offers homemade stocks and staples
you can prepare and store, while a thorough index makes everything easy to
find. The photography is stunning—lush, inviting shots that make you want to
cook immediately—and the stories of famous guests (from Madonna to John Gotti)
add a dash of glamour..PNG)
Whether you’re a home cook, a New Yorker with fond memories, or searching for a
standout holiday gift, this book delivers. It’s equal parts history,
inspiration, and delicious possibility.
