We are right at the start
Brown sugar mocha marshmallows
I’ve opened this document daily for the last 10 or so. First adding to it, then starting to take away, as the news of politics, of the pandemic, made it all seem wrong. Lots has been cut and pasted for another chatty missive. I thought to keep some, though. Skip to the recipe or feel free to delete and never read. Sending for those who want a distraction and with my solidarity with those who do not.
January 7, 2021. The night before the new year we always make Marion Cunningham’s Raised Waffles. We’ve done so since my two were toddling, and since the waffles rest overnight in the fridge, at that small size they found it hilarious to call them “year old waffles” even though not exactly true. So last night we made the waffles. And pizza dough for a few days from now. And marshmallows* to set by moonlight.
We’re carrying these with us into 2021. Pizza, waffles, and marshmallows. What else we choose to bring along is on my mind.
To rewind to the holiday-that-was-and-wasn’t. I made the tourtières. I didn’t make ketchup. It wasn’t the year. I made trifle in the footed dish that has a chip in the lip but when you tap its side it still rings like a bell—a rounded tone, clear and true. I made wildly too much, because I can’t seem to cater for less than 20.
Let’s be real, a half-filled trifle dish just wouldn’t be right.
At 10 p.m. on the 31st, someone started setting off fireworks. They’re banned in our city right now, the sale and use, ever since the pandemic. Assuming it is to curb folks gathering to watch. Still, someone crafty had them and decided they weren’t going to wait the two more hours until the year was official. We heard the first, and ignored it, but by the fourth or fifth we turned away from the movie we were watching to look to the windows. This unknown benefactor shelled out for the good stuff. Our view was filled with exploding cascades of colour. We faced the new with sparkles in our eyes.
On New Year’s day I forced the kids out for a hike. It was colder than any of us would appreciate. We were rewarded with the ASMR-piquing crackle of boots on iced-over puddles. I found unexpected glee in the white fractures racing from the tip of my toe across the frozen surface like January lightning. The air prickled our lungs when we inhaled deep after a laugh, sliding in between our ribs like a glittering shard.
(For some reason this conjured a thought of yoga classes from the Before. [Breathing deeply in a humid room of strangers in proximity. Close enough that you’d have to stagger stances or mumble an awkward “excuse me” if sweeping arms wide for Eagle Pose or diving into a wide-legged forward fold. How young we all were.] I like best those poses that found the spaces in between each vertebrae, or stretched the gap between the ribs. Taking space, growing into it, standing taller than you thought you could. Each breath in expands, each exhale settles into that space. As a person categorized as categorically “not tall” the extra centimetres made me feel a giant.)
I made hot chocolate when we got home.
YOU MIGHT WANT TO MAKE THIS
*We are right at the start of marshmallow season. It’s a strange thing that we, like those fireworks, like the holiday lights long switched off, start the winter burning out all our light and leave ourselves in darkness for months. The bulk of winter is still before us. I want to carry that spark into what’s ahead.
Starting with marshmallows. Yes, for hot chocolate and mochas, but also consider stoveside s’mores or straight from the bag, confections that they are. I’ve got a batch tagged for cereal treats, because that is how we are doing things this January.
These ones are softly beige with golden sugar. The chocolate, folded in stripes and not fully blended, snaps and crackles when set, giving a stracciatella-ish crunch. Like those puddles.
Yesterday we squashed torched mallows in between two graham crackers, with a spoon of crunchy peanut butter snuck in. The PB melted into a gorgeous ooze, and all was well in that moment.
On that first day of this year, I scissor snipped one into thin slices, then dunked said slices into the aforementioned waffle batter, and then placed those slices oh-so-carefully on a puddle of batter already on the iron. A risky manoeuvre certainly. The marshmallows burst (more than) a little, thus the batter was honeycombed, and the chocolate singed here and there, but all of that made for a waffle of dreams, a bit burnt campfire marshmallow, a bit crisp sugar all lacy and snappy, melted chocolate hinting at bitter. There was me, who doesn’t usually go for a sweet breakfast, with elbows on the counter feeling quite pleased. There is a high-risk-high-reward situation going on, do what you will with the info. At least I can tell you how to make the marshmallows.
BROWN SUGAR MOCHA MARSHMALLOWS (Make an 8 or 9-inch pan’s worth, it’s up to you how many marshmallows that is. I usually double for gifting purposes and bring out the big boy, high-sided sheet cake pan measuring 11-by-15-inches, which produces the chubsters I find most pleasing.)
Spray that pan of yours with nonstick. Stir 112 g | 1 cup cornstarch and 113 g | 1 cup confectioner’s sugar together in a bowl. Sieve a dusting of the powder over your pan, coating all surfaces. Set aside.
Grab the bowl of a stand mixer, pour in 3 packets unflavoured gelatin, 1 teaspoon instant espresso powder, and 1/2 cup cold water. Leave to bloom.
In a heavy bottomed saucepan, combine 200 g | 1 cup yellow (light brown) sugar, 200 g | 1 cup granulated sugar and 1/4 cup water. Bring to a hard boil over medium-high heat and let bubble furiously for 1 minute. Pull from heat.
With the mixer on low, carefully now, pour the syrup in a thin stream down the side of the bowl into the gelatin mixture. Sprinkle in a three-finger pinch of kosher salt. Push the power up to high, and beat until the marshmallow starts to pull away from the bowl in strands, 8 to 12 minutes, depending on the oomph of the mixer.
While that is happening, spray an silicone spatula and a offset palette knife with nonstick. Melt 113 g | 4 ounces dark chocolate and keep warm.
Right as the marshmallow turns stretchy, beat in 1 teaspoon vanilla extract or 2 teaspoons vanilla bean paste. Working quickly is important here, so my advice is to consider your marshmallow strategy beforehand. You can layer the plain marshmallow into the pan, streaking with the melted chocolate as you go, or you can drip the chocolate into the fluff, fold once or twice and then simply decant it all into your prepared pan. Choose your practice, proceed with confidence. With either, the sprayed silicone spatula and offset will be your best friends.
Leave the tray to settle for 4 hours at room temperature (I usually leave it overnight). Dust a flurry of your confectioner’s sugar/cornstarch snow atop the surface and then pull the edges of the slab away from the pan. Flip onto a work surface and portion as you see fit, tumbling the marshmallow into more of that coating to keep them from sticking. Store at room temp in an airtight container.
Another recipe: Me, elsewhere. Butternut and Lentil Soup for the Globe and Mail. Also, a chocolate-covered sesame brittle commissioned for Raaka Chocolate’s newsletter. Particularly fond of that recipe, which tasted of childhood Sesame Snaps, the ones that came in the double pack with the blue rectangle on the plastic. If you haven’t subscribed I’m sorry you missed it, it was a good one. They’re good ones over there, too.
THINGS I WOULD TEXT IF I HAD YOUR NUMBER
With this mood, one song.
Doing Great by Jaisimi, which, in her words, “is actually about not doing so great and then finding your way.”