Mercury Rising

The past couple of years I’ve been become more and more attracted to the art of less. Less income. Less possessions. Less responsibility. Less stuff demanding attention that it never returns. 

Over a couple of months I got rid of my car. More than half my books. My home phone. A collection of McCoy vases. A low-slung mid-century Scandinavian modern arm chair. Every shirt and pair of pants that doesn’t fit comfortably. An oak mission desk. A Pullman loaf pan. A stack of tartlet molds. An electric coffee maker.  I even sold my second waffle iron -- the heart shaped one, not the Belgian waffler!

But still I find myself pacing my apartment wondering at all the things that remain. A suit I wore exactly once for a job interview five years ago. An overcoat I wore with it. The collected works of Mrs. Humphrey Ward in sixteen volumes. A green umbrella. A terrine mold. A gilt framed mirror. 

In bed as I am drifting toward sleep I imagine that my condo association is on fire and I am rushing out of the building in my bathrobe to the bank to deposit the check from the insurance company. What do I take with me?  My portable hard drive? Probably, though I hesitate. All that work in progress brings to mind an image of Hemingway’s suitcase, and the certainty that there is an infinite supply of sentences in the universe. The Mont Blanc GMT chronograph my brother recently gave me? No reason not to, especially as it travels very well and complements my hands. My iPhone? Definitely not. The purple bound copy of Dame Edna Everage’s My Georgeous Life?  Very tempting. But in my heart I know it is all stuff I can live without, and that more stuff will always take its place.

About my candy thermometer, on the other hand, I don’t hesitate. It is up my sleeve and we are out the door and there is no looking back.

I found it at Broadway Panhandler in New York City, probably in 1996 or 1997. In a golden moment before crazed environmentalists and over-zealous pediatricians declared total war against mercury, Rose Levy Beranbaum commissioned a batch of these laboratory grade thermometers. The only word to describe it is:  unbelievably awesome and life transforming I mean I love this thing and can’t imagine living without it ever ever ever. A mercury thermometer is the culinary equivalent of an atomic clock. The column of quicksilver in glass is an exquisitely sensitive instrument. I’ve never used any other type of thermometer for candy making, and don’t ever want to. I think it was about fifty dollars new. It’s current value I don’t know, but it is the only item specified by name in my estate plan.

The picture was a bit of a challenge, since the thermometer doesn’t fit in the light box and probably a special lens is necessary to make a completely focused image.

The caramel I made a few days ago. It appears diluted with half and half as the sauce on the crème fraiche ice cream in the previous posting. These are just a few bits in their naked youth. The bulk of the batch is destined to mature into a few different candies. The transformation I intend to document in future installments. The recipe is very simple. I boil sugar, corn syrup, and a drop of water. When it turns pale amber I shock it by setting the pan in the sink filled with cold water. Once it has cooled a little I add heavy cream, butter, and fleur de sel (a food fad I hope never ceases) and cook the mixture to 248 degrees fahrenheit. 

I realize, now I am learning more about how to produce these images, that some technical equipment might make a big difference.  In case any caramel fairies are reading this, maybe you will be so kind as to come during the night and leave a Manfrotto tripod with a joystick ball head and a Pentax 50 mm F2.8 macro lens?  Oh, and an assortment of dishes suitable for food styling? And Gabriel Porras? Please?