Making Marshmallows: It’s A Science Experiment!

For Christmas, Leigh gave me the following book:

This book immediately intrigued me.  It is full of recipes for things like bacon.  WHO KNEW YOU COULD MAKE YOUR OWN BACON!?  There are recipes for other kitchen staples like mustard and pop tarts (yes, kitchen staple) and many other things that have probably never been the object of the thought “man, if I could just make my own ____, it would taste a lot better!”

Oh, and the title describes the recipes as “cooking projects,” which, let’s be honest here – is exactly how I think about cooking.

As I casually flipped through the book after unwrapping it, I immediately headed towards the “Sweets” section and saw that this cookbook contained a recipe for one of my all time favorite foods.  The marshmallow.  The marshmallow and I have a long history, I love it in all its iterations.  I love peeps, I love marshmallow filled chocolate eggs, I love marshmallow filled candy eggs.  I love fluffer-nutter sandwiches, and my dad would even make  the two of us a DELICIOUS snack when my mom was out of town – saltines covered with peanut butter and a healthy dallop of marshmallow fluff.   I even love the orange, marshmallow circus peanuts that most people would rather drink a carton of milk and then vomit instead of eating.  My favorite food of all times is the s’more.  Basically, I love marshmallows.  So I had to try out this recipe.

After a hilarious trip to Whole Foods to buy the vital ingredients (a list containing “corn syrup” and “unflavored gelatin.”  Two really funny things to purchase from a store priding itself on its organic and all-natural products), I soon began the process of boiling sugar, something of which I am understandably petrified.

I AM BOILING SUGAR AND I WILL BURN YOU! BE SCARED!!

You can’t tell this from the picture, but I was so scared of boiling sugar jumping up to burn me that I would only stand a few feet behind the stove top, peering over every now and then to watch the temperature on the candy thermometer.  Here is my mom being very helpful:

Hi. I'm Jodi and I am bored.

After the Deadly Boiling Sugar of Death reached the proper temperature, my mom and I found ourselves in a chemistry experiment.  It was so cool!  As instructed, we slowly added the sugar mixture to my Kitchen Aid and MAYHEM ENSUED!  Little candy tendrils when flying!  And they were delicious to eat!  It was like candy spiderwebs everywhere!  The mixer did its thing:

WEEEEEEEE!!!! CANDY EXPLOSION!

And soon – looked like this:

What is happening? It's a MIRACLE!

This doesn’t look like much, but let me tell you.  It is the stickiest substance known to man.  My mom texted me the next NIGHT telling me that she was still finding little bits of marshmallows in her hair.  We spent a little while trying to extricate ourselves from the stickiness while also flattening the marshmallow mixture into its baking dish:

You might see this and think, how did that marshmallow stuff get into that pan if its so sticky? The answer - IT GOT ALL OVER US!

After we waited the mandatory 60 minutes for the marshmallows to “settle,” I idiotically dumped the marshmallow square from the powder-sugared pan onto the non-powder-sugared plate and my mom laughed at me as I tried to unstick the marshmallows, an impossible task.  So, we slowly and meticulously cut and peeled each marshmallow from the plate and ended up with these!

This picture was posed by me. I wanted you to see as little of my messy kitchen as possible.

People, homemade marshmallows are far superior to purchased ones!  They are so delicious!  I even tried them as part of a s’more, and YUM!  You should seriously try making some.  It’s like magic!!!

I Am My Mom

I used to try to kid myself that I was nothing like my mom.  Well, I have always known that I pretty much look identical to her, but I thought that I had managed to avoid inheriting all her perceived “bad” qualities, getting only her quirkiness and sense of humor.  This is crazy talk of course.  However, most of the time, I claim to be “really laid back” and that I “don’t really have a temper unless you are REALLY mean to me.”  These are all lies (shh, don’t tell Blake, I think he still believes them).  Even though I am (mostly) aware of my Jodi-like tendencies, I still am in denial that I somehow inherited her “New Jersey-ness” without ever having lived one solitary day in the great state of New Jersey.

Until something like this happens -

Now, I want to preface this with the fact that my mother is a lot of great things.  In fact, I don’t even know if what I’m about to describe is a bad thing…I just know that it caused me a lot embarrassment growing up in Mississippi.  See, my mom didn’t grow up in Mississippi.  She grew up in New Jersey (thus her “New Jersey-ness”).  She was pretty much the most hardcore person to ever live in little old Mississippi.  And New Jersey and Mississippi are pretty much opposites, as far as states go, and so little Kristi Dansereau was surrounded by a complete dichotomy of influences.  On one side was my mother, who ABSOLUTELY NEVER lets herself get walked on in any way.  If you pass her in line when she has been there longer than you have?  SHE WILL CUT YOU (Not really.  But she might yell at you).  If you messed with me and David (my brother) in any way?  Yelling!!!!!  And as for the women from Mississippi?  They never yelled.  If you passed THEM in  line?  Expect a tight smile.  Obviously, this means that my mom was pretty much the big sore New Jersey thumb of Mississippi society.

So, this is where my “formal complaint making phobia” really began.  My brother and I grew up MORTIFIED that someone was going to try to take advantage of my mom in some way, and that they would pay.  And we would have to be around to witness it.  We could think of nothing worse.  She tried her very hardest to raise two kids who weren’t afraid to stick up for themselves, and ended up with two wimps who ran and hid if she even hinted READ MORE