So, we had a little mishap in the kitchen today- in Mom's kitchen. Every Christmas my mom makes Buttermilk Pralines which are D E L I C I O U S. And every Christmas, there is a batch of Pralines that doesn't turn out quite right. They're either overcooked or undercooked, too clumpy or too runny. But despite this recipe requiring the use of a candy thermometer and careful monitoring, Mom always makes them, makes another batch when they don't turn out, and we always arrive at her house and search among all the cookie tins until we find the tin containing the golden deliciousness.
I'm not always at my parents' house for the adventure of the Praline-making. This year I was there, along with my sister, and there was something exciting about watching the candy thermometer and wondering if this would be the batch that would turn out the first time.
I won't be sharing mom's Praline recipe. The reason may be obvious; I don't want to share a recipe that isn't reliable. (Although our family makes the Pralines, loves them, and risks the mishaps year after year, some people wouldn't have the patience for that!) The point of my writing today is to share my thoughts during the praline-making.
Part my memories of Christmas include the Pralines. Part of our Christmas tradition is the making of (and eating of) the Pralines. And even the mishaps and failed batches are a part of the memories and the tradition. This year, some of the festivity for me was being in the kitchen with my mom and sister, with kids running in and out, while we wondered whether the Pralines would turn out. I think my mom was getting a little frustrated, but even that is part of the tradition. Being together in the kitchen is one of our family's favorite traditions. We've made many memories in the kitchen. That's probably one of the reasons I like to spend so much time in the kitchen now--making classy treats. And even if the treats don't turn out quite right, sometimes that just becomes part of the tradition.
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