making marshmallows
I’m not sure why I tackled the homemade marshmallow last weekend. I was up for a challenge, and those little puffy pillows of sweetness – how hard to make can they be, really? – seemed like a worthy contender.
My mother-in-law was over that morning. She spent the night with us after the Florida-Arkansas football game, a night game that didn’t end until past my bedtime. I had skipped out on the game, preferring instead to lounge around at home with the kiddos, the Gator game on ESPN, and take-out Pad Thai.
While my mother-in-law sipped her first cup of coffee that Sunday morning, the kids helped me gather ingredients for the marshmallows. Oliver measured the sugar by the half-cup full, checking with me after each scoop. Madeline added the gelatin to water in the stand mixer. When she crinkled her nose at the funky, animal odor that arose from the bowl, I thought I’d lost her. The enticement of the eventual marshmallow was strong, however, and she rebounded.
While I stood over the stovetop, waiting for the boiling sugar syrup to reach 240 degrees, my mother-in-law joined me in the kitchen. Like an exotic gorilla behind glass at the zoo, I had piqued her curiosity.
