Chocolate Easter Squirrel

Several years ago, perhaps during the pandemic, I treated myself to a Ferrero Rocher Squirrel for Easter. It caught my eye because it was different (i.e. not a bunny or an egg), but also because I was feeling a bit homesick at the time and was attracted to it because my father's nickname for me is Squirrel. I didn't read the label or pay much attention to the ingredients. I just had the gold-wrapped hazelnut chocolates in my mind. When I cracked it open on Easter Sunday, I discovered it was a hollow 3D chocolate figure. While I would have preferred a little more chocolate (given the cost), it had me contemplating what I would mold for Easter if I ever opened my own chocolate shop -- could chocolate Easter bears be a thing?

Fast forward to the present. As you know, last week I tried my hand at molding hollow 3D chocolate eggs for the first time. As I reflected on the results, I couldn't help but think that, unless there was a surprise hidden inside, they were a bit boring. I thought about the many chocolatiers who have taken to painting their molds in a Jackson Pollock-style splatter, turning their eggs into works of art. I did something similar a few years ago. Others have added candy, sprinkles, caramels, or other confections inside the egg. Last year, for example, I had a Peace by Chocolate hollow dark chocolate egg that held little white chocolate chicks and came with violet seeds. 

The Ferrero Rocher Squirrel is unique because it uses chocolate with inclusions to shell the mold instead of using nuts as a filling. The only other product I can think of using a similar technique is the soon-to-be-extinct Cherry Blossom. I wondered how the inclusions might impact the temper and fluidity of the chocolate, and by extension the ability to properly coat the mold, particularly when producing a hollow 3D piece by hand rather than in a factory with specialized equipment. I decided to try it out.

I combined some leftover dark chocolate with milk chocolate and tempered it. Then I added some chopped peanuts. After adding the mixture to half of the mold and clipping the second piece in place, I slowly rotated the mold in various directions to coat it. Then I popped it in the fridge, followed by the freezer, before unmolding. Now, this is where things went wrong. I was impatient. Instead of popping the mold back in the freezer for a few more minutes, I tried to release the mold even though I could see one section where the chocolate hadn't yet contracted away from the plastic. I cracked the egg. 

As you can imagine, I was disappointed, but at least I had proof of concept that this type of shelling was possible by hand. The following day, I melted down the cracked egg, tempered the chocolate, and tried again. This time the egg popped out of the mold easily and I could see the flecks of peanut throughout the semi-dark chocolate surface. 

I appreciate the beauty of the unadorned, well-tempered shell. And I think anyone eating this will enjoy the surprise of peanuts throughout. Because it was done by hand, the chocolate is thicker than that of the mass-produced chocolate squirrel, but no one's ever complained about more chocolate, am I right? Most importantly, though, it's a new approach to shelling that may have other applications in the future. 

Hollow 3D Figures

While I didn't pursue a professional chocolatier program until 2018, my first introduction to chocolate making came while I was around ten or eleven years old and part of a Girl Guide troop. One Wednesday night, we gathered in the basement of the Salvation Army temple and our troop's leader demonstrated how to make various solid and filled bonbons. Of course, she was using Wilton candy melts (compound chocolate) instead of "real" chocolate, so there was no tempering involved, but we learned processes for shelling, filling, and capping. I remember the chocolate being kept warm with an electric skillet, the molds being painstakingly painted with a Testors paint brush (the kind you use on model cars), and the can of condensed milk that had been transformed into caramel by boiling it. I was hooked. And my dear parents indulged my interest, taking me to the religious book and bible shop in the mall, which for some reason was the place to buy candy melts and molds. 

I've come a long way since then. But every now and then I think back to one of the techniques she talked about that night -- creating hollow 3D figures. She described two-part molds that snapped together. You would pour some chocolate in one piece, snap them together, and then rotate to coat the mold until the chocolate solidified. It sounded easy enough, and at some point I used my allowance to buy a 3D Christmas tree and a 3D Santa mold, but I never tried it.

While hollow 3D figures wasn't part of my professional chocolatier program, as I engaged in research for various assignments, I stumbled upon videos demonstrating how 3D molds are used in factories. Instead of clipping or snapping together, the molds are now commonly held together with magnets. And instead of a person rotating them by hand, they are placed on a machine that slowly rotates in multiple directions. Smaller, artisanal shops may have 3D molds that aren't fully enclosed when clipped together. They fill them with chocolate, let them sit for a few minutes, and then pour out the excess chocolate to leave a hollow figure. 

The production, of course, is a little different if you want to have a surprise in the centre of the hollow figure, like M&Ms or Smarties. Anyone who's made hot chocolate bombs knows this process: mold the two pieces separately, add your fillings to one side, and then attach the other half either by melting it a little on a hot pan or by "gluing" it into place with more chocolate. I've made cocoa bombs before, including some Grinch-inspired ones with a friend -- but I've never made a one-piece, hollow chocolate figure. Until now. 

This week, on chocolate night, I decided to try it. I have a few egg molds that can be combined for this purpose. I grabbed some white chocolate left over from Christmas, prepared it using the direct tempering method, and poured it into one half of the mold. With binder clips, I secured the other half and began rotating. Once I was confident the chocolate was well distributed, I let it sit for a minute and then flipped it over and let it sit for another minute. Then I tossed it in the fridge to set. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled it out and was saddened to find I couldn't unmold it. I thought perhaps I'd messed up the temper. I made the mistake of using too much force and I cracked the egg in half. Still unable to get the chocolate out, I put it in the freezer for 5 minutes and the two halves then popped out cleanly. The next day, it was clear that the chocolate had been in perfect temper, but I had been too impatient. So I tried again.

My second attempt was with leftover dark chocolate. I repeated the process, but this time when I took it out of the fridge, instead of trying to unmold it, I popped it into the freezer immediately for a quick cold "shock." And the hollow egg unmolded perfectly! Huzzah!

Pleased as punch, I set it aside on a crumpled paper towel so that it wouldn't roll around. And then I turned my attention to "fixing" the white chocolate one. I could have melted down the chocolate and molded the egg again, but instead I decided to put a surprise inside. I took the first half of the egg and smoothed the edge by melting it on a hot frying pan. Then I filled it with candy before smoothing the second half and applying that on top while the chocolate was still melted. I patched the bottom with a little melted chocolate. Voila! Done. 

I'm very excited with how these turned out and for the possibilities going forward. The only challenge I have now is that the foil I usually wrap chocolates in isn't big enough for this jumbo Easter egg. Consequently, I'm going to need a creative packaging solution. But there's plenty of time to sort that out by Easter. 

Garfield Birthday Cake

I don't think I've ever made my own birthday cake before. Somehow, that just seems wrong. But this year, I decided it would be a good excuse to try the Garfield character cake pan that I bought a year ago and blogged about last week. When I announced this plan to my boyfriend, he insisted that he should help, because I shouldn't have to make my own cake. Another C&J Creation. I was game.

Our first step was to figure out how much batter would be required to fill the pan to 2/3 full. Initially, I was thinking I might need to make more than one batch, given the depth of the pan. (Garfield is, after all, a rotund cat.) I searched online to see if Wilton had any guidance, but given the age of the pan, I didn't find anything reliable. It seems most character pans are designed to work with one cake mix, but with the shrinkflation of the past few years, that is no longer a given. We decided to fill the pan with water and then measure the water. Seven cups. A few calculations later, I determined that the recipe I intended to use should be enough to fill the pan. 

Next, we needed a pattern for the fondant that would replace the missing plastic face. First, I traced the impression on the pan so that it would be the right size and general shape. Then, looking at a picture of the vintage pan on Pinterest, I sketched in Garfield's features -- his eyes, nose, and mouth. Once we were happy with it, I made a few copies and, the following night, we made a pilgrimage to Bulk Barn to buy a cake board big enough for the Garfield cake. 

Then, over the weekend, I set about colouring the fondant. I had some yellow left from making Woodstock as part of our 2024 gingerbread "house," so I combined it with white to make it more pastel. Then I coloured a chunk of white fondant with orange. When it was looking a little neon, I added a small touch of brown to tone it down. Finally, as with the yellow, I combined some red fondant with white to achieve the pink for Garfield's nose. I cut apart my template and used it to make the various features of his face, piecing them together on a white fondant base. Then, my boyfriend used an extruder to create the black outlines that are key to Garfield's cartoon appearance. Once we were happy with the face, I placed it on top of the cake pan so that it would take the pan's shape and dry with a curve.

The next day, we made the cake. This was the strangest cake recipe I've ever made. I chose Yolanda Gampp's ultimate chocolate cake. It started with dissolving Dutch-processed cocoa powder in boiling water. Then it said to cream the butter and sugar for eight minutes. EIGHT MINUTES! I thought this was overkill, but was committed to following the recipe. It was surprising to see the butter and sugar move through so many textures during that eight minutes. I have to say, if the recipe hadn't specified eight minutes, we probably would have stopped after one thinking we'd adequately creamed the butter and sugar. Clearly, none of us are doing that correctly. Until now. I sifted flour. I cracked open eggs. We mixed, alternating between dry and wet ingredients. And eventually we had batter to fill the pan (and more besides, so I also filled a 6" round). 

Now, we had carefully prepared the pan. We greased it extremely well and even used a pastry brush to get into every nook and cranny. We were sure that we'd done an adequate job on that front. But about 90 minutes later, after the cake had baked and then cooled slightly before turning it out onto a wire rack, I discovered we had not done a good enough job. That cake did not want to come out of the pan. I ran a spatula around the edges, I tapped, I forced a flexible bench scraper between the cake and the pan, I swore, I tried the spatula again. I continued in this fashion for about 30 minutes before I finally got the cake out of the pan. And when it did finally come out, it was in two pieces. 

You win some and you lose some in this life, and I had clearly lost this round. I wrapped the cake in plastic and gave myself a timeout. After some reflection, I decided that the best way to proceed was to coat the cake in ganache to hold the cake together and smooth the crumbs. So the next day, I made a dark chocolate ganache and once it had cooled and thickened, I coated the cake before returning it to the fridge yet again.

By Wednesday, we were now a full week into the making of the cake and we were anxious to finish it. After supper, I made buttercream icing, whipping it for an ungodly amount of time. I started with the seven minutes recommended by my cake decorating instructor more than a decade ago. And then probably spent another seven minutes mixing it to incorporate the colour. I matched it as closely to the orange fondant eyelids as possible and then filled a piping bag fit with a no. 21 tip -- an open star.

My boyfriend did the first section of the cake. And then when he tired of dotting stars, I tagged in. About forty minutes later, with severe hand cramps, the cake was completely covered in orange icing. Then we once again extruded fondant and used it to outline Garfield's features and create his characteristic stripes. We admired our work and took copious photographs. And then we chopped two pieces of cake from his body.

Not to toot my own horn, but this was the most delicious birthday cake I've ever had. The cake was dark and rich, and had a very dense texture -- almost like a chocolate pound cake. The icing was very buttery. And that thin layer of ganache really kicked it up a notch. 

As for lessons learned, first I would say, don't make a character cake -- at least not with a character cake pan. You're in for a world of hurt. They are frustrating to use and I find it hard to believe anyone has success getting the cake out of the pan without any casualties. But if you are like me and just can't stop yourself from doing it, invest in the expensive cake release spray instead of typical pan preparation methods. I don't know whether that would make a difference, but I'd try that before anything else. 

Second, the hand cramps are real. Plan for breaks. Or take a tag team approach. Or at the very least keep the icing bag topped up so that you don't have to squeeze as hard when piping (and so that the heat from your hands doesn't melt the buttercream). 

And, finally, less is more. You don't need to get all of the details done to capture the essence of the character. A few well placed details will do the job. We initially intended to outline the legs and feet, but quickly realized it overwhelmed the cake. When we pared it back, the cake looked better.

All in all, a fun birthday adventure! Now I need to fly home later this month to make a Tigger cake for my sister.

Character Cakes

Back when I was a kid, character cakes were very popular. Wilton had an extensive line of cartoon- and muppet-inspired pans, including Winnie the Pooh and Cookie Monster. I don't remember ever having one for my birthday, but my sister remembers having two -- Mickey Mouse and Oscar the Grouch. In contrast, the cake that stands out in my memory is a snowman cake that came from the Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library and was made from two rounds. 

It is still possible to buy character cake pans today and you actually are able to rent them from Bulk Barn -- Elmo is currently hanging on the wall of the location nearest to me. Over the past twenty years, however, novelty cakes have generally become more and more sophisticated. These days, they could be intricately carved or sculpted to look like something else, employ a comic book style with black outlines that make the cake appear two dimensional, or create the illusion of the cake floating or defying gravity. Particularly popular for a few years was "caking" the giant version of favourite candy bars, like KitKat or Mars. Entire YouTube channels -- like How to Cake It, MyCupcakeAddiction, and Man About Cake (to name only a few) -- have been devoted to the topic. 

When I took the Wilton cake decorating courses about ten or so years ago, we learned the technique used for the original character cakes, covering the surface with small piped stars to show the detail of the pan. We practiced this, however, on a flat 8" round. While I remember being capable of the piping technique, until about a year ago, it never really occurred to me to try it on an actual character cake. I watched a YouTube creator trying to make a 3D Garfield cake using a vintage Wilton pan set. Instantly, I had serious FOMO. As I recall, his cake was a bit of a disaster, but being a Garfield lover, I started wondering if I could find a pan online.

I looked at eBay, PoshMark, and Etsy. It wasn't difficult to find a Garfield pan and, in fact, there were several different designs to choose from. Knowing that the 3D pan was unlikely to bake correctly because of the volume of batter, I decided to purchase a more traditional character pan. About $40 and two weeks later, it arrived.

Now, originally, this cake pan would have included a plastic piece detailing Garfield's eyes, nose, and mouth that would be positioned on top of the iced cake. The pan I bought online didn't have this piece, but I was ok with that. I had already determined that if I ever used the pan, I would make the face out of fondant or modelling chocolate, since I prefer to have entirely edible components on my cakes if possible. I put the pan into my cake decorating cabinet until the right moment would come to use it. 

Until then, it's a piece of nostalgia that triggers memories of both the character cakes of my childhood and my favourite orange cat.  

 

AI Recipes

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is everywhere. It has slipped into our DMs on Facebook Messenger, appeared as an uninvited guest in our phones' list of apps, and infiltrated the social media platforms that once enabled us to connect with people we know and care about. AI is helping us to drive more safely, with enhanced crash detection and lane-keeping assistance. And it's annoying us on every website we visit, popping up as the helpful AI chat bot that no one requested. In all realms and sectors, it's omnipresent.

In education, everyone is grappling with this disruptive technology. It is changing everything we thought we knew about how to effectively teach students, how people learn, what skills are and will be valued in the workplace, and how to assess competency. There are some who want to ban it. Others are attempting to proactively engage with it. It's a hot topic for debate at many tables. Recently, in an effort to learn more about this pervasive technology and keep up with the pace of innovation, my colleagues and I have begun exploring the power of various tools, like ChatGPT and Copilot, to determine when and how they might be used in an ethical fashion to work smarter, not harder. 

We've had mixed results. Partly, the quality of the results depends on the quality of the prompt, so there's some learning to be done by users in that regard. AI appears to be incredibly effective at revising draft text or summarizing an extensive body of data. It also has some epic failures -- even when the prompt is highly specific. Now, admittedly, in my free time, a lot of my experiments have been revolved around making cute pictures of cartoon bears drinking coffee using Copilot. But as it executes a seemingly simple task (compared to mastering scientific literature, for example), I've been entertained to see the results and the limitations. For example, it produced a great image but misspelled the word "chocolate" as "choccolat." I asked it to fix the spelling while keeping everything else exactly the same -- and after five attempts, it still got it wrong (or fixed the spelling but changed the image). I had an abstract that was 2 words over the limit and asked it to shorten it. It told me it had done so, but then output the exact text I'd given it with no changes. Not so intelligent, now, eh?

During one of our coworking sessions recently, we started talking about how much we missed the energy bites that once appeared at every meeting. In these days of fiscal prudence, the stockpile we once had in the freezer has long since disappeared with no replenishment in sight. We wished we could get the recipe from food services, but figured there was no way they'd give it to us. I mentioned that I've looked at many recipes online, but haven't found one that is quite right. They all have been missing one or more of the ingredients we know are in them -- chia seeds, oats, chocolate chips, peanut butter, coconut. My brilliant coworker mused, "I wonder if Copilot could write us a recipe if we told it the ingredients." We temporarily put that in the metaphorical parking lot, finished the task at hand, and then rewarded ourselves with a quick Copilot prompt. In no time it produced a recipe.

Scanning the ingredients and the method, it looked like it would work. In fact, there was only one change that I would make: instead of mixing the dry ingredients first and adding the wet to them, I would mix the wet ingredients first and add the dry to them (only because peanut butter and honey can be a challenge to combine). We considered trying the recipe sometime in the future. For me, sometime was about 45 minutes later.

What can I say? I was curious. It was also a Wednesday -- and Wednesday nights are devoted to trying new things, especially in the culinary realm. To round things out, I had all of the ingredients on hand. It was meant to be.

I followed the recipe, making only one modification in procedure (mentioned above), and was impressed by what I saw. The mixture had a good consistency and the resulting bites looked a lot like the ones we had enjoyed at work in the past. The recipe was a success in the sense that it worked. But how would they taste? 

I'm happy to report that when we tried them the next day, they were delicious and a very close dupe. In my opinion, the amount of chia seeds could be reduced. My colleague observed that you can't normally taste honey when you eat the version made by food services. Upon reflection, given the cost of real honey (and maple syrup), we concluded that they probably use a cheaper sweetener, like corn syrup. We both thought that mini chocolate chips would be better. Regardless, they are "a keeper," as Trooper Ron would say. 

While this experiment worked, I'm not sure that I would necessarily recommend AI recipes to others. Presumably, Copilot and ChatGPT have trained largely on free online content (as well as books). The quality of recipes online, though, is variable (to say the least). Sure, some are delicious. But far more yield disappointing results -- in some cases, they are just okay, while others are total disasters that don't work. You're definitely taking your chances. 

But if you're trying to find an elusive recipe, it might be worth the gamble.  

White Chocolate Hearts

As I thought about what I should make for Valentine's Day this year, I realized that I had a large quantity of white chocolate left from my Christmas production run. Since several people in my circle love it, this seemed fortuitous. But it also presented a challenge. White chocolate is far more temperamental than milk or dark chocolate. It's easy to overheat it and difficult to work with. I decided it would be good practice and went to my stash to pick out a mold.

Originally, I was thinking about using one of the large heart lollipop molds that I have and making a solid piece. But that seemed pretty basic and I also didn't have any long lollipop sticks. As I shuffled through my options, I noticed a mold that I had forgotten existed. I'm not even sure where I got it, but it's clear from the fifty cent tag that I had picked it up at a bargain. Perhaps it came from the shop on Charlotte Street that closed several years ago. Perhaps I found it at a flea market. Whatever its origin, I knew I had only used it once to create treats for the CIBC Run for the Cure (I served as volunteer coordinator one year).

I pulled it out and examined it, trying to determine if it was deep enough to be filled with something. I figured it would work if I could keep the filling to about 1/4 inch thickness. I set about tempering the white chocolate and shelling the mold. Because it is flexible plastic instead of the polycarbonate molds professionals use, it was a little more challenging to shell properly. Nevertheless, about 15 minutes after shelling it, I confirmed the temper of the chocolate. Success!

Then I needed a centre. Inspired by the white chocolate Reese peanut butter cups and remembering how delicious the white chocolate peanut butter bark was that I made a few years ago for Easter, I settled on a peanut butter filling. I heated it up to be more liquid and discovered it was about two degrees too hot to pipe into the shells. I waited for the temperature to drop to a safer range and then piped the filling into the deepest part of the mold. I left it to set up, fully intending to cap them the following day. When the weather cancelled my evening plans, however, I reconsidered. I tempered another quantity of white chocolate, capped the hearts, and set them in the fridge to set for 15 minutes. Mercifully, when I took them out, I found that the caps were also in temper. 

After flipping the mold over and popping out the hearts, I was surprised by the colour of the chocolate. The shell was so thin that the peanut butter was visible through it, but it didn't crack and I couldn't see any sign of fat migration (yet). The contrast between the peanut butter filled heart and the solid white chocolate flames at the top lent some interest to an otherwise plain confection. I left them on a tray at room temperature for 24 hours to fully crystallize. 

Before the big love day, I wrapped each heart in red foil and placed a sticker on the back. (I also accidentally put my thumb through the delicate shell of one -- a perfect excuse to sample my work.) Voila! This year's Valentine's Day creation. Sure, it's not as complicated as last year's artistic dulce de leche espresso hearts. But these are a white chocolate and peanut butter lover's dream. Sometimes less really is more.

Happy belated Valentine's Day, y'all!

Lamingtons

I'm not sure why, but the idea of making lamingtons has been in the back of my mind for a few years. I can't really explain it. I believe I saw a YouTube video of someone making them during the days of isolation in 2020. And then, of course, once you watch one lamington video, the algorithm rips the rug out from under you and you plummet down the rabbit hole. While I didn't recall eating them before, they reminded me of other desserts involving coconut that I'd seen as a child. And they certainly seemed like the sort of dessert Newfoundlanders would appreciate -- a layer of jam inside, the outside coated in coconut. In the words of Ina Garten, how bad can that be? 

When I started looking into recipes, I stumbled upon one by Barry Parsons who shares Newfoundland recipes on his Rock Recipes site. According to him, these creations were popular in Newfoundland during the 1960s and called chocolate coconut cake squares. And they weren't limited to one flavour -- raspberry and strawberry variations were common. Indeed, its the pink cake coated in coconut that I member seeing when I was young. Parsons also provides a lemon variation that sounds delicious! Decision made! Lamingtons would be this year's "cake" for a friend's upcoming birthday brunch. 

I chose to make the Cupcake Jemma recipe because I believe that's where I first saw them being made, but opted to add the jam layer that I'd seen in other variations. I started this culinary adventure on a Wednesday night, when I made the cake. First I mixed the sugar, eggs, and vanilla. Then I folded in the flour and baking powder. Finally, I add the melted butter. I poured the thick batter into an 8x8 pan lined with parchment paper and popped it into the oven for 25 minutes. Once a toothpick came out clean, I transferred the cake to a cooling rack before wrapping it well and setting it in the fridge overnight. 

The adventure continued on Thursday evening. I torted the cake using a Wilton cake leveler and filled it with seedless raspberry jam, taking care not to add so much that the layers would slide around. Then I wrapped it well and popped it back in the fridge to chill.

On Friday, I made the chocolate icing. What's that you say? More butter? Did Julia Child write this recipe? Once the icing was glossy and fluid, I cut my cake into 9 pieces and trimmed off the caramelization. I dipped each one into the icing, followed by the coconut, and placed it on a cake rack while I coated the remaining pieces. I kept three pieces coconut-free for my boyfriend (and other coconut naysayers). Then I returned them one more time to the fridge to fully set. 

Initially, I admit, I was a little concerned about serving lamingtons as birthday cake. I was primarily worried that they would be too small and look more like the squares you see at a church social. But once dipped in chocolate and coated in coconut, they looked much more substantial. The result? A delicious buttery cake with a slightly tart jam layer in the centre, surrounded by super sweet icing balanced by a coating of unsweetened coconut. The cake was more dense than I'd anticipated (I'd been expecting more of a sponge cake), but that may be a result of the particular recipe I chose. 

As for the leftover chocolate icing, it made the perfect base for a decadent hot cocoa!

See you next week!

Rock Candy

February 5, 2025 Update

The rock candy experiment was successful! 

Look at this beauty!

- - - - - - - -ORIGINAL POST - - - - - - - -

Earlier this week as part of my candy course, I watched a video on how to make rock candy. Now, the method wasn't exactly new to me. I think most people are first introduced to this concept in grade school as a science experiment involving a supersaturated solution. But as I sat watching the demonstration, it occurred to me that despite knowing about this for the better part of my life, I'd never actually tried it myself. Clearly the time had come. Challenge accepted, Tony Morris!

The recipe called for more than three cups of sugar and I could see that the candy maker had syrup left in the pot after filling a jar, so I decided to cut the recipe in half as I was measuring out my ingredients. I probably made my life more difficult by doing that, but I also didn't want to create a lot of waste. I only had paper lollipop sticks on hand and imagined that would be unpleasant at best when eating the rock candy, so instead I used the blunt end of a bamboo BBQ skewer. I expected that I would only have enough syrup to produce one rock candy stick, but prepared a second just in case. Then I rigged up a few mason jars with post-it note "lids" to hold the syrup. Finally, I went into my handy tool kit -- a gift from my father when I first went off to university -- and pulled a clamp to suspend the skewer in the solution. Probably not what he was imagining when he gave it to me, but here we are. Armed with a thermometer, I prepared the solution.

Now, dissolving an obnoxious quantity of sugar into a very small amount of water is no easy task, but if you take your time, adding a little as you go, you eventually get it done. I was surprised by just how thick the syrup was. The sweet and sour bar mix I made a few months ago for a Halloween party couldn't hold a candle to this. I decided that green apple was the perfect colour-flavour combination and stirred the syrup to distribute the colour. Finally, I carefully poured the syrup into the jar, suspended the skewer in the syrup, and set it aside to do its thing for a few days. 

Within hours, I could see crystals forming, but it appeared that they were growing more rapidly than they should. On day three, I decided to open the jar and see what was happening. I certainly had crystallized sugar, but there would be no getting the candy stick out. What I had was a candy stalagmite. The texture would have made a great centre for a chocolate geode, but was definitely not what I was going for in this experiment.

As luck would have it, we then had a snow morning. And that meant take two for the rock candy. I thought I knew where things went wrong the first time, so I modified my technique a little and set up a clean jar ready to receive the sugar syrup. Immediately I could tell this batch had more promise. I left it  to cool without disturbing it. 

Twenty-four hours later, I could see a few crystals starting to form on the stick, much slower than the first batch. I took that as a good sign. 

Forty-eight hours later, the characteristic large square crystals were gathering on the stick. 

Seventy-two hours later, I posted this blog. I had hoped to have a final product by the time it went live, but sugar has a mind of its own and can't be rushed. 

When I finally do remove the rock candy from the mason jar, I'll update this post. I can't wait to try it!

Fare Thee Well, Cherry Blossoms

About a week ago, a bombshell headline shook Canadians from coast to coast. Hershey Canada confirmed that it would no longer produce Cherry Blossoms. For some, the realization set off a period of mourning, for others it led to hoarding. In the days that followed, the Cape Breton Post's cover story featured a fellow who purchased 30+ because of the personal meaning they hold for him. The power of food and memory is remarkably strong.

As for me, I probably have had one or two of these in my lifetime and primarily associate them with my mother who had them periodically (perhaps at Christmas). They aren't a deeply nostalgic item for me (unlike my beloved Maple Buds, which I pray one day will return). Still, it seemed only right that I would attempt to track down a few before they disappeared forever (or were picked up by a niche producer and showed up in retro candy shops for a premium). 

On a Friday night grocery trip, I kept my eyes peeled for for the iconic yellow box. Walmart failed me. And when I went to Sobeys, I found empty cases where they had once been displayed. Clearly, I wasn't the only person looking for them. I contemplated going to a nearby corner store that might have them, but then noticed that several of the check-out lanes were closed and blocked by displays. What if there were some saved from the hoarders by being inadvertently hidden from sight? I strolled toward the closed lanes and peered behind the racks of potato chips. There, on the bottom shelf of a display was an untouched case. I did what any self-respecting chocolate blogger would do -- I got down on the floor and retrieved four.

The box seemed smaller than I remembered. When that happens, I'm never sure if it's because the item really is smaller or if it's a trick of memory that things always seemed bigger when you were a kid.  I also remembered it being a perfect cube, but that wasn't the case (faulty memory or shrinkflation?). Either way, I had a bit of sticker shock when they rang up at $2.29 each. As the international student totalled my order, I wondered how many Cherry Blossoms he had checked in that day and whether he was confused by the sudden popularity of an unusual item. The thought passed as I completed the transaction and I left the store wearing a triumphant Cheshire grin.

A few days later, I decided it was time to crack one open. I removed the foil-wrapped confection from its box and examined its size and shape before biting in. The chocolate, which is particularly thick with peanut and coconut inclusions, was rock-solid and not easy to bite into. (I had been warned by a friend that she knew someone who broke their false teeth on one.) Carefully, I persevered, anticipating the reward of a gooey centre, but nothing happened. No liquid fondant oozing out. Just a thick, white paste-like centre. I took a second bite and found a piece of cherry, but the experience definitely wasn't as advertized on the box. Maybe it was "too fresh" and the invertase hadn't yet liquified the centre (invertase is an enzyme that, over time, breaks sugar into its component parts of glucose and fructose). Maybe the recipe for that batch had failed. Maybe the recipe had changed through the years. Whatever the issue, I had a dud. 

While I enjoyed the coconut in the milk chocolate shell, both for its flavour and textures, I wasn't particularly impressed by the Cherry Blossom's flavour overall. That's not entirely surprising, of course, given the changes to commercial chocolate as a result of the creeping costs of ingredients and spiking costs of chocolate. If you read the ingredient list, you won't see cocoa butter. It's just cheap (read: fake) chocolate. The mass-produced cousin of the cherry cordial. 

When I posted a photo of the Cherry Blossom on Facebook, one individual commented that they were sure I could make one that was better. About a year after completing my professional chocolatier program, I actually did make cherry cordials for my mother. While they are typically made with fondant containing invertase, I found an alternative production method demonstrated by Steve Andrianos of Hercules Candy. Intrigued, I had to try it. One evening, seated at my dining room table, I coated sour cherries (instead of maraschino) in powdered sugar mixed with cherry juice, rolling them in layer after layer until they had built up to the right size and texture. Then I dipped them in dark chocolate by hand. Ten days later, when I cut into one, the centre had magically liquified. 

Believe me when I say that the dark chocolate sour cherry cordial is the classic's sophisticated older sister who spent the summer in Europe. If I ever open a chocolate shop, it will be on the menu. Obviously, the Cherry Blossom doesn't hold a candle to it -- but that would be an unfair match up anyway. Mass-produced chocolate is in a different weight class than small-batch. 

Nevertheless, like any object, it can be imbued with meaning and serve as a powerful vehicle for memory. 

To read about other nostalgic confections, check out my blog on malted graham sandwich bars or the 4 Flavors bar. 

Blueberry Gummies

Over Christmas, I gave some thought to how I could continue challenging myself to work on my chocolate and candy-making skills in the new year. As the great day for resolutions approached, I was compiling my annual list of intentions when an ad popped up in my Instagram feed. It was for an online chocolate course. I scrolled past it knowing there was no way that it could compete with the professional chocolatier program I'd done about five years ago. But then every time I went on Facebook or Instagram, the same ad was there, taunting me. Finally I gave in and followed the link to see what it was about. The Now You Know course was comparatively inexpensive to begin with and at the time discounted by 50%. Ambivalent about their chocolate course, I started browsing their other offerings and stumbled upon one dedicated to candy making. Bingo! I bought the course.

Now, I purchased the course knowing there would be nothing in it that I couldn't find for free on YouTube. But that wasn't the point. The point was the structure a course would provide, with lessons to work through on a weekly basis. 

The first lesson focused on jelly and gummy candies. The lesson consisted of a few videos where techniques were demonstrated by Tony Morris of ToMo Candy. The course resources included two recipes. When I was finished reviewing the materials, I made a mental note to acquire a new candy thermometer (since I'd had difficulties with mine while making cremes in December) and added gelatin to my shopping list so that I could experiment with his recipe. 

You see, I've tried making gummies a few times before. There are several recipes floating around online that have you add plain gelatin to flavoured Jell-O. There's even an episode of Pioneer Woman where she makes homemade gumdrops to give as part of a Christmas cookie platter.  Do these recipes work? Yes. Do the have the consistency of a gummy? Sort of? It's more like really firm jello (maybe I'm splitting hairs). They also have no shelf life whatsoever. They begin weeping the same way pâte de fruits do and quickly spoil (within 2-3 days at room temperature). Don't get me wrong -- it's a fun activity on a snow day, to be sure -- but that's about it. 

And so this week, armed with a new candy thermometer, some blueberry flavouring, and the largest box of gelatin I've ever seen (and gave me sticker shock at the cash when I bought it), I set about my task. I measured and prepared ingredients. Then, I boiled the sugar mixture 265F, the hardball stage. After adding my flavouring, I stirred in a few drops of food colouring. Next, I heated the bloomed gelatin in the microwave until it melted before adding it to the sugar. I transferred the mixture into a measuring cup to make it easier to pour and worked as quickly as I could to fill my molds. 

This is where I encountered a minor snag. I hadn't taken out and prepared enough silicone molds, and had to go back to my stash to grab another (twice!). There can be a great deal of variation in terms of the yield of a recipe as a result of many factors, including how big the cavities of a mold are. For this recipe, which was supposed to make 50 gummies, I prepared four molds totaling 68 cavities. When done, I had 81 pieces. I left them to set overnight and cleaned up the incredibly sticky mess left behind by utensils. 

The next morning, I unmolded the blueberry gummies and dropped them into a sour sugar mixture. It started out ok, but as sticky residue built on my fingers, it became more and more difficult to remove the gummies and drop them into the sugar. I washed my hands several times before finishing the task. I arranged the majority of them in an airtight container and popped a few into bags to share with product testers (friends who enjoy sour gummies). I also couldn't resist trying one myself. 

The result? The texture is much more like that of a commercially produced gummy and I'm hoping that they will have a longer shelf life as a result (since I believe there is less water activity in them). The sour sugar coating creates the perfect pucker and as that subsides, the blueberry flavour emerges as a second wave. It could be stronger, but it is definitely present. All in all, I'd say this was a successful experiment. I can see the wisdom, however, in pouring a slab and cutting it into pieces. I suspect it would save time compared to peeling 81 jellies out of their molds.

I can't wait to see what's next in my 2025 candy-making adventure. 

Viral Chocolate

As someone who doesn't use TikTok (simply because I already have too many social media platforms to follow), I often find myself late to the party when it comes to viral food and beverages. The Dalgona coffee of the pandemic, the baked feta pasta that followed, the devilled egg flights more recently -- I eventually heard about them (and tried a few), but sometimes more than a year after the trend peaked. So, it shouldn't be surprising that it took a few months for the viral "Dubai chocolate bar" to come onto my radar. 

Actually called "Can’t Get Knafeh Of It," this thick bar filled with pistachio cream, tahini, and toasted kataifi originated at FIX Dessert Chocolatier in Dubai. Why it went viral over thousands of other bars in the world is anyone's guess. Yes, it was beautifully produced. It was also expensive. And the exclusivity factor -- at the time they were only available in Dubai and Abu Dhabi -- had its own exotic allure. Content creators who couldn't get their hands on one turned to making their own versions. One blogger noted that the DIY version became so popular that it caused a "nationwide pistachio cream shortage" (but didn't offer any proof of that claim). Curiosity sparked! 

No, I didn't make one myself. That would be too much of a commitment, even for me. I'd have to track down a Middle Eastern ingredient called kataifi that is similar to shredded phyllo pastry. I also didn't buy the original "Can't Get Knafeh Of It." It has been imported by shops in the United States (and perhaps in Canada), but it's still not particularly easy or quick to get. So, instead I bought a copycat bar that was imported from Istanbul, not Constantinople (if you know, you know). 

The bar arrived in a rather posh black box with gold foiling. Surprisingly, the chocolate was in perfect temper, with no evidence of bloom, despite its journey. Inside, as anticipated, was the crunchy kataifi filling with its characteristic green colour from the pistachio. Unlike many of the content creators online, I did not break the bar in half with my hands or crush it to make the filling ooze out. Instead, I used a hot knife to slice through it. Hopefully you appreciate the clean cut as much as I do. 

The flavour, I'm sorry to say, was unremarkable. The milk chocolate was smooth and not overly sweet. The filling had little flavour, which was unexpected. It would have benefitted from some something -- anything! -- that would have enhanced the flavour (more salt or sugar or tahini). The real appeal, however, was in the texture and the sound of the bar while biting through the layers. (Sorry, no ASMR video to share.) The crunch factor was off the charts and was the perfect foil to the smooth chocolate -- and that rather than the flavour is what made it moreish. Perhaps that is also why it went viral.   

Was it worth trying this bar? I suppose so. Would I go out of my way (or pocketbook) to have one again? Probably not. But if I'm out and about and happen to stumble upon kataifi, then perhaps I'll purchase it and try to make my own version in an effort to make a better bar. 

Until then, I hope your new year is off to a sweet start!