Eloise would pour the molten gold onto buttered marble slabs.
While it was still warm, she’d use gloved hands to stretch it thin—so thin you could almost see the shadows of the pecans through the amber glass. PECAN BRITTLE
Every December, the "Brittle Batching" was a neighborhood event. Eloise would pour the molten gold onto buttered marble slabs
To Eloise, it wasn't just candy. It was the taste of a long summer’s growth and a short winter’s fire, snapped into pieces and shared one crunch at a time. To Eloise, it wasn't just candy
Just as the thermometer hit that perfect 300-degree "hard-crack" mark, she would toss in a mountain of buttery, roasted pecans. The kitchen would erupt in a cloud of maple-scented steam. Then came the final, crucial step: a quick dash of baking soda. The mixture would foam up like a golden cloud, trapping millions of tiny air bubbles that made the candy light enough to melt on the tongue despite its ferocious crunch. The Great Gathering