Guava bars, and the scuppernong bars that were not to be.
Tested out a recipe for guava bars tonight. I had a brick of guava paste that was crying out for use.
What I don't have is a metal baking pan - and what I forgot is, when baking in clear glassware, the bottom always gets done before the middle. So, my guava bars were partially burned on the bottom.
Peel off the overly-browned bits, however, and the result was pretty good. So good, I immediately thought of the jar of Shawn's scuppernong jam that's been sitting in the fridge for a while...
Jam plus cinnamon, cloves and allspice made filling for a second batch of bars, and powdered vanilla bean in the crumble would be an excellent companion to round out the flavors.
This time, I became very conservative. I turned the heat on the stove down to 325, put the baking dish on a quarter sheet and filled the quarter sheet with water. Unfortunately, 325 was too low - and at the end of the cooking time, the bottom wasn't done. Round one's bars were too done, round two's were raw.
Time to tweak some more... Bumped the heat back up to 350 and monitored them every 15 minutes. Progress was being made, but too slowly. At this point, the bars had been cooking for almost twice the time the recipe calls for. Finally impatient, I pulled out the quarter sheet and put the baking dish right back in for another 15 minutes.
The timer goes off. Still not done... Reset the timer... Time passes. And this time the timer rings, they look perfect. PERFECT!
Hot pads in hand, I retrieve the dish. But it's too hot, and my hands are burning through the fabric. Hastily, I set the pan on the stove - right on top of the quarter sheet. Which is still full of water - but the water is now room temperature.
BAM. Shattered dish. All over. And a perfect batch of scuppernong fruit bars, rendered inedible by shards of glass.
I feel like there's some sort of symbolism, here, like the situation calls for some sort of philosophical musing about the nature of life. I'm reminded of the cherry blossoms in Japan, and the impermanence of all things.
But all I can muster is sadness, followed by resignation to the facts. Somehow, though, this makes me think I'm a pretty well-adjusted individual.
What I don't have is a metal baking pan - and what I forgot is, when baking in clear glassware, the bottom always gets done before the middle. So, my guava bars were partially burned on the bottom.
Peel off the overly-browned bits, however, and the result was pretty good. So good, I immediately thought of the jar of Shawn's scuppernong jam that's been sitting in the fridge for a while...
Jam plus cinnamon, cloves and allspice made filling for a second batch of bars, and powdered vanilla bean in the crumble would be an excellent companion to round out the flavors.
This time, I became very conservative. I turned the heat on the stove down to 325, put the baking dish on a quarter sheet and filled the quarter sheet with water. Unfortunately, 325 was too low - and at the end of the cooking time, the bottom wasn't done. Round one's bars were too done, round two's were raw.
Time to tweak some more... Bumped the heat back up to 350 and monitored them every 15 minutes. Progress was being made, but too slowly. At this point, the bars had been cooking for almost twice the time the recipe calls for. Finally impatient, I pulled out the quarter sheet and put the baking dish right back in for another 15 minutes.
The timer goes off. Still not done... Reset the timer... Time passes. And this time the timer rings, they look perfect. PERFECT!
Hot pads in hand, I retrieve the dish. But it's too hot, and my hands are burning through the fabric. Hastily, I set the pan on the stove - right on top of the quarter sheet. Which is still full of water - but the water is now room temperature.
BAM. Shattered dish. All over. And a perfect batch of scuppernong fruit bars, rendered inedible by shards of glass.
I feel like there's some sort of symbolism, here, like the situation calls for some sort of philosophical musing about the nature of life. I'm reminded of the cherry blossoms in Japan, and the impermanence of all things.
But all I can muster is sadness, followed by resignation to the facts. Somehow, though, this makes me think I'm a pretty well-adjusted individual.