Middle-Class-Man's Caramel Apples
We've developed a new recipe that the kids insisted should be published for the benefit of the online world.
Over the weekend the kids begged to make caramel apples. We're on somewhat of a strict "no frills" budget right now, so I put them off as long as I could until the "But Mo-o-o-o-m, it would be such a perfect fall activity" arguments wore me down. A little unsure, I raided our cupboards to find items we could use. I found:
- apples (always a good start)
- wooden skewers (like long toothpicks)
- sundae caramel sauce leftover from Cora's birthday party
- chocolate shell, from the same
- peanuts still in their shells (because the kids were positive they'd be more fun to eat than the regular kind)
It wasn't great, but it was something. The boys cut the skewers in half so they weren't quite so long. Then we poked them through the tops of apples and set them, skewers up, on a plate.
Next came the fun part. We squeezed the caramel sauce out, drizzling over the tops of the apples so that it ran down the sides. It was a little runnier than normal caramel apple sauce, but who doesn't like a puddle of caramel to spoon off the plate, anyway?
Then we squirted the chocolate shell over the caramel, hoping to provide a hard coating to hold just a little of the runny caramel in place.
The last step was Thomas' stroke of genius. Even though no one in the family really likes crushed peanuts on their caramel apples, the job just didn't seem complete without them. He pulled out a handful of peanuts and dutifully shelled each one. Then, using a slap-chop tool (Micah insists it was the best thing anyone ever invented for a kitchen), he chopped them up perfectly. He said a fancy restaurant couldn't have done them better, and I'm inclined to agree.
Now this step is, of course, optional. You don't have to have peanuts to have caramel apples. But if you are inclined to go the peanut route, Thomas wants me to propose the idea that using shelled peanuts absolutely enhances the experience. The ruggedness, the hands-on nature of shelling one's own peanuts and then chopping them by hand, I'm told, is unbelievably satisfying.
All that remained, after sprinkling the Peanuts of Perfection on a couple of the apples, was to put the whole plateful in the fridge to let the chocolate harden.
We ate them an hour or so later, and everyone agreed they were the perfect fall treat. I dubbed them "Poor Man's Caramel Apples," but it was met with immediate disagreement. "We aren't poor," and "I don't think that's politically correct," and a few other arguments were thrown out. In the end, we decided they should be called "Middle-Class-Man's Caramel Apples."
So if you are in need of a simple--but perfect-- fall treat, this recipe has the approval of three very decisive chefs. Enjoy!
Over the weekend the kids begged to make caramel apples. We're on somewhat of a strict "no frills" budget right now, so I put them off as long as I could until the "But Mo-o-o-o-m, it would be such a perfect fall activity" arguments wore me down. A little unsure, I raided our cupboards to find items we could use. I found:
- apples (always a good start)
- wooden skewers (like long toothpicks)
- sundae caramel sauce leftover from Cora's birthday party
- chocolate shell, from the same
- peanuts still in their shells (because the kids were positive they'd be more fun to eat than the regular kind)
It wasn't great, but it was something. The boys cut the skewers in half so they weren't quite so long. Then we poked them through the tops of apples and set them, skewers up, on a plate.
Next came the fun part. We squeezed the caramel sauce out, drizzling over the tops of the apples so that it ran down the sides. It was a little runnier than normal caramel apple sauce, but who doesn't like a puddle of caramel to spoon off the plate, anyway?
Then we squirted the chocolate shell over the caramel, hoping to provide a hard coating to hold just a little of the runny caramel in place.
The last step was Thomas' stroke of genius. Even though no one in the family really likes crushed peanuts on their caramel apples, the job just didn't seem complete without them. He pulled out a handful of peanuts and dutifully shelled each one. Then, using a slap-chop tool (Micah insists it was the best thing anyone ever invented for a kitchen), he chopped them up perfectly. He said a fancy restaurant couldn't have done them better, and I'm inclined to agree.
Now this step is, of course, optional. You don't have to have peanuts to have caramel apples. But if you are inclined to go the peanut route, Thomas wants me to propose the idea that using shelled peanuts absolutely enhances the experience. The ruggedness, the hands-on nature of shelling one's own peanuts and then chopping them by hand, I'm told, is unbelievably satisfying.
All that remained, after sprinkling the Peanuts of Perfection on a couple of the apples, was to put the whole plateful in the fridge to let the chocolate harden.
We ate them an hour or so later, and everyone agreed they were the perfect fall treat. I dubbed them "Poor Man's Caramel Apples," but it was met with immediate disagreement. "We aren't poor," and "I don't think that's politically correct," and a few other arguments were thrown out. In the end, we decided they should be called "Middle-Class-Man's Caramel Apples."
So if you are in need of a simple--but perfect-- fall treat, this recipe has the approval of three very decisive chefs. Enjoy!
