three little figs

Once upon a time, not so long ago or far away, there was a very special fig.

Figgy [as she liked to be called] was no ordinary fig. She was a fig with aspirations.

Indeed, all figs have aspirations; they all want to be immortal. In the glory of their ripeness, they put on their dusky makeup and most alluring perfume in hopes of attracting hungry birds and beasts to spread their seed.
But our Figgy wanted something different for herself. She wanted to go out in a blaze of glory and to live on as a fond memory.

To this end, Figgy placed ads in dozens of newspapers. She received many replies, but thought none earnest. [She was convinced that they were all just greedy bluejays.] Then she received a call from a chef who seemed genuinely interested. Figgy followed her instincts and agreed to a formal meeting.

The meeting was held at the chef's restaurant. Chef greeted her warmly and seated her at a table in the kitchen, then proceeded to present her with dish after dish of the finest food she had ever tasted. After dinner, Chef joined Figgy for a glass of Port and asked her about herself.

Figgy told Chef that her ancestors had come from a faraway land that was once called Persia, but is now known as Iran. They had lived there for centuries in the most splendid gardens that the world had ever seen.
"Did you know that the word paradise is from an ancient Persian word for walled garden?" asked Figgy.
From there, they migrated west to Egypt, then north to Greece, where figs were held in high esteem by both slaves and royalty.
"My forebears were among the figs that concealed the asp in Cleopatra's basket and flourished in King Alcinous' orchard during Odysseus' visit."
"Fascinating", said Chef and begged her to continue.
"Successive generations continued westward along the Mediterranean: Rome, Provence, Andalucia, and finally the Algarve, where my grandmother settled. When my mother was just a sapling, she was packed in a box and shipped across the Atlantic to New England. That's where she lives now; in a pot on a terrace during the bearing season and winters in a heated greenhouse. She is happy and well cared for."

"And you?" asked Chef, "Tell me why you're here."
"I was born in the greenhouse and moved onto the terrace when I was still very young. The family that cared for us would gather there every night for dinner. From high up on one of my mother's boughs, I would watch them feast on the most sumptuous foods. With every bite, they all agreed that it was the best they had ever tasted and that they would remember it forever. It was then that I realized that I didn't want to be gobbled up by a hungry bird. I want to be savored, to be lingered over, to be remembered! I'm hoping that you can help me with that."

"I will do my best, but tell me… what would you like me to do with you?"
Figgy had thought long and hard about this. It's true; she was a dreamer, but she was also a sensible fig. She understood that in order to make a lasting impression, she needed some enhancement. In her haste to fulfill her destiny, perhaps she had left her mother too soon and was not as sweet and ripe as she could have been.
"I can fix that with a bit of honey." said Chef.

Figgy's mother had taught her many things about her history and her anatomy. She often lamented that figs are mistaken for fruit when they are actually flowers. She had explained that inside herself were hundreds of flowers that looked like long, thin filaments, and that each one held a seed. These seeds, she had said, were what perpetuated their species and held them in regard as an ancient symbol of fertility. But they were often cursed by humans for getting caught in their teeth and interrupting the sensual experience of eating figs.
Chef listened to her concern and suggested that a blender would break down her seeds, if she would allow it.

Figgy was not afraid of the blender or what it would do to her, she was ready to sacrifice herself fully. But she was adamant about retaining her form, of which she was fiercely proud, despite it's phallic shape that has been a source of embarrassment to both men and women throughout the ages. So much so, that the original Arabic word for figs is now considered an obscenity.
"No problem" said Chef "I can mold you so that you will look exactly like yourself, but better."

This pleased Figgy and she was anxious to get started, but Chef was hesitant.
"I think that to make you truly memorable, you will need to share the spotlight with other flavors. If we do it right, they will not rob you of your glory, but make you more delicious. Will you trust me?"
When Figgy seemed amenable, Chef continued, "Great! I'd like to introduce you to some of my friends that I think you will get along with very nicely."

Chef rushed into the kitchen, swept things up off the counter, and laid them out in front of Figgy.

"First, I'd like you to meet Onion Caramel. She may look cloyingly sweet, but she's surprisingly sassy."
"Yes, I like her." said Figgy taking a taste "She's got lots of personality!"

"Next, there's Dark Chocolate. He's smooth, suave, mysterious and seductive, but with a bitter edge to balance your sweetness."
"Oh my, I'd better stand my ground with him or he will sweep me off my feet."

"And, finally" said Chef, lifting the lid off a round, wooden box "there's Epoisses."
Figgy shrieked and stepped back, holding her breath.
"Now don't be afraid. I know Epoisses seems offensive, but I assure you, it's only skin-deep. If you take some time to get to know her, you'll find that she's full of character and actually sweet and mild on the inside."
Figgy watched Chef cut through the rind and expose a pale, creamy heart. She tasted carefully and found Epoisses agreeable and lovely.

"So, when do we get started?" asked Figgy.

The next morning Chef entered the kitchen to find Figgy and her friends engaged in a lively conversation.
When Chef asked Figgy if she was ready, she pulled Chef aside and said in a hushed tone, "I really love my new friends. We couldn't get along any better, but I'm worried. They are all such wonderfully memorable characters, how can I stand out among them?"

Chef understood and said reassuringly, "Figgy, I promise you that when I present your dish tonight that it will only be you that they see. And from then on, when they remember your dish, it will be you that they reference."

Chef and staff worked steadily throughout the day in preparation for the special meal. Every seat for both sittings were full and expectations were high. Course after course of Chef's carefully planned and executed meal was dispatched from the kitchen with only a few minor glitches. Figgy's dish was the final course.
When the last plate left the kitchen, Chef congratulated the staff, cleared the pass, hung her apron, and entered the dining room.

Late that evening, Chef was alone in the kitchen writing menus, taking inventory, and listing orders for the next day's deliveries. Intermittently, she paused to reflect on the evening's accolades. There had been so many kind words from her guests: enthusiastic bloggers snapped photos and offered praise, critics hinted at rave reviews. There was even conjecture of a Michelin star. But the words that pleased her most were: "…the fig dish…", followed by various adjectives, " fantastic!… delicious!… brilliant!… memorable!"

As Chef turned the lock on the restaurant for the night, she felt overwhelming gratification.
For giving her best.
For pleasing her guests.
For making her staff proud.
But most of all, for keeping her promise to Figgy.

left to right:
dark chocolate-covered epoisses
onion caramel
Figgy

onion caramel

To make onion caramel: Line an 8" pan with greased waxed paper or a silicone mat. Place 300g of onion syrup in a 5-qt pot (don't use a smaller pot as the syrup will form large bubbles and expand considerably). Add 200g heavy cream and set the pot over medium-high heat, stirring until mixture begins to boil. Cook to 250F/121C. Immediately pour onto prepared pan and let cool until caramel hardens. Cut into desired sizes and shapes with an oiled knife.

clementine marmalade pudding

When looking at the rind as vessel and component in a sweet preparation, cooking in a syrup became an obvious choice.
Clementine rinds are already sweet and tender; candying renders them kidskin supple.
The addition of marmalade and a steamed cake made with the pulp utilizes every bit of the fruit.
A sticky sweet confection wrapped around orange-scented cake.
Fruit cake turned inside-out.

clementine marmalade pudding

candied rind:
6 clementines

Hollow out each of the clementines by running a teaspoon around the perimeter of the pulp, separating it from the rind. Scoop out a section at a time, being careful not to tear the rind. Reserve the pulp. Place the rinds in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Place pan over medium high heat and bring to a simmer. Simmer for 8-10 minutes. Invert rinds on a rack to drain.

450g water
375g sugar
96g glucose or corn syrup

Place water, sugar, and glucose in saucepan and set over medium high heat. When syrup reaches 46ºC/115ºF, add rinds, submerging them so that their hollows fill with syrup. Cook until syrup reaches 108ºC/227ºF then remove the rinds and invert them on a rack to drain. Reserve syrup.

Marmaladepudding1

marmalade:
1 clementine
1/2 of the reserved syrup from above (reserve the other 1/2 for glazing)

Peel the clementine and slice into thin strips. Roughly chop the pulp, discard any seeds. Add the rind and pulp to the reserved syrup. Cook over medium high heat until it comes to 104ºC/220ºF, stirring often. Remove from heat and cool.

steamed pudding:
reserved pulp from hollowed clementines
50g muscovado sugar, or brown sugar
50g unsalted butter, softened
1 egg
80g flour
3g baking powder
1g baking soda
pinch salt

Place pulp in bowl of food processor and process until pureed. Scrape out puree and measure 80g for pudding. Reserve remaining puree for sauce.
Place sugar and butter in bowl of food processor and pulse until well combined. Add egg and pulse until incorporated. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a small bowl. Add to food processor along with the 80g puree and process until well blended and creamy.
Place a teaspoon of marmalade in the bottom of each of the clementine rinds. Fill with batter to just below top of rinds. Place on steamer insert or basket, leaving 1-2" between each clementine. Steam, covered, over boiling water for 5-7 minutes or until surface springs back when pressed. Remove and allow to cool slightly. While still warm, brush the top and sides with the remaining reserved syrup. Serve warm or at room temperature with clementine sauce.

clementine sauce:
230g reserved puree
85g sugar

Place puree and sugar in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Cook for 2 minutes and strain sauce through a fine mesh sieve. Serve warm or at room temperature.

nesselrode pie

One of my clients, an elegant elderly woman, has an insatiable sweet tooth. Seriously— how she has survived as long without developing diabetes should make her a medical curiosity. Because her disposition is as sweet as her tooth, I made her something special for the holidays: marrons glacés. I knew she would like them because of her fondness for all things sweet and French.

Making marrons glacés is a labor of love. It's a four day process that requires an investment of time and careful attention— though not the kind that one would lavish on creating one of the Great Gateaux. The bulk of the labor is in peeling the pellicle from the chestnuts— a tedious task that I have yet to find a shortcut for. I did experiment with microwaving them in 10-second intervals, with mixed results. While some of the nuts peeled easily and cleanly, one out of five turned out hard and dry. But once they're peeled, the rest of the process requires little time and effort. Twice a day, a sugar and glucose syrup is brought to an increasingly higher temperature and viscosity, then poured over the chestnuts for a twelve hour soak. The process is repeated six times, followed by a drying period. Impregnated with sugar, the chestnuts become a denser, silkier version of themselves.

As I'd hoped, Ms. Sweet Tooth loved them. She ate her way through the box while recounting stories of childhood holidays in Paris, where her mother treated her to the candied chestnuts. Curiously, she stopped in mid-sentence, her attention clearly swept away by another memory, turned to me with wide eyes and whispered "Can you make Nesselrode pie?"

Not knowing what else to say, I told her the truth: I had no idea what Nesselrode pie was.

Apparently, I wasn't alone— the internet is full of people who were as much in the dark as I was. And some of those who knew what it was confessed that they had never laid eyes on one. And yet others waxed about it in mythical proportions. Was Nesselrode pie the unicorn of desserts?

Further searching led to several articles in the New York Times. One, from 1988, stated the following: "While for years it was a popular American Christmas dessert, Nesselrode pie left our collective culinary consciousness about 30 years ago and has hardly been heard from since." Another, on thefoodmaven.com, Arthur Schwartz claims "It's extinct now— no restaurant serves it, no bakery makes it— but this old New York dessert still lives vividly in the taste memories of many."

So, Nesselrode pie isn't a unicorn after all. It's more of a Javan tiger. But what exactly is it?

In the 1988 edition of "Larousse Gastronomique", Nesselrode is described as "The name given to various cooked dishes and pastries, all containing chestnut purée, dedicated to Count Nesselrode, the 19th century Russian diplomat who negotiated the Treaty of Paris after the Crimean War." It goes on to describe a salted chestnut purée, served with sauteed sweetbreads or roebuck steaks or used to fill profiteroles that are served with game consomme. Larousse makes no mention of Nesselrode pie, but says of its predecessor Nesselrode pudding "It consists of custard cream mixed with chestnut puree, crystallized fruit, currants, sultanas, and whipped cream." This edition of Larousse doesn't mention that original versions of the recipe include maraschino liqueur and were served frozen.

By most accounts, Nesselrode pudding was created by Count Nesselrode's chef, Monsieur Mouy, although that claim was contradicted by Eliza Acton and Mrs. Beeton, who both give credit to the French chef Antonin Careme in the recipes that are published in their books. In fact, Careme himself accused Mouy of copying his chestnut pudding and was outraged that he named it after a [non-French] foreigner. The feud was put to rest when E. S. Dallas published Mouy's recipe in "Kettner's Book of the Table" in 1877, pronouncing it "the most perfect of iced puddings."

In the late nineteenth century and early twentieth, Nesselrode pudding was a fashionable holiday dessert in Europe and then in New York. As was popular at the time, iced puddings, or coupes, were molded into fanciful shapes by skilled pastry chefs. The pudding did not freeze hard because of the liqueuer, challenging Victorian pastry chefs to devise ways to prevent them from melting on the table. In "The Royal Pastry and Confectionery Book" (London:1874), Jules Gouffé illustrated a meringue cloche modeled after a thatched beehive that he designed to slip over an iced pudding to act as an insulator.

Because of the skill needed to make and serve an iced dessert, Nesselrode pudding was exclusively available in restaurants and hotels that catered to the upper classes or in private homes that employed a capable staff. It was just a matter of time before a creative and enterprising baker adapted the challenging iced version into a more approachable pie.

Enter Mrs. Hortense Spier, credited with serving the original pie at her restaurant on the Upper West Side of New York City. The restaurant closed before World War II, but Mrs. Spier continued to make the pie for many of the city's leading restaurants including Lindy's and Longchamps. According to Bernard Gwertzman in a NYT article, "My memory [of Mrs' Spier's pie] is of a lot of whipped cream, chocolate shavings on top, candied fruits in the custard of the pie, and a rum flavor throughout. The original Nesselrode had chestnut puree; later recipes omit this ingredient." Sounds delicious, doesn't it? So, what happened?

Like all things popular and trendy, Nesselrode pie ran it's course. As the neighborhoods surrounding the restaurants where the pies were served changed, so too did the tastes of the residents. Unceremoniously, Nesselrode pie faded from our tables and now lives in the realm of forgotten dessserts alongside Baked Alaska and Charlotte Russe. I'm told that they're holding a place for Molten Chocolate Cake.

So now that I know more than I ever thought
I'd care to know about Nesselrode pie, I could answer Ms. Sweet Tooth's question; "Yes, I can make Nesselrode pie". And I did.

But I did one better. I made my version of Nesselrode— with marrons glacés, and candied buddha's hand citron, and real maraschino cherries (sour cherries macerated in simple syrup, cherry juice, maraschino liqueur, and some toasted cherry kernels tossed in for a boost of benzaldehyde).

For Ms. Sweet Tooth, I made a traditional pie, based on the the description of Mrs. Spier's, with a creme bavaroise base in a pastry crust, studded with the candied chestnuts and citron and the maraschinos, crowned with whipped cream and a dusting of chocolate shavings. She was very grateful.

For myself— well, I just played around with the components in a modern design.

And— I made Monsieur Mouy''s recipe for Nesselrode pudding* (it's actually just a very decadent ice cream), mainly because I wanted to taste its origin, but also because It provided me with an excuse to dig out my vintage jello molds. Abandoned and forsaken— the Nesselrode, just like the molds— were begging to be unearthed. Dusted off and polished up, they look shiny again.

*Monsieur Mouy's (Mony) original recipe can be viewed in Kettner's Book of the Table. Scroll to page 312 for Nesselrode Pudding. (note: 1 gill= 142g/5oz)
Caremes recipe (from Mrs. Beeton) can be found here. Scroll halfway down the page for Nesselrode Pudding.

Download recipe: candied buddha's hand citron

Download recipe: marrons glaces

Download recipe: real maraschino cherries

Download recipe: nesselrode pie

confitures

candied buddha's hand citron

marrons glacés

real maraschino cherries

If you're a bit long in the tooth— or just have a sweet one— you might already know what these are destined for.

winter branches

I've revisited Albert Adria's technique of modeling chocolate in ice water. I think it's simply brilliant in it's ability to produce delicate and organic 3D shapes without molds.

For these miniature twigs, the white chocolate was flavored with birch syrup. Preserved wintergreen berries and tiny shards of pine glass were affixed to the branches.

I love the idea of presenting a bouquet of these branches as a mignardise. Their refreshing flavor would be a fitting end to a special meal.

Wintergreen (Gaultheria), also known as teaberry, is an evergreen creeper native to norteastern North America. The leaves and red berries are a rich source of methyl salicylate, or oil of wintergreen. The flavor is popular in chewing gum, particularly Clarke's Teaberry gum.

The fresh berries are somewhat dry and mealy in texture and shrivel quickly. Preserving them in a glycerin and water solution keeps them plump and improves their texture. After 2 weeks in a solution stored in the refrigerator, the berries still look and taste fresh. An added perk is that they infuse the solution with wintergreen flavor, which could then be used as a flavorant.

Warning: Methyl salicylate is an analgesic found in aspirin and many over-the-counter liniments and ointments. Pure methyl salicylate can be lethal in doses of 4-6 grams. Oil of wintergreen is 98-99% methyl salicylate and gaultheria leaves and berries contain up to 0.05%. A lethal dose of berries is about 800-1000 grams. Although gaultheria has a long tradition among indigenous Canadians and North Americans as food and beverage, use common sense when ingesting. Young children and pregnant women should avoid eating gaultheria.

ginger bread bourbon cocktails

"She who wakes to play with cocktails goes to bed with hangover"

– Ancient Chinese proverb

Red Hot

Is it just me or do red hots and fireballs taste more like ginger than cinnamon?

Rub rim of shot glass with a cut piece of ginger root. Dip in pulverized red hot candies. Gently warm ginger bread bourbon. Pour into shot glass. Ignite. Don't do anything silly like try to drink it while its on fire.

Spice Island

This is the kind of cocktail that I could drink all day (if I were inclined to drink all day)…light, bright and well balanced.

Place 180ml (6 oz) ginger beer, 60ml (2 oz) ginger bread bourbon, 30ml (1 oz) kaffir lime juice, and 15ml (1/2 oz) agave nectar in a cocktail shaker. Fill with ice. Shake and strain into a chilled highball glass.

For spice-ice stirrer: Plug one end of a wide straw with softened beeswax. Pack with alternating layers of whole cloves, shards of cinnamon stick, diced fresh ginger root and pieces of kaffir lime leaf. Slowly fill with water, tapping lightly to eliminate air bubbles. Plug top of straw with more beeswax. Freeze until solid. Remove plugs and unmold by quickly dipping in warm water. Use immediately.

Bourbon Ball

In the Alinea book, the liquid-filled spheres are made by dipping molded frozen apple juice in horseradish-infused cocoa butter to form a shell. Here, because alcohol does not freeze solid, the shell is made first in silicone molds with an opening and then filled.

For the spice shells: Place molds in freezer. Melt cocoa butter with ground ginger, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. Fill the chilled molds to the top and let the cocoa butter set up for a few minutes. Invert the molds, letting the excess cocoa butter run out. Place in freezer until frozen solid.

To fill the shells. Blend together 4 parts ginger bread bourbon, 2 parts creme de cacao and 1 part frangelico. Fill the shells, then seal the opening with cocoa butter.

For the nutella powder: blend together 2 parts tapioca maltodextrin with 1 part nutella until it is absorbed.

smoked eggnog

Infusing with Lapsang Souchong tea is a quick and effective way to impart smoky flavor. That little trick is courtesy of Dave Arnold and Nils Noren.

Place 228g (8oz) whole milk in a saucepan and bring to a simmer. Stir in 28.5g (1 oz) Lapsang Souchong. Cover and let infuse for 10 minutes. Strain and chill. In a bowl, whisk together the chilled milk, 285g (10 oz) heavy cream, 114g (4 oz) ginger bread bourbon, 85g (3 oz) sugar and 3 eggs. Strain into a whipped cream charger, filling halfway. Charge with 1 N2O cartridge. Chill for an hour. Shake well and discharge into cup.

For ginger bread croquant: Grind 60g of ginger bread in a spice grinder into a powder. Spread out on a baking sheet and bake in a 300F oven until toasted and dry. Heat 40g isomalt until fluid and bubbly. Pour out on a silpat. Let harden, then break into pieces and grind in a spice grinder into a powder. Combine with the cooled ginger bread powder. Spread out on a silpat into desired shape and bake in 300F oven for 8-10 minutes or until fused.

sea bean cardamom oyster

Seeing that so many of you are familiar with sea beans, I'll keep the description brief.

The genus Salicornia is a salt-tolerant herb that grows along beaches in the US (where they are known as sea beans), Europe (known as samphire), South Africa and South Asia. Other common names include glasswort and pickleweed.

I was introduced to sea beans while baking at a restaurant, where they made a brief appearance on the savory side. Their succulent salinity (and a dare) challenged me to find a sweet application. Using the flavor of salted caramel as inspiration, I coated them with burnt caramelized sugar. The results were addictive. The sweet crust cracked, giving way to a snappy crunch, followed by a hit of refreshing salinity.

My introduction to cardamom preceded sea beans by at least a decade and was far more dramatic. Opening a jar and inhaling deeply, I was met by a hot breeze that had traveled across hundreds of miles of ocean and sand. Another whiff confirmed the scent of saltwater drying on hot skin, seaweed and sand baking under an unrelenting sun, ground-up sea shells. Clean, bracing, and unambiguously masculine, I fancied it a cologne created by a deep-sea alchemist for Poseidon himself. I still refer to cardamom as beach-in-a-bottle.

A Virtual Day at the Beach

Contents:

Sea bean: nam pla sugar crust.
Salt water taffy meets umami-o-the-sea.

Cardamom sable sand: Toasted rice flour, butter, poncillo, cardamom, lime, sea salt.
A game of beach volleyball; sweet vs. salty.

Pearl: A burst of briny oyster liquor kissed by passion fruit.
Hot sex on a tropical beach.

Directions:

Smell. Taste. Chew. Swallow. Savor. Enjoy. Listen to the squalling seagulls and lapping waves.

(seashell and iPod not included)

aerated chocolate

Heston Blumenthal has been described as a mad food scientist. If this is true, then his madness is borne of an exquisitely focused curiosity of food.
In his books "In Search of Perfection" and "Further Adventures in Search of Perfection", Blumenthal turns this curiosity to classic dishes that evoke fond memories and nostalgia. They are last meal dishes. He dissects them and goes to extraordinary lengths to execute each component according to his standards of perfection, which are high indeed.
There is much to be learned from these books; simple and practical lessons on how to properly roast a chicken, knead bread, fry potatoes. He almost had me convinced that he is not mad. Then he goes and vacuums chocolate with a Dyson.

special equipment:
whipped cream dispenser
3 N2O charges for dispenser
a vacuum sealer such as foodsaver with its large canister*
a plastic container that will fit inside the large canister

set up:
fill a small saucepan with 2" of water and bring to a simmer
place whipped cream dispenser in a bowl of warm water
place plastic container in large canister and surround with ice
attach hose from vacuum sealer to lid of large canister

step 1 (melt chocolate)

place 18 oz (500g) of good quality chocolate that has been chopped into small chunks into a metal or glass bowl. Add 1/3 cup (65g) peanut oil. Set bowl over simmering water in saucepan. Stir occasionally until completely melted and smooth.

step 2 (foaming)
pour the melted chocolate into the warmed whipped cream dispenser. Screw on the top and charge with 3 N2O charges. Shake vigorously and discharge into the bottom of the plastic container, stopping when the chocolate foam is halfway up the container. Immediately place dish on ice in large canister.

step 3 (aerating)

place lid securely on canister. Begin vacuum. When the chocolate has doubled in bulk, stop the vacuum. Remove the hose attachment and carefully transfer the canister to the refrigerator to chill.

step 4 (chilling)

let canister chill in refrigerator for at least 1 hour. Remove and release pressure from canister. Remove plastic container from inside canister and unmold aerated chocolate by running a thin knife along the sides. If the chocolate does not release, wrap a towel that has been soaked in hot water around the outside of container.

* in ISoP, Blumenthal uses a plastic storage container to hold the foamed chocolate,then places it into a plastic baggie and inserts the nozzle of a Dyson vacuum into the opening.

honeycomb candy

Science was my weakest subject in school. Although I had not yet decided on an occupation, I knew that it would be in a creative field, to which science would be irrelevent. As it stands, I was wrong. Science and creativity are two sides of the coin that is cooking. Modern cooks understand this.
Despite my lack of interest in hypothesis and theories, the experiments captured my attention. One in particular was the effect of carbon dioxide when combining baking soda (sodium bicarbonate) with an acid. The voluminous foam that billowed out of the beaker and all over the lab table delighted and fascinated me.
I find myself now, many years later, reliving that experience. This time, the results are edible and delicious.

honeycomb
candy
3/4 cup sugar
2 Tbspns water
2 Tbspns honey
1 1/2 tsps
baking
soda

Because the final steps must be executed rapidly, before you start cooking the sugar have ready: a baking sheet that has been well greased or lined with a silpat, a whisk and the premeasured baking soda.
Spread the sugar out in an even layer in the bottom of a large saucepan. Drizzle the water and honey over the sugar and place on a burner over high heat. Cook, without stirring, until it reaches 300F. You will observe the sugar melting, then the syrup forming small, tight bubbles, then the bubbles will become larger and looser and finally, the syrup will begin to take on an amber color. When it reaches 300F., immediately remove it from the heat. Quickly add the baking soda and whisk just until the baking soda is mixed in. In one quick motion, dump the foaming syrup onto the prepared baking sheet. Do not spread or disturb, as this will cause it to deflate. Let it stand until cool to the touch, about 10 minutes. Break or cut into pieces. Transfer immediately to an airtight container to preserve the crispness.