It was just the kind of day perfect for baking, making concoctions to take to family for the holidays. Nothing left to shop for, no errands to run—only home and a counter laden with supplies. Boxes of rice crispy treats, containers of cocoa, bags of dates and nuts, all of these things beckoned me, and I gladly complied. I swung open the back door to sunshine and balmy December breezes—ahhh, the South—and cranked Michael Buble on the stereo.
All should have been right with the world. No financial concerns, great friends, loving family, time off from work. Freedom and peace. Finally. So hard won. And yet, a sadness consumed me because I was alone, and it was Christmas Eve. Ink on divorce papers had barely dried when I moved into my house three weeks before, and I thanked my lucky stars for my blessings. Really, I thanked my Creator, for saving me from so very much, for providing a safe and wonderful place to call home, a place where new memories would be made. And yet, tears flowed onto my apron while I thought of my precious 11-year-old girl who was across town with her dad.
I needed comfort, so on a whim, I shoved my supplies aside and pulled out the Kitchen Aid and my binder of recipes. Times like this called for drastic measures, or in this case, drastic (and daring) recipes. Flipping until I found it, I sighed in relief when I pulled out the stained index card with one simple word scrawled at the top: “Divinity.” Memories flooded my mind: my country grandmother, known as Maw-maw, making this white, persnickety concoction every Christmas (and sometimes Thanksgiving, too, if we were lucky); my mom perfecting it in certain years, and in others creating disastrous white goo that we had to eat with spoons; various aunts who had varying success with it as well. I decided, right then and there, that I needed to join their ranks on Christmas Eve 2011.
As the Kitchen Aid did its glorious work of spinning egg whites into frothiness, then stiff-peaked merengue, I went about the business of carefully cooking the sugar. The required precision for this candy puts off most people, but it didn’t deter me that afternoon. I tested the hardness of the syrup, I consulted my confectioner’s thermometer to the exact degree, and I poured the syrup into the merengue carefully, just as the recipe stated. The Kitchen Aid whirred and stirred and then finished its work. Tears long gone, I happily looked at the bowl of divinity, and then I began the work of dropping it by the spoonful onto waxed paper lining my counters. Only…..it didn’t stick together into delicious little balls like it was supposed to. It oozed onto the paper and created tell-tale puddles of the divine turned disastrous. I had seen this before, in my mom’s kitchen. In a panic, sticky fingers grabbed the phone and soon Mom was on the line.
“How do I save it?” I panted. “Hurry! I know my time is very limited!”
“Quick, put it back under the mixer and beat it more until it thickens. You didn’t cook the syrup long enough, but this will help. It won’t be as good, but at least you’ll be able to form it into balls.” Mom gladly shared her expertise, and we laughed together across the miles.
So, I did what she recommended and ended up with slightly chalky, grayish-looking divinity, not the smooth, delectable white candy that it can be. But, it was edible. And best of all, the loneliness was gone, banished by one holiday tradition of the wonderfully strong women in my family.
**You can find my recipe for divinity (if you dare try it) in the recipe section of this blog. Good luck!