By December. The nursery is happening. Tom painted it on a Saturday — warm yellow, Megan's choice, the color of sunshine and optimism and the belief that everything is going to be okay. He painted with the precision of an electrician and the pride of a soon-to-be grandfather and he didn't say much but he hummed. Tom hummed. I have never heard Tom hum. The humming gene skipped a generation and went from Babcia to me, and now, apparently, it has circled back to Tom. The Kowalski humming is contagious.
Linda brought the crib — a white wooden crib she'd been keeping in the Cape Cod attic since I was a baby. My crib. The crib I slept in thirty years ago. It's been cleaned and polished and fitted with new hardware by Tom, and it sits in the nursery against the yellow wall and it looks like the past and the future merged into one piece of furniture.
Megan stood in the doorway of the nursery and looked at the crib and the yellow walls and the window and she said, "He's going to sleep here." She put her hand on her belly. The baby kicked. She said, "He likes it." He likes it. Our son, who doesn't have a name yet (as far as anyone knows), likes his nursery. He likes the yellow walls and the old crib and the window and the house that his father bought and his grandfather wired and his great-grandmother inspired.
Made gingerbread cookies. The annual tradition. Megan iced them with her teacher precision, her belly pressed against the counter. She's enormous now — eight months — and she decorates cookies standing sideways because front-facing no longer works. I love every inch of this moment.
Gingerbread cookies are the tradition, but brittle is what I make when I need to keep my hands busy and my heart full—and standing in that yellow nursery, watching Megan decorate cookies sideways at the counter, I needed something extra to give to the people who built this moment with us. Cinnamon Almond Brittle travels well in a tin, it keeps for days, and when you wrap it up and hand it to Tom or Linda, it says thank you in the language of a warm kitchen and a house full of humming. This is the brittle I made that December, the one that went in little bags on the nursery windowsill while the paint was still new.
Cinnamon Almond Brittle
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 16
Ingredients
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1/2 cup light corn syrup
- 1/4 cup water
- 1 1/2 cups whole raw almonds
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Instructions
- Prepare your surface. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with a silicone mat or lightly greased parchment paper. Set it near the stove so it’s ready the moment you need it.
- Cook the sugar syrup. In a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the sugar, corn syrup, and water over medium-high heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves, then stop stirring and cook, swirling the pan occasionally, until the mixture reaches 300°F (hard crack stage) on a candy thermometer, about 12–15 minutes.
- Add the almonds and butter. Carefully stir in the almonds, butter, cinnamon, and salt. Continue cooking, stirring constantly, for 3–4 minutes until the almonds are lightly toasted and the mixture turns a deep amber.
- Finish with vanilla and baking soda. Remove the pan from heat. Quickly stir in the vanilla extract and baking soda—the mixture will foam and bubble. Stir vigorously until just combined.
- Spread and cool. Immediately pour the brittle onto the prepared baking sheet. Using a greased spatula or the back of a greased spoon, quickly spread it as thin as possible. Let cool completely at room temperature, about 20 minutes.
- Break and serve. Once fully hardened, break the brittle into irregular pieces. Store in an airtight container at room temperature, between layers of parchment, for up to 2 weeks.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 165 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 95mg