You've Never Tasted Peanut Brittle This Good

Dad was a multi-talented individual who became best known for his many years as a pastor.  But that didn’t start until he was forty-six years old.  Before that he had been a farm boy, a factory worker, owned a gas delivery business with a brother-in-law, and finally worked for quite a few years at the Lima Lumber Company—working his way up from deliveryman, to sales and management.  After he was called to be a pastor in Wayne County, Ohio, he needed to keep on working because the church was small and could not provide full support.  So Dad briefly tried his hand at being a building contractor, before moving again to sales in a local lumber company, and then establishing a building supply business for the Walter Jones Construction Company of Wooster.  He was a success at this, but after a few years he was called into a full-time, full-paid pastorate at the large Hartville Mennonite Church.

Probably due to his growing up on a large farm, Dad was good at many things, including carpentry, fencing, field work, taking care of animals, painting, repairing things, and just in general, making things better than what he found them.  He was a man with a plan, and never were his hands or mind idle.  I’m thankful that he pushed us to work with him and for him, and we learned a lot.

One thing Dad did not do—he did not cook.  Can’t really fault him for this though, because our home was a traditional one, and Mom loved cooking for the family.  There was one small hitch in the family plan however.  Mom and Dad had six boys, and no girls to help in the kitchen.  So we learned that it’s okay for boys to spend time helping out in the kitchen, cooking some basic things, setting the table, doing the dishes, and mopping up our messes.   These are skills that some of us have continued, and our wives appreciate it.   In Dad’s defense though, I  suppose in a pinch he could have fried eggs or cooked hotdogs if he needed to, but he never needed to.

Dad did love spending time in the kitchen though—eating Mom’s good cooking and conversing with the family while we ate.  He taught us how to say a blessing for the food, and we took turns doing that.  And he taught us table manners, like passing the food, no arguing, saying please and thank you when we wanted more of something, and definitely no farting while at the table.  These are important things to learn.

* * * * *

Last Saturday, while transporting Jacob and his family to southern Ohio, I brought some molasses crinkle cookies along to share with them while traveling.  He was a little surprised to learn that I had baked the cookies.  Amish families are very traditional with respect to a division of duties and expectations between the men and women.  It may be that some men would enjoy cooking, but as far as I know, this is left to the women and girls.  There may be exceptions, I don’t know.

In our conversation, as we motored down the road, I mentioned to Jacob that I had seen a couple butchered hogs hanging from tripods in his backyard a few weeks ago.  “Yes,” he said, “we wanted to get them butchered and make sausage before we moved.”

That made me wonder about something else, so I asked him.

“Do you use the hog’s small intestine as casings for the sausage?”

“Yes we do.”

So now I had another question.

“How do you clean out the intestines to get them ready for stuffing with sausage.”

His reply surprised me. “I don’t know.  The women do that.  I think they have to wash them out and scrape them.”

So wouldn’t you like to be an Amish woman?  They do a lot of chicken butchering too.  In fact, we’ve had Jacob’s family butcher some for us in years past, and it’s always the women doing it while the men are working out in the fields.  The women help with the milking too.  Never a moment to relax, it seems.  The sturdy Amish women are skilled at many things, including cooking, raising babies, and doing a lot of work that we might think only men would do.

So what in the world does all this have to do with peanut brittle?  Well, I’ve chosen to get there in a roundabout way.  I didn’t grow up with a Dad who did things in the kitchen, so as a young married man, I supposed that I would not be doing much in the kitchen either.  Those things I had learned from my mom—I thought my wife would be doing them now.  And she’s done a good job over the years, but I’ve learned that I enjoy spending time in the kitchen too.  Cooking can be fun, especially when it comes to the sweet stuff.  Now to the peanut brittle.

I never really cared much for peanut brittle—that is until an older co-worker introduced me to a recipe handed down to him long ago.  He said he enjoyed making it at deer camp each year, and brought a batch to share at our workplace too.  It was amazing!  Crispy and delicious, it melts in your mouth, with nothing sticking to your teeth.  Only 5 ingredients.  Peanuts, sugar, karo syrup, salt, and soda.  The secret though, according to him, is using a cast-iron skillet and a wooden spoon.

He shared the recipe with me, and for the last thirty-five years (until I, too, have become an older man) I’ve been producing quite a few batches each Christmas season.  It’s not difficult.  It takes no “stretching” of the brittle, and less than 15 minutes from start to finish.

List of ingredients for each batch:

1 C white sugar

1 C karo syrup

1-½ C Raw peanuts.  (Raw blanched peanuts.  Available in bulk food stores or on the internet.)

¾ tsp salt

1-½ tsp soda

10” cast iron skillet

Wooden spoon.

Before you start:

1)  Measure out the soda, and keep it on standby.

2) Have a greased cookie sheet or pizza pan nearby on a hot pad.

3)  Make sure an empty kitchen sink is available or you will have scorched brittle in your skillet.

Put all ingredients except soda into the skillet and turn the stove on high (for gas) or med-high (for electric.)

Stir occasionally as the ingredients begin heating up.   Stir continuously after it comes to a good boil.

This batch is about half-way there.  Boiling nicely.  Keep stirring.

The brittle is finished and ready for the soda when you notice these things:

The color is turning amber, the peanuts begin splitting, and you can smell the roasting peanuts. (On my gas stove, it takes exactly twelve minutes.)

Turn off the heat, add the soda, and stir rapidly, but not for long.  The brittle will foam up nicely.  Immediately, before it scorches, dump it onto the cookie sheet and let it spread out and settle down on its own.

Put the skillet in the sink and fill it with hot water.  The heat from the skillet and the hot water will very rapidly melt off the remaining brittle.  Use a scrubber to easily finish cleaning it up, and you are ready for the next batch.

Let the brittle cool down.  Turn the whole “cake” upside down on the cookie sheet, and crack it with the handle of a table knife.

Enjoy.

And that’s all from Kidron, Ohio, on this chilly, breezy evening.  The homely men and lovely women are busy getting ready for Christmas.  The children are staring at the gifts under the tree, and guessing what may be in them.   Have a blessed weekend, and a wonderful Christmas Season with family.  

Jacob's Moving Day

December 12, 2015.  Less than two weeks until Christmas.  Temperatures reached 70 degrees in these parts today.  I’ll take it.  Reminds me of New Year’s Day in 1978 when Leon Shrock was being the kind of friend that he was to many.  Our house had been hit by a car in February of 1977, and it was declared a total loss.  We rebuilt on the same site, and Leon came on New Year’s day, volunteering his time and skill to finish laying up the chimney.  He was just that kind of guy.  Not only do I remember his act of generosity and kindness, (one of many), but the weather was memorable too.  We were working in tee-shirts  on Jan 1.  

The warm temperature was not to last though, just as it may not last for long this winter.  (No one really knows.  We’ll take what we get and roll with it.)  In 1978, twenty-five days after laying up the new chimney, the weather turned ferocious, and shut down northern Ohio.  Thirty years later, the Akron Beacon Journal recounted it like this:

“A monster storm with hurricane-force winds slammed into Northeast Ohio early Jan. 26, 1978, spreading an icy coat of death and destruction.

The Blizzard of 1978, often called the Storm of the Century, killed more than 50 people in Ohio and caused at least $100 million in damage. Local residents will never forget the big storm of 30 years ago.” (Now 37 years ago.)

That’s true.  We won’t forget it.  No one could go anywhere.  All roads were closed for several days.   Anyone caught on the roads was subject to arrest.  Not really sure how the authorities were going to get out there and make the arrests, but the point was, to stay home and try to stay warm.  It was very cold and many folks were out of electricity, ourselves included.  The local radio station became an emergency headquarters of sorts, and people with specific needs could call in and say what they needed.  Some needed food, others needed heaters.  Anyone with snowmobiles were invited to call in and offer assistance.   I just happened to have an old one, and went on an interesting mission to help a family.  It was a rough ride across large waves of frozen snow and ice—a couple miles from home to a little grocery store, and onward to an Amish family who had run out of some food staples.  They were warm though, no problem for the Amish when the electric goes out.

Well okay, we didn’t mean to go off on a tangent.  Back to today.

It is very warm, and we are enjoying it, but winter may still come.  This morning I rose at 3:30 and drove the rented van over to Jacob’s house at 4 A.M.  They wanted to leave early to travel to their new home near Peebles, Ohio, and hopefully get there by 8 A.M.  Traffic was light and the traveling went well.  We pulled into a long driveway about four hours later, and there were already many other Amish friends and neighbors there to help.  It was a hub-bub of activity, and I walked around for a while to stretch my legs before the drive home.

There are already quite a few Swartzentruber Amish families living in that area, but not so many that they are squeezed for affordable farmland like around here.  Land is less expensive in that area, and Jacob’s children will hopefully be able to purchase their own farms when the time comes.  That’s the main reason they moved.  The land in that area is very much like Wayne and Holmes County.  Rolling hills, farm fields, and wooded areas.  Just to the east of them, however, the land becomes very hilly and rugged—almost mountainous.  Guess that’s why the county is named "Highlands."

I will miss this family, but their relatives and closest neighbors will miss them the most.   Jacob’s brother Sam, who bought the farm from him, was over at 4 A.M. this morning to say his goodbyes.   It seemed that a little window was opened for me to observe the affection they have for each other.   Sam shook each of the children’s hands, and with his other hand on their shoulder, very warmly wished them well.  As he spoke each of their names, his voice and touch were so tender.  I’ve never doubted their love for each other, but they do not display it openly.  This was goodbye though, and it was a moment to let the affection out a little bit.  It was special to see it.  Even though Sam is getting the home farm, he is truly sad to see them go.

Well, we’ll keep on walking, and once in awhile we’ll stop in to talk with Sam as he milks his cows where Jacob and his family used to.   It will be different, but Sam has four children at home yet, and I imagine they’ll all line up on little stools between the cows just like Jacob’s family.  Same place, different people, but all of them really nice folks.

And that’s it for today.  From Kidron, Ohio, we wish you well, and hope you are enjoying this season of Advent.  Remember, Wise Men Still Seek Him.   So long.

Jacob and His Family

Jacob has often been mentioned in these writings.  He and his family live on the Zuercher Road home farm where he grew up, son of Christy and Lovina.  Over the course of the last couple years, we've become friends.  I’ve often stopped in to chat during the evening milking when I’m walking past their place.  Their barn and farm have been the subject of many photos, and I’ve taken quite a few liberties to capture farm scenes, and even at times, to get a shot of Jacob and his boys from a distance, or when they were facing away from me.  

A couple weeks ago, some of his neighbor boys to the south were husking corn, throwing the ears into a wagon driven by a small boy who was standing on the front ladder rack of the wagon, gripping the reins and guiding a team of large draft horses.  It was an excellent photo composition, and they were quite a ways off the road, so it seemed safe to point the camera in their direction and zoom in to capture the scene.  Most often when I do things like this, the boys will wave and smile.  I try to make a point of not being close enough for them to be uncomfortable, or for them to be recognizable in the finished photo.

On this day, as I pointed the camera towards them, one boy shouted loudly and emphatically, “Stop it!”  This was a surprise, and I quickly lowered the offending instrument.  This was not a typical experience.  Because of the distance between us, it would usually have been okay.   I hoped they weren’t too upset.  Maybe they were just showing off for each other like boys do.

A few days later, I stopped in to visit with our friends Esther and Virgene who live directly across the road from Jacob.  Virgene told me that Jacob wants to speak with me.  They mused that maybe I was in trouble.  Or that perhaps he was in trouble for accepting photos from me of his farm.  I began worrying that maybe the neighbor boys had complained to him about the englisher pointing a camera at them.  All sorts of thoughts were going through my head, and none of them very pleasant.  It would be necessary to face Jacob and learn what he had in mind.

Two days later, as I drove up Zuercher Road, I saw Jacob unloading hay in his barn.  What better opportunity than this to find out what he wanted.  So I pulled in, walked up to him and commented that mid-November is pretty late to be making hay.  He agreed, and said it is taking quite a while to dry, but it will be okay.  Then I asked him what was on his mind.

“Well,”  he said, and cleared his throat, (and I thought, here it comes),  “You know we’re moving to southern Ohio, and because we have two invalid boys, we can’t take public transportation like we would usually be required to do. (The Swartzentruber sect will not hire a driver for anything but emergencies.  This is one of their rules).

“So,” he went on, “we were trying to think who we might get to drive us there, and the boys suggested Dave.”

What a relief it was to hear these words.  Nothing but good words, and I was honored to be asked.  I said I will need to check my calendar, and also mentioned that it  would be necessary to rent a van.

He spoke again, “Think about it for a few days, and let us know.  We don’t have to know right now.  We just wanted to check with you first.”

“I’d love to drive you to your new home,” I replied.  “Let me make sure it suits, and see if there is a van is available.  I’ll get back with you.”

It all worked out, and that’s the plan.  Mid-December, my friends, the Jacob Hershberger family, will load up in a van, and trust their lives to the Zuercher Road walking man.  I’m going to miss them.  They’ve been genuinely kind and gracious, not only to me, but to other neighbors as well.

The other day I stopped in to see Virgene and Esther again.  They’re going to miss Jacob and his family the most.  The teenage girls often come to help Virgene with house cleaning and assisting her with 105-year-old Esther.  They have a very loving relationship with each other.  In fact, as I sat visiting with Esther, Jacob’s daughter Susan came over and dropped off the mail.  She went directly to the kitchen and began washing the dishes.  As she worked, Virgene commented to her, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without my neighbor girls.”  Susan was quick to reply, “And I don’t know what we’re going to do without you, Virgene.”

This has been a friendship that spans the generations.  Virgene has been retired for quite a few years, and has lived in this neighborhood all her life.  She’s watched forty-five-year-old Jacob grow up as a boy right there on that same farm.  She’s been there as Jacob and Anna raise their many children, who now help her.  Jacob and his children have no memories of when Virgene and Esther were not there.

How sweet it is to have good neighbors, and it doesn’t matter if they are Amish or English, a different race or culture.  Good neighbors are a gift, and it is wonderful to have them.  And here’s the thing.  In most cases, the best and easiest way to have good neighbors is to be a good neighbor.

From Kidron, Ohio, here’s to a wonderful weekend in this Advent season. Blessings from us to you and yours.  So long.

Making Apple Butter - A Family Tradition

When I was a boy we would occasionally make a meal out of apple butter on bread, doused with fresh, rich, Jersey milk.  Not just a little bit of apple butter either.  The bread was placed in a dish, and a big dollop of apple butter was spread on it, followed by the milk.   It was quick and easy, and delicious too. Our apple butter was always store-bought though, and I wasn’t even aware

that some people made their own.

That changed when we moved to Wayne County, and we learned that one of the families in our church, the Atlee Weavers, made their own apple butter in a large copper kettle over a wood fire, and they shared some with us.  For them, it was a tradition passed down from previous generations.

Since that time I’ve learned that—in these parts at least—making apple butter is a long-standing fall tradition for many Amish families, and some Mennonites too.  In fact, it was a great delight to learn that my Neuenschwander family did this every fall, and when I became a part of the family, it was a pleasure to join in with the project.    

On a Friday evening in October, several bushels of apples from the home orchard would be schnitzed in preparation for the apple butter.  Oh, should I explain?  Schnitz is a German word used in this community, but it means peeling, coring, and quartering the apples.  Literally translated, "schnitz" means “carving.”  

Mom and Pop Neuenschwander have those old-fashioned peelers like Lehman Hardware sells, and on schnitz day, the older kids did the peeling, and the adults quartered and cored.  It was fun to work together as a family.  The next morning the fire was started, and cider was boiled down in the kettle.  This would add extra apple flavor to the finished product.  Next the apples were added, and later in the afternoon, sugar was added.  By early evening, after cooking and stirring all afternoon,  the apple butter was ready for canning, and an assembly line formed to get it done.

                        Cooking apple butter in the old copper kettle.

In later years, the process was streamlined somewhat.  A victorio strainer was used to quickly produce applesauce that was then used instead of schnitzed apples.  No more peeling necessary, and the end product was the same.  Those were great family times, with many pleasant memories of tending the fire and taking turns stirring the apple butter with a long handled paddle that had a lot of holes in it.  We haven’t done it for a number of years, and I miss those days, but it is still possible to enjoy the same apple butter by making it right at home in our kitchen.  The flavor is just the same, and the ratio of ingredients is the same--only  using a fraction of the apples, cider, and sugar that are cooked in the large copper kettle.

A few days ago, Juanita and I made applesauce from one-half bushel of Honey Crisp apples.  It made twenty pounds of apple sauce, and while it was still hot, it was poured into a large roaster and placed into our oven that was heated to 300 degrees.  At the same time, I began cooking down two gallons of cider to quickly reduce it to less than one gallon before adding it to the sauce.   Approximately eight hours later, after stirring the sauce once an hour with a silicone spatula, it was time to add six cups of sugar, and begin testing it for completion.  This is easy.  You simply put a spoonful of apple butter in a dish and watch for liquid to run out of it.  If there is still quite a bit of liquid, keep on cooking for another half hour.  Every half hour, test it again.  It is finished and ready for canning when very little juice runs from the spoonful of apple butter in the dish.

I like to use a small kettle to dip the apple butter, and using a canning-funnel, fill the pint jars.  Quickly and firmly a cap and ring are screwed on, and the jar is briefly turned upside down.  The apple butter is so hot that this sterilizes the lids, and according to family legend "helps them to seal.”  (It pays to wear a glove to do this, as the jars are hot.)  Another method to sterilize the lids would be to boil them before using.  But tipping the jars upside down for a little bit is the traditional Neuenschwander way of doing it, and I’m sticking with it.  :)

                            Applesauce going into the oven.

                      Cooking the cider.  The froth should be skimmed off.

                            Testing the apple butter.  Not quite there yet.

                            Finished and ready for dipping into jars.

The apple butter is delicious!  It is thick and rather coarse too, not at all like the finely pureed store-bought product.  Some people like to season it with cinnamon and other spices, but we prefer the straight apple butter with no additional seasoning.  Apple butter is amazingly delicious when hot and fresh, slathered generously on buttered homemade bread.  Kingly food!

Our one-half bushel of apples produced eleven pints of the good stuff.  This will be plenty to get us through until next fall.  One more note.  We generally use Grimes Golden apples, but decided to try Honey Crisp this year.  The flavor turned out a little sharper and potent this time.  Still excellent, but I think we’ll go back to Grimes Golden next year.

From Kidron, Ohio, where the good men who were homely a year ago have managed to improve only slightly; where the beautiful women remain as lovely as ever; and where the children are still energetic and mischievous, and now they’re about a foot taller.  We wish for you a wonderful weekend, and take a few moments each day to enjoy this season of Advent.  Until the next time.