Sticky sweet.

Glossy, warm, pull-apart, sticky cinnamon buns are just dreamy. I often long to have an Oompa Loompa at my disposal: I would make it bake sticky buns for breakfast, hot out of the oven and bring them to me on a silver platter, accompanied by a cold glass of milk with a single ice cube. Lacking an extra-small orange butler, however, there is nothing but for me to bake my own sticky buns and personally plop an ice cube into my glass of milk.

We all do it: we wander around the airport waiting for our flight to begin boarding, killing time by stepping in and out of newsstands, perusing the latest paperback crime thrillers, leafing through fashion glossies, wondering whether we should buy one of those vibrating neck pillows.

Our flight gets delayed. We call friends, check Facebook, tweet nasty messages about the airline, decide the vibrating neck pillow was a stupid impulse buy and may lead to permanent brain damage, throw the lame crime thriller to the side (of course it was the creepy sister!). There’s nothing to do but take another lap. And that’s when it happens. The scent of cinnamon hooks your nostrils and pulls you to the cinnamon bun stand. You buy a bun as big as your head and for just a little while you forget how lousy and uncivilized travel has become.

Glossy, warm, pull-apart, sticky cinnamon buns are impossible to resist, whether trapped at the airport or out-and-about. And not that your everyday bun needs much improving on, but when I discovered the Venezuelan version I had to wonder if I’d been missing something all these years. Golfeados are sugar-and-cinnamon-laden, but have the unexpected addition of fragrant anis seeds and salty, shredded white cheese. Partway through baking, the golfeados are glazed with melado, a panela (in this recipe substituted with dark brown sugar) based simple syrup. Once out of the oven, another coat of sticky melado is painted on. The result: buns that are candied on the outside and soft, buttery, cheesy, and spiced inside their coils. Sprinkled with more cheese and served with robust coffee, these are divinos.

GOLFEADOS

Notes: If you are unable to find Latin American cheeses, substitute it with haloumi, a Cypriot cheese made with goat’s and/or sheep’s milk available at certain supermarkets and specialty stores.
Servings: makes 12
Equipment: electric mixer with dough hook attachment, rolling pin, parchment paper, large baking sheet, cooling rack, medium saucepan, pastry brush, plastic wrap

For the Dough
¾ cup warm milk (110° to 115°F)
2 (1/4-once packages) active dry yeast
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons packed dark brown sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional for dusting counter and rolling pin
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, at room temperature, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
1 tablespoon anis seeds
Vegetable oil for greasing bowl

For the Filling
8 ounces Latin American firm white cheese, finely grated (See Notes)
½ cup packed dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon anis seeds
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

For the Melado (Glaze)
1 ½ cups packed dark brown sugar
1 cup water

For the dough: Combine ¼ cup milk, yeast, and ¼ teaspoon sugar in small bowl. Let stand until mixture foams, 5 to 10 minutes.

Combine remaining sugar, dark brown sugar, flour, and salt in large bowl. Add remaining milk, eggs, honey, vanilla, and yeast mixture and mix on low speed with hook attachment until ingredients are combined, about 2 minutes.

Add butter and anis and mix on medium speed until a smooth, shiny dough forms, 6 to 8 minutes.

Lightly oil a large bowl. Place dough in bowl, cover with clean, damp kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

For the filling: Meanwhile, combine all but 2 tablespoons cheese, dark brown sugar, cinnamon, and anis in medium bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until needed.

Lightly dust a clean, dry work surface with flour. Coat hands lightly with flour (dough will be sticky) and transfer to work surface. Lightly rub rolling pin with flour. Roll the dough out to into a 16- by 14-inch rectangle.

Brush the dough with butter, leaving a ½-inch border on all sides. Sprinkle the buttered area with cheese mixture.

Beginning with the long side, roll the dough to form a 16-inch-long log. As you roll, brush off excess flour with a clean, dry pastry brush.

Cut the log crosswise into 12 rolls. Arrange rolls on a parchment lined baking sheet, cut-side up. Press down to gently flatten (the rolls will cinch as you cut them).

Cover with oiled plastic wrap and allow to rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Bake 20 minutes until golden.

Make the melado: While the golfeados are baking, combine brown sugar and water in medium saucepan. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar is completely dissolved. Reduce heat to medium and cook syrup until thickened, syrupy, and reduced to 1 ½ cups, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove from heat.

After golfeados have been baking for 20 minutes, brush them with half of the melado and return to oven for 10 minutes.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and brush golfeados with remaining melado. Cool about 10 minutes and sprinkle with remaining cheese. Serve warm.

¡Felices pascuas!

Pío V—allegedly named for 16th century Pope Pius V, though there are written records or even verbal conjectures to explain the odd handle—is a Nicarguan dessert typically served around Christmastime.

The name is quaint and speaks to the Nicaraguan history of Catholicism, but what I love most is that within the name are hidden another three, given that Pío V is made up of marquesote, sopa borracha, and manjar.

My father is a enamored of the Spanish language, and always urged me to read more in our mother tongue, saying that it is much more sabroso (luscious, tasty, savory). He’s entirely correct; be it poetry or song, idle prattle or malicious gossip, Spanish words are not only heard, they caress and prick the skin, melt or sour in the mouth.

Marquesote, cake in plain English, sounds of royal lineage and history, while sopa borracha, a rum-laced simple syrup the cake steeps in, induces a smirk and a laugh, given its literal translation: drunken soup. Manjar, the custard layer that tops the cake, could be just that, however the word also means delicacy and alludes to what the gods are said to have eaten.

Admittedly, when I was younger, Pío V was not on my list of favorite desserts. The soaked cake usually had an overpowering wallop of rum and if served less than chilled, the custard had a really unpleasant way of slithering and glopping down your throat. This version is a touch more tame, but is still quite cheery and festive.

An interesting note on the cake: it is traditionally made with a blend of flour and pinol, toasted white cornmeal used in a multitude of applications, such as coating whole fish prior to deep-frying. In this recipe, I toast fine white cornmeal to mimic the flavor and add a touch of unsweetened cocoa powder to deepen the flavor.

PIO V

Equipment: medium skillet, whisk,  sifter/strainer, mixing bowls, electric mixer, rubber spatula, 13- by 9-inch baking dish, cooling rack, large, heavy-bottomed saucepan, plastic wrap

For the Marquesote Cake
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
1 cup fine white cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
4 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 large eggs, separated and at room temperature
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup milk
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

For the Sopa Borracha
6 cups water
3 ½ cups sugar
4 cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon whole cloves
Peel of 1 lemon
3/4 cup gold rum
1/2 cup raisins
12 prunes

For the Manjar
4 cups milk
2 cinnamon sticks
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
4 large egg yolks
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter, cut into 4 pieces and chilled
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

For the Cake: Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 13- by 9-inch baking dish with butter.

In medium skillet over medium-low heat, cook cornmeal, stirring frequently, until light golden and fragrant, about 5 minutes.

Whisk together cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and cocoa powder in medium bowl; set aside.

In large bowl, beat egg whites and salt with whisk attachment on medium-low speed until whites begin to froth, about 1 minute. Increase speed to medium-high and beat whites until soft peaks form, 1 to 2 minutes. Slowly add sugar, then continue beating until stiff, glossy peaks form, 2 to 3 minutes.

Add egg yolks to egg whites and beat just until combined. Decrease speed to low and add flour mixture in three additions, alternating with milk, scraping sides and bottom of bowl as necessary. Add vanilla and beat just until combined.

Scrape batter into prepared baking dish. Bake until tester inserted in center of cake comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes. Transfer cake to cooling rack and cool in pan completely, 1 to 2 hours.

For the Sopa Borracha: Bring water, sugar, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and lemon peel to boil in large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and simmer until reduced to 4 ½ cups, about 30 minutes. Strain and discard solids.

Stir in rum, raisins, and prunes and cool to room temperature, about 30 minutes. Once cooled, strain once again, reserving prunes and raisins.

For the Custard: Bring milk and cinnamon sticks to boil over medium heat in small saucepan or in (glass) liquid measuring cup in microwave. Remove and reserve cinnamon sticks.

In a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan whisk together sugar, cornstarch, egg yolks, and salt. While vigorously whisking, add ¼ cup of hot milk, then, add remaining milk in a slow steady stream, all the while whisking.

Add reserved cinnamon sticks and bring the mixture to boil over medium heat, whisking constantly. Once mixture thickens to the consistency of yogurt, continue to boil for 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in butter and vanilla.

Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the custard’s surface and refrigerate until cold, 2 to 3 hours. Otherwise, place the custard bowl over in an ice bath and stir until completely cooled, 10 to 15 minutes.

To Assemble: Poke cake all over with skewer or fork. Pour sopa borracha over cake. Once absorbed, pour custard over cake, smoothing out surface with rubber spatula. Top with raisins and prunes.

Chill cake at least 1 hour prior to serving.

On average, two to four baked goods are produced in my kitchen on a weekly basis. During the Christmas season, that number rises exponentially. Today for instance, had you dropped by for a visit, I could have offered you fruitcake, homemade s’mores with a marshmallow cap torched á la minute, chocolate cake roll with salted caramel buttercream filling, chocolate meringue batons, and pink peppermint meringue kisses to go along with your coffee or tea.

I’ve even ventured into cookie baking territory as evidenced by this weeks “Dreamy Crack Bars” post. Here is the other type of cookie I like to bake during this holly jolly time of year: nubby, crumbly, buttery, sugar-dusted Mexican wedding cakes, festooned and prettied up with Grinch-green pistachios, sunny orange zest, and exotic, floral cardamom.

I took them to the annual Serious Eats cookie swap just last week and will be making a few more batches for people on my “Nice” list.

ORANGE, CARDAMOM, &  PISTACHIO MEXICAN WEDDING CAKES

Equipment: food processor, electric mixer, 2 baking sheets, parchment paper, cooling rack, mixing bowls

Makes about 32 cookies

1 cup roasted, salted, shelled pistachios
1 tablespoons finely grated orange zest
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups confectioners’ sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
¾ plus 1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
¼ teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Pulse pistachios and orange zest in food processor until almonds are coarsely ground. Set aside.

In large bowl, beat butter on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 1 minute. Pause mixer and add ½ cup confectioners’ sugar. Beat on low speed until fully incorporated, about 30 seconds. Scrape sides and bottom of bowl with rubber spatula; add vanilla. Mix on medium-high speed until incorporated, about 10 seconds.

Pause mixer. Add flour, ¾ teaspoon cardamom, salt, and nut mixture; mix on medium-low speed until dough comes together, 60 to 90 seconds.

With rubber spatula, scrape sides and bottom of bowl, patting dough down to unify it. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350°F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

Using a 1 tablespoon measure, scoop dough out onto prepared baking sheets, then quickly roll them between palms into balls and space them ½ inch apart. Lightly press cookies down to ½-inch thickness.

Bake cookies until golden brown on bottom (they will remain pale on top) 15 to 20 minutes.

While cookies bake, whisk together remaining 1 ½ cups confectioners’ sugar, remaining 1/8 teaspoon cardamom, and cinnamon in large bowl; set aside.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool cookies on sheet for 5 minutes. Gently toss warm cookies in confectioners’ sugar and transfer to cooling rack to cool completely, 30 to 60 minutes.

Cookies will keep in an airtight container for up to 1 week.

A Christmas evergreen, magical scents.

The shy glow of a tiny, twinkling light.

Shoppers rush home with piles of presents.

Ice skating, laughter, eyes bright.

Bubbly champagne and the festive POP! of a cork.

Shiny gift wrapping and buttery ribbon, tied just right.

Ovens wafting warm sugar and spice.

Fires crackling, chestnuts roasting, wine mulling, carols lulling, family and friends,
dreams of Christmas all white.

Children’s laughter, tinkling bells, elves, a letter and cookies for Saint Nick.

Sequined dresses, bright red lipstick, starry sight.

Mistletoe and garlands, pink tinsel and holly, all things jolly.

Flurries of snow, three kings in a row.

Snowmen and nutcrackers, sugar plum fairies alight.

Away in a manger, a baby is born, oh, holy night.

The holiday season brims with joy and delight, but in the whirlwind of busy days and harried shopping, we neglect to pause and reflect on how lucky we are to have so very, very much.

This year, take a breath and count your blessings. Next, take a look at those around you—should you notice a frown, a shiver, gaunt cheeks, a hollow heart, give a gift, a hug, a laugh, a donation.

It may sound like fabrication, but it’s true: ‘tis better to give than to receive.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays.

Happy Holidays from ENNIS Inc. from Ennis Inc on Vimeo.

There was bad juju in the kitchen today. Three batches of bad caramel (one due to being f¡#*^*! by Martha again). One bowl of buttercream that didn’t set up right, despite multiple attempts to save it via ice bath—I suspect it heard me cursing it under my breath and melted into a soupy mess to spite me. A second bowl of buttercream that would not fully incorporate the salted caramel.

I washed all the pots and decided it best to hang up my apron and call it a day. (I also ran out of eggs).

These meringue buttons and batons were the only saving grace out of the afternoon’s mess. These are pink peppermint, and there’s a batch of chocolate ones cooling in the kitchen, ready to decorate tomorrow’s cake.

Because there will be cake and the buttercream and caramel will behave.

Admittedly, I am not a very enthusiastic cookie baker. I don’t mind pulling cookies out of the oven halfway through baking to carefully apply chocolate chips with tweezers so they look picture perfect, but that’s strictly for work. For fun, I’d much rather do away with the scooping, rolling, cutting,  decorating, and tweezing.

Enter these bar cookies. They’re actually the first recipe I ever developed at Cook’s Country Magazine, and probably one of my favorite. The base is a nut-speckled, buttery shortbread; the center a gooey pecan-pie-like blanket; and the top, a crisp, caramelized, crunchy crust of coconut.

They were originally titled “Dream Bars,” however after six batches and incessant eating, their highly addictive nature demands to be put in the category of illegal drugs, hence the “crack” in the title.

I’m off to bake another batch now. Wrap them up in cellophane and festive ribbons and ship off to friends and family!

DREAMY CRACK BARS
(Originally published in Cook’s Country, Apr/May 2009)

Equipment: 13- by 9-inch baking pan, heavy-duty foil, food processor, cooling rack, mixing bowls, whisk

Notes:
To toast the nuts, arrange pecans in single layer on baking sheet. Bake in center rack in preheated 350°F oven until fragrant and golden, 7 to 10 minutes, shaking pan halfway through baking to redistribute pecans. Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool pecans completely before chopping.

For the Crust
Cooking spray
2 cups all-purpose or whole wheat flour
¾ cup packed dark brown sugar
½ cup pecans
¼ teaspoon salt
10 tablespoons (1 ¼ sticks) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces and chilled

For the Topping
1 ½ cups sweetened shredded coconut
1 (15-ounce) can cream of coconut
2 large eggs, at room temperature
¾ cup packed dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped (See Notes)

For the crust: Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350°F. Line 13- by 9-inch baking pan with heavy-duty foil lengthwise with one sheet, then crosswise with a second sheet to create a sling; coat with baking spray.

Process flour, brown sugar, pecans, and salt in food processor until pecans are coarsely ground. Add butter and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal. Press mixture firmly into prepared baking pan. Bake until golden brown, about 20 minutes. Cool on wire rack 20 minutes.

For the topping: Stir together shredded coconut and cream of coconut in bowl. In separate bowl, whisk eggs, brown sugar, flour, baking powder, vanilla, and salt until smooth. Stir in pecans, then spread filling over cooled crust. Dollop heaping teaspoons of coconut mixture over filling, then spread into as even a layer as possible with rubber spatula or back of spoon (it will be patchy).

Bake until topping is deep golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool in pan 20 minutes, then, use excess foil to pull out onto wire rack. Cool completely, about 2 hours.

Once cooled, remove foil and cut into 24 pieces. (Bars can be refrigerated in airtight container for 5 days.)

My husband says alfajores are in Latin America’s what the Oreo is in the U.S. The sandwich cookies are arguably as recognizable, but they’ve got a more elaborate  history. Alfajor is a derivation of an Arabic word meaning “stuffed,” as these treats are. Popular in Spain and in multiple Latin American countries, the alfajor was introduced—along with other foods and cultural elements—to the Iberian Peninsula during the centuries-long Moorish occupation that began in the 8th century.

Today, there are many different types of alfajores, with flavors, textures, coatings, and fillings all subject to regional influences, and of course, personal touches.

The alfajor I’m most acquainted with from trips to Buenos Aires, either homemade or commercial, are the ones in the accompanying recipe: shortbread rounds glued together with dulce de leche.  The cookie is crumbly and tender, and the dulce de leche intense and sticky. Milk might be tempted to have a new favorite cookie.

ALFAJORES
Notes: After adding milk to above recipe, alfajores were really crumbly and good. Made the following recipe (which is a half-batch), modified from above. This yields about 12 sandwich cookies, using 2 ½ inch cutter. Recipe can be doubled.
Active time: 45 minutes
Total time: 2 hours, 15 minutes
Equipment: 2 large baking sheets, parchment paper, sifter, electric mixer, rubber spatula, rolling pin, 2- or 2 ½-inch round cookie cutter, 2 cooling racks
Serves: Makes 12 to 15 sandwich cookies
Recipe notes: Recipe can be doubled; if doing so, in Step 4 divide dough in two, then wrap in plastic and proceed with recipe.
If your cookies don’t all fit on one baking sheet, bake in two batches, one batch at a time.
Sandwich cookies may be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

1 ¼ cups cornstarch
¾ cup all-purpose flour plus additional for dusting counter
1 teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
4 ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 tablespoons sugar
2 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon brandy or cognac
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 (13.4-ounce) can dulce de leche
¼ cup confectioners’ sugar (optional)

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 325°F. Line rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.

Sift together cornstarch, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

With mixer on medium speed, beat sugar and butter until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add egg yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add brandy and vanilla. Scrape sides and bottom of bowl with rubber spatula as needed.

Sift cornstarch mixture over butter mixture and combine with rubber spatula until dough comes together (mixture will be crumbly). Shape mixture into ball, cover loosely with plastic wrap (See Notes), and let rest at room temperature for 30 minutes.

Dust clean, dry work surface with flour. Rub rolling pin with flour. Roll dough to a thickness of ¼ inch. Using a 2- or 2 ½-inch round cutter, cut out cookies and arrange on prepared baking sheet, spacing them about 1 inch apart. (See Notes)

Bake until cookie edges begin to turn light golden, about 12 minutes. Alfajores should be mostly white.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool completely, about 30 minutes.

Once cooled, spread half the cookies with about 1 tablespoon dulce de leche. Cover with remaining cookies. Dust with confectioners’ sugar (optional). Serve.

I rarely indulge in indecorous displays of emotion, but I’m feeling unusually warm and full of fuzzy feelings. Might be all the wine I consumed last weekend and the sticky toffee pudding I’ve been tucking away since Monday afternoon… And so:

Many, many thanks to the Sacasa-Castillo family for hosting Thanksgiving this year!

The house was bursting at the seams with siblings, cousins, friends, a soon-to-be family member (welcome, Daniel!), and a troop of children—all small, but mighty enough to strike fear in the hearts of even the most stalwart of enemy ranks.

Eager volunteer cooks and dishwashers neatly arranged themselves in the kitchen and I must congratulate everyone—myself most especially—for not breaking down, stomping off, or spewing out briny language. In the span of a few hours we tackled a Bruce-sized bird that definitely needed a bigger boat, mashed potatoes, roasted butternut squash and Brussels sprouts, fried shallots, (twice, as I burned the first batch), gravy, apple galette, chocolate cake, and a stack of plates at least six feet tall.

Gold stars especially to the mini-chefs Alexandra Sofía, Mariana Lucía, Carolina Cecilia, and Leonte Andrés who really put their nimble little fingers to use in the making of desserts for dinner…doughnut muffins for breakfast…and popsicles in case you had any room left.

Oh, and Emmita, who just sat around and allowed her roly-poly self to be pinched and squeezed all weekend.

Tomorrow I jet off to Playa del Carmen for a wedding. Sunshine! Palm trees! Day drinking! Bliss!

Don’t get too jealous—there is a snag in my cartwheeling and twirling. A couple of days ago I called the bride and sheepishly admitted, “I blanked out and forgot to go to the gym the past three months.”

Instead of going on a crash diet and spraying myself a darker shade of Oompa to cover up my trespasses, what have I done the past few days? Continued to eat as if I were headed to the North Pole for the winter.

Today, for instance, involved testing a recipe several times over and by the afternoon I had acquired a few extra thigh dimples thanks to copious amounts of chocolate mousse, sticky Italian meringue, and cookies that I insisted on tasting for quality control (never mind that I was testing assembly methods and the actual recipe was the same each time).

But you know what? I’m not too worried. I found a lovely ombré coral wrap that will look just fabulous poolside.

My paternal grandparents have lived in their large Spanish colonial house in Granada’s Calle Atravesada (a Main Street of sorts) for as long as I can remember, and even decades before then.

Now sagging and crumbling with the customary wear and tear of the years and the ravages of difficult times—wars, death, weather—the atrium garden, framed by pillars and punctuated by a gurgling stone fountain, remains very much the same. Large, fat roses, always a bit too colorful with petals unfastened, like the heaving bosoms of ladies of the evening, flock together. Over-eager and too-intensely perfumed they boldly face the assault of the arrogant sun.

The heat in this town is oppressive and thick. Long hours were spent on Sunday visits to the house swinging back and forth on creaky white wicker rocking chairs, the sweat suctioning the backs of our legs to the seat as the speckled hen patterned black-and-white floor fumed ever hotter.

These Sundays inched forward painfully, but lunch at the big round table was a just reward. There were large platters of rib roast, the meat slipping off the bone, crab bisque with whole saucer-sized crabs you got to pick apart on your plate, potato gnocchi drowned in the house’s secret pink sauce and buried in crumbly cheese that had been bought by the slab at the market that morning, refried beans that shimmered in lard and were brought to the table in a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet that had long ago had its handle amputated.

And the preserved fruits. Depending on what was in season there was always a homemade, industrial-sized jar filled with amber fruits floating in slow motion in a thick, golden syrup. Mangos, papayas, a slew of tropical fruits I never learned the English names for, and my favorite: figs.

Years ago there was a fig tree in a corner of the garden. The figs hung low and plump, hiding in the shade of its own parasol leaves. The tree was unceremoniously cut down after the occasional evening bat became legion. Mamamá was always business-like with household pests. On a summer visit I brought a kitten home from the farm only to later learn he’d been dispatched to the market in a burlap sack. Mamamá told me Pascual had gone to Miami, and for a long time I envisioned him living in glorious exile.

Tree or no tree, higos en miel were made whenever they were in season. The “figs in honey” were sticky and sweet, their tiny seeds tickling my mouth; I’ve always thought that sunshine would taste just like one of those translucent orbs. The figs, those delicate purses lined with precious beads, were gently peeled and drowned in simple syrup and a fresh leaf from the tree, then simmered under Mamamá’s strict and perspiring brow.

Last week while I leaned over the pot to check on my figs, my eyes and nose smarted as if I’d taken a gulp of chilled heavily carbonated Coca-Cola; my grandmother’s kitchen, the roses, the bats, the disappeared cat, the damp manure and chicken droppings caked to the soles of my shoes; all rushed back.

HIGOS EN MIEL (Poached Figs)

Active Time: 1 hour, 30 minutes
Total Time: 2 hours, 30 minutes
Equipment: vegetable peeler, large heavy-bottomed saucepan or Dutch oven, parchment paper
Note: Figs will keep in an airtight container, refrigerated, for 1 week.

30 small fresh, ripe black figs (about 2 pounds)
2 cups sugar
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
4 cups water

Carefully peel figs and trim and discard stems.

Stir together sugar, dark brown sugar, salt, and water in large heavy-bottomed saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat and boil syrup until sugars are dissolved and syrup thickens, 5 to 7 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low and add figs.

Cut a piece of parchment paper in the shape of pot. Cut a nickel-sized vent in the middle. Press parchment directly onto surface of fig-syrup mixture.

Simmer figs until translucent, gently stirring from time to time, about 1 hour.

Cool figs completely, at least 1 hour. Figs may be served at room temperature or chilled.