one is the loneliest number

A few months ago, after telling Jim about my latest batch of bacon brittle, he recounted a time when his mom  had made peanut brittle in the microwave.  I had never heard of such a thing, as I’m used to carefully calibrating my syrup with a candy thermometer, stirring and watching it slowly turn that rich brown, caramelly color, ever so careful not to brown it too much else I burn and ultimately ruin the mass.

A few weeks later, I read about a cookbook that a user called, the “world’s saddest cookbook,” entitled “Microwave Cooking for One.”  Being fairly amused by its nickname and its actual title, I sent the article to Jim.  “This is great!  It has the microwave peanut brittle recipe in it!  How did you find this?”  he replied.  Not admitting to him that that wasn’t the reason why I sent it to him (afterall, he is a bachelor, living alone, with an overused microwave oven), I was just happy that it made him happy.

Last week when I was in New York visiting Jim, he made the peanut brittle for me.  Not only was it good, but it was quick, easy, and not sad at all.  “Once I doubled the recipe but it didn’t turn out right,” he told me.  So alas, this peanut brittle is just for one.

for one

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