Something to chew on

As a food writer, it’s not too surprising that most of my childhood memories seem to revolve around food. If I had to pick three words to sum up my childhood, they’d be pakoras, meringue and marshmallow. My mother’s homemade marshmallows were coloured pink and blue and tasted of raspberries and peppermint. Every birthday party, from age five until well into adolescence, featured these gummy, melt-in-the-mouth squares of delight.

As much as I loved my mother’s marshmallows, I couldn’t help but secretly wonder if I was missing out by only having access to homemade marshmallow. The white cylindrical ones that made regular appearances in the Archie comics (my childhood reference point for all things ‘cool’) that were toasted over a fire had a caramel-y appeal that I couldn’t shake off. Several years later, my childhood dream of eating a store-bought marshmallow was fulfilled and I was relieved to find that these were rubbery, tasted of Styrofoam and not a patch on my mother’s delicate variety.

The history of this toothsome candy is a long and stretchy one. In Egypt, honey whipped with the sap from the marshmallow plant was served as a sweet treat. Many centuries later, the same sap, mixed with sugar and egg whites, came to be used by physicians as a remedy for minor ailments in children like coughs and colds. In France, a version of the marshmallow as we know it today, has been around since the early 1800s when marshmallow sap was whipped and sold in confectionery shops. However, as the industrial revolution set in, the need to manufacture these in large quantities saw the use of gelatin instead of the sap in order to give these sweets its characteristic chew.

Making marshmallows is a great way to be inducted into the select band of cooks brave enough to make candy at home. Although it can seem onerous in the beginning, with a little bit of patience, these sweets are a joy to make. Watching the sugar turn a fluffy, glossy white that quickly gives way to the most beautiful swirly pink is worth the mess that the icing sugar and cornflour will inevitably make. And if you’re not one to be easily convinced by the pyrotechnics of sugar and food colour, a quick taste of the batter will be enough to convince you. You begin by taking a little bit of gelatin and letting it soak in water. Gelatin gives the marshmallow its body and structure — add too much and you will get chewy, bubblegum-like candy, which are nice, but not marshmallow; too little, and you end up with something that resembles marshmallow fluff. While the gelatin blooms, the sugar syrup is prepared. If you have a candy thermometer, this comes together very easily. Let the sugar cook down, and wait for the temperature to rise to 115°C. However, it’s possible to do this step without a candy thermometer. Have a little bowl of water (at room temperature) next to you, and keep dropping tiny drops of the sugar syrup into the water to check for doneness. Your syrup has reached the right temperature when it gets to the hard-ball stage. A little of this sugar syrup dropped into the water can be rolled into a ball that is firm, yet malleable when squished. The rest of the process depends on the gelatin working its magic.

Although my love for both meringue and pakoras have somewhat waned over the years, marshmallows remain a firm favourite. These days however, instead of the child-friendly peppermint and raspberry, the flavours are slightly more sophisticated — blueberries, and rose are particularly delicious. If you are a traditionalist, you could flavour with vanilla instead. Vanilla-flavoured marshmallows take very well to toasting, and make the perfect addition to a cup of hot chocolate.

The recipe has been tweaked over several years, but it is worth noting that the original comes from my mother’s 35-year-old trusty cookbook, Recipes for All Occasions by BF Varughese, where it lies wedged between a recipe for Gum Drop Sweets and Lips of Beauty.

Aysha Tanya is a food writer based in Bengaluru

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