Peanut Brittle – Mrs. McDaniel’s Recipe. It’s not quite right to say this is Mrs. McDaniel’s recipe, rather to say this is her technique – which has to be explained. I learned how to make her brittle back in college, around 1970. I was a frequent guest of the family due to friendship with her son Miles, a pre-Vet student at Auburn, where I was studying botany.
Mrs. McDaniel was an expansive person, incredibly welcoming, and a natural cook. Like my mother and grandmother, she just knew how to put together a lovely homecooked meal. But she was also the first person who explained the true methodology of peanut brittle, and I’ve never found any better technique.
My own experience beforehand was limited. Mother and I had taken a shot at peanut brittle years before. We followed some recipe and, lacking a stone slab, poured the brittle into a buttered serving dish, where it hardened as though we had fired a new glaze to the porcelain. We couldn’t pry a single chard free of the plate, and finally discovered no recourse other than to leave it in a dishpan of water to slowly dissolve away.
So when I encountered Mrs. McDaniel’s brittle, I was flabbergasted. It’s perfect. In the decades since, I’ve made scores of batches, I have even taught this to friends and classes. Later, during my obsession with cookbooks (I have thousands), I realized Mrs. McDaniel’s recipe is pretty much the same as you’ll discover in The Joy of Cooking. Below you’ll find the ingredients, but it’s not just ingredients. This is all about technique.
What do you need? Well, per the recipe you need: sugar, clear corn syrup, water, peanuts, butter, and baking soda. But there’s a certain “batterie de cuisine” and an absolute “mise en place” to attend to….
- A large burner; it takes quite a bit of energy to melt the sugar. I prefer gas, but have used electric. I’ve not tried induction for this recipe.
- Find a large, heavy pot/kettle (I use the large Le Creuset Chef’s Oven, or it may be called a soup pot) that will distribute heat nicely and will give plenty of room for the mixture to bubble up when the baking soda is added. You’ll need a rounded wooden spoon.
- You have to have a good candy thermometer
- I use a large (18 by 24) marble or granite slab. If you have granite counters, that’s perfect. The stone is good because it pulls heat from the candy (which pours out at 300+ F). You can use trays, but expect a different result and more tedious effort. The slab has to be well-coated with butter.
- A container to hold the peanuts (just a large measuring cup)
- A small bowl to hold the 1.5 T of soft butter
- A small bowl with 2 t of baking soda, and a small, fine sifter
- An aliquot of vanilla (1.5 t) portioned to a small bowl
- A couple or large, heavy-duty steel spatulas (like 14″), and a pair of clean leather/cloth work gloves. They are not so costly at a hardware. I have a pair just for this, washed and stored in a ziplock bag.
Get your ingredients set out. Once the temperature of the sugar mix hits 300+ F, things move really quickly. You won’t have time to find some missing element. Here are the ingredients and the mise en place, an absolute must do:
- 1 cup white corn syrup in the kettle
- 2 cups white sugar in the kettle
- ½ c water in the kettle
- at least 2 cups raw peanuts (with skins) ready to add. I measure about 3 cups in a large pyrex.
- 1.5 T soft butter, ready to add
- 1.5 t vanilla, measured and ready
- 2 t baking soda, set aside with the sifter
- A second set of hands (i.e. a partner, especially at the end)
Heat the syrup, sugar, and water in the kettle. The sugar will melt, keep sweeping crystals into the mix so they do not brown too early. Just as in making an icing or any other candy, the sugar will begin to bubble, and (as water evaporates) the mix will pass through a soft ball and approach the hard ball stage. This is when to add the peanuts. The mix will cool and seize up, but recover quickly.
When you approach the hard crack stage, it’s crucial to keep the thermometer well-positioned. There’s a lag as the sugar passes to the completely molten, hard crack stage. It will get to the stage at which the solution spins a thread, sostay tuned, once you’ve given the mix that much heat, the temperature soars quickly.
The sweet spot is between 302 and 310 degrees. You want hard crack, but you also want some caramelization. A nice, rich caramel color is desired, but that will come when you add the butter. So now you just want to see some color. Do not cook further; the sugar and the peanuts will take on a burned taste, which totally ruins the candy. There’s no rescue from overheating.
Pull the pot from the heat. Stir in the butter, which will boil up and brown. Stir in the vanilla. The next two steps require help. TAKE CAUTION: This can be dangerous! Molten sugar is 100 degrees hotter than boiling water, and if you get some on your skin, it cannot be shaken off. The sugar sticks and will cause serious burns. The only thing you can do is get the burn under cold, running water as quickly as possible, and even that will not stop the injury.
With the pot at (or even on) the slab, sift the baking soda over the surface, then stir it into the boiling hot mix. The candy froths up, more than doubling in volume. As quickly as can be managed, you want to pour this mix (carefully) onto the buttered slab – in the center. This is when a second set of hands is useful.
While I hold the very heavy kettle, its edge resting on the slab, I ask someone to help scrape all vestiges of the molten candy onto the slab. I set the kettle in the sink and turn on water to begin the lengthy process of dissolving sugar for cleaning, but quickly turn my attention the puddle of scalding peanut candy. At this point, you’ll see the value of the large spatulas.
Slipping two spatulas under the candy mass, I flip it over. A solid crust has begun to form on both surfaces, but the candy will remain hot and pliable for 5-10 minutes, so there’s time for the most crucial step – stretching and pulling the candy.
The final product in this brittle is not like commercial toffee or brittles that cool as a still mass. It’s not like taffy either, which is a softer mix that you pull to impact the final crystal structure. The goal for Mrs. McDaniel’s brittle is to pull it so that fine web-like layers develop, holding beautifully-roasted peanuts in place. The product is supreme when it’s an airy matrix, an irregular jumble of varyingly thin planks of gossamer sugar. But how to achieve that?
Pulling and stretching. I start with the two spatulas, leverage them (back to back) against one another to begin stretching out the candy. At the very beginning, the mass is simply too hot to pull with your hands; it will just string out. Soon, very soon, however, you can don the clean gloves and tug at different places. Work quickly and you’ll see the solid caramelized sugar stretch into foamy strands.
I tend to move all around, making certain that all of the candy has been stretched will it’s still possible. As it cools, I begin to pick up individual planks and stretch them, somewhat gently, to see how far I can go before they might crack. There’s a period, in the last 3-4 minutes when you can create some wondrously-textured brittle, then suddenly it totally sets. I check for remaining warm slabs that might still yield to more stretching, but at some point it’s over and I’m just munching on some of the stray candied peanuts that escaped their compatriots.
Candies like brittles have a short life, and are easily spoiled by humidity. While it’s still warm, I portion the candy into heavy-duty ziplock bags, smaller or larger depending on how they will be used.
Most are meant as gifts. A single batch will make 4-5 gift bags. During the Holidays, I often would make 3-4 batches during an evening in order to generate 20 small gift bags for associates at work, leaving one bag at the house for the family.
You don’t make this ahead. The brittle retains its web-like, crunchy texture for a week, even two if kept well-sealed. But the sugar will soften and reshape within 2-3 weeks, so I always caution people to enjoy brittle while still fresh.
Each time I make this, I think of Mrs McDaniel, who so patiently showed me her technique. And I think of my own Grandmother, who hovered around my trusted marble slab (which seems heavier to move each year), scavenging the stray peanuts and scraps that escaped their ziplocked destiny. And there’s Deb’s dad, who loved peanut brittle, while also knowing there might be a spell of diverticulitis as punishment.
Back at The Huntington, I don’t remember anyone fearful of peanut allergy. I know there are people for whom peanuts are a wicked toxin, and I was careful to let folk know my treasure might be a problem. But it was welcomed and enjoyed. Our friend Don Conlan, is especially appreciative. And I try to remember to send a portion to Helen Bing, who loves it so much she come to our house one day just to see how it’s made.
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