Beer, Brittle, and Bacon

Pittsburgh has treated me well in the five or so months I've been here. Its bubble-less real estate market made it possible to buy a little house. Its friendly folk have kept me from pining for the home state. Its Steelers' jersey wearing populus has made me aware of the rhythms of the football season (this from a girl reared on UNC-Duke basketball). Its expansive parks have lured me into my running clothes and out of the house. Despite all of this, I must register a complaint with Pittsburgh...well, more accurately with the state of Pennsylvania, and this complaint that has to do with something dear to me. Pennsylvania has something against wine.

Skipping over the legislative details (about which I know very little), I will say this to those of you unfamiliar with Pennsylvania liquor laws: wine must be bought in state-run liquor stores. There are no wine shops in Pittsburgh, no wine to be found in grocery stores. Sure, we have a Whole Foods and a Trader Joe's, but sans wine, they're just not the same. I have found a few of my regulars bottled next to the Jim Beam and Seagram's, but pricier by two or three dollars, and that's quite a difference for a struggling graduate student who prefers her wine in the 7-9 dollar range.

All this has been a bit depressing for an oenophile from North Carolina. But then, I discovered, there's Pittsburgh beer. And by Pittsburgh beer, I don't mean the various incarnations of Iron City...I mean really good locally brewed beer. A beer-savvy neighbor recently led me to the East End Brewing Company where thirsty Pittsburghers clutch their empty glass "Growlers," and wait in line to have them refilled again with Big Hop IPA, Black Strap Stout, or maybe a limited seasonal brew...my favorite: the supremely bitter The Bitter End.

Well, these beers may have slaked my thirst, but they have planted in me a hunger for something crunchy and salty. Something more upscale, dare I say, than french fries or pretzels. Something worthy of The Bitter End. I have discovered: peanut brittle was made to be eaten with beer.

Peanut brittle may not merit the name "dessert," but it is so much more than a "snack." I once thought that I had discovered the perfectly balanced equation of salty and sweet when I tossed a bag of peanut M&M's into my buttered popcorn at a discount movie theater in 1994. But this peanut brittle has called me to abandon that perfect combination for one that may not be available in movie theatre concession stands, but eminently capable of being stuffed in ziploc bags and smuggled into virtually any munch-inducing establishment. This is why I've been sneaking peanut brittle into local Pittsburgh bars. Alternating sips of Big Hop with nibbles of peanut and macadamia nut brittle, I can hardly muster what once seemed so attractive about a glass of pinot noir and a dish of olives.

I've introduced a few fellow beer drinkers to the pleasures of this combination. After a taste or two, a certain ambivalent reader of The New Yorker magazine formulated a description of my brittle that sent me back to the kitchen, this time armed with a pound of cured pork. In a moment of culinary abandon, I concocted my own brittle brew. For those of you who like a dollop of maple syrup on your bacon, and those of you who have been known to request peanut butter with your pancake and bacon breakfast, I have for you a culinary curiosity certain to please: peanut bacon brittle.

Doubts aside, this is a candy meant for grown-ups--or aspiring grown-ups, as the case may be. The vegetarian version of this brittle is excellent, each bite affording an addictive ratio of maple flavored crunch and salted nut heft. It may seem counterintuitive that, with bacon, this brittle takes on an air of sophistication, like popcorn sprinkled with truffle oil or deviled eggs topped with caviar; but this is what my initial sampling has led me to conclude. A guilded lily never tasted so good.

Oh yes, and it's easy to make. You will have to dust off your candy thermometer. Peanut brittle made without one is likely to turn from sweet and golden to blackish and bitter in a heartbeat. Brittle not heated enough, on the other hand, will pull the fillings out of your teeth.

Peanut and Macadamia Nut Brittle, bacon optional
Makes a bit less than 2 sheet pans of brittle.
Recipe adapted from one that appeared in Bon Appetit, November 1992, submitted by Lisa Mayfield of Raleigh, NC.


vegetable cooking spray
3 cups sugar
2 cups water
3/4 cup light corn syrup
3/4 cup dark corn syrup
2 cups salted roasted peanuts
2 cups salted macadamia nuts
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Put two sheet pans in the oven and heat at 200 degrees.

2. Stir first 4 ingredients in heavy large saucepan over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Increase heat to high and boil without stirring until candy thermometer registers 260 degrees, about 20 minutes. (The time your sugar will take to reach this temperature may be much different. This is why you have to rely on a thermometer).

3. Reduce heat to medium-low. Mix in nuts and butter and cook until thermometer registers 295 degrees, stirring constantly, about 15 minutes. All this stirring will make you tired. Persevere. You will soon be munching yummy brittle.

4. As your brittle reaches 295 degrees, quickly pull out your warmed sheet pans and spray them thoroughly with vegetable cooking oil. Set them nearby.

5. Add baking soda and vanilla and stir briskly while the mixture foams up like some sort of chemistry project. Immediately pour out onto sheet pans, dividing evenly. Spread out brittle as thinly as possible. It probably will not cover the surface of the entire pan...this is ok. Let stand until cold and hard.

6. Break brittle into pieces. Store in airtight containers at room temperature. (Can be prepared 1 month ahead.)


Bacon Option

In place of the macadamia nuts, add 1 pound cooked, coarsely chopped bacon. Substitute 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper for coarse salt.