I am really no fan of Halloween. I suppose I liked the whole aspect of collecting sweets, preferably as many as possible when I was a child, but often our costumes were last minute and of no importance. (Except the year I went as Punky Brewster.) But as a child, and even more so now, I look forward to flipping the calender from the dregs of October to the newness of November. I begin to get excited for the onset of those rites of Fall, and celebrations that in our northern clime we associate with cold weather and preparing for the brutality that Winter can bring. Nothing can combat the cold weather like an extra pound or two, right?
Being raised in Northern Wisconsin, my Hispanic heritage was something my entire family was very proud of. Our little band of cousins, uncles and aunts all lived pretty close together, and we obsessed over traditional foods, cherishing that link to our collective pasts as perhaps the sole Hispanic blood inside of 100 miles. At that time, we would have to drive to Rhinelander or even Wausau for groceries (because the tourists drove the local prices up so much), and the foodstuffs of Mexico were limited to staples like sacks of pinto beans and rice. Each year for Christmas Eve, my Gram would host the entire family in her small log cabin home, and she would steam an enormous kettle of tamales, planting little seeds of our culture, her adopted culture, into our palates.
I wasn’t raised to celebrate Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead that celebrates, through food, the lives of those that have departed this world. Somehow, it seems easy for me to relate food with the circles of our lives, after all in the simplest analogy, the absence of food results quickly in death. Having recently lost my Gram, this day I’m choosing to remember her as I cook something deliciously sweet: cajeta.
Cajeta is a thick caramel traditionally made with goat’s milk, though until today, I have only ever made it with cow’s milk. My Gram raised goats, and I was raised on goat’s milk until we moved away from the Northwoods. I have to say, in all of these years, I hadn’t had even a spoonful of it. I always assumed that if I bought it from the store, it wasn’t going to taste like I remembered – that some memories may be better left in my mind than attempted to be realized. When I perused the dairy case at Outpost this morning, I decided I had to get a quart of whole, goat’s milk for my cajeta. Just a taste of that milk, the smell of it cooking down, and they became visceral reminders of my Gram – in an instant I was back in her little barn, helping with the milking on a cold early Winter morning.
Cajeta is a traditional recipe. In two sources in my kitchen library (Rick Bayless’s Mexican Kitchen and Fany Gerson’s My Sweet Mexico), the recipes are the same. From personal experience, the cooking down takes much less time with goat’s milk than with cow’s milk. It also adds a noticeable depth of flavor. After the caramel has been made and removed from the heat, you can choose to add a liquor as another layer of flavor. I added just a teaspoon of Spanish cream sherry today after smelling a number of bottles like a mad apothecary, but it is perfectly acceptable to omit it. If you can manage it, get true cinnamon, or canela, from a Latin supermarket. It’s crumbly and soft, and has a distinctly Mexican flavor.
Cajeta
(yield 1- 1 1/2 cups)
1 quart (4 c.) goat’s milk, cow’s milk, or a mixture of both
1 c. sugar
1 T. corn syrup (optional)
½ inch cinnamon stick, preferably Mexican canela
¼ t. baking soda mixed with 1 T. water in a small dish
1 T. (up to 3 T. to taste) rum, brandy, cream sherry, or vanilla extract
Stir milk, sugar, corn syrup and cinnamon stick in a medium (at least 4 quart) heavy pan over medium heat. Bring to a boil. Remove from the heat and add the baking soda mixed with water, be ready to stir down if it bubbles up.
Return the pan to medium heat, and cook, stirring occasionally until the mixture turns a pale gold syrup, about 25 minutes. After this point, begin stirring very frequently (constantly if you can manage it… it’s nice to relax and watch the transition) until the mixture thickens to a creamy light coffee color that is about the thickness of maple syrup – about 10 minutes more.
Set a fine strainer over a large measuring cup or bowl and strain the cajeta. Let sit for a few minutes, taste, and add liquor of choice (and maybe a tiny pinch of salt). Rick Bayless recommends adding water to the cajeta so that the total amount equals about 1 ½ cups… the cajeta continues to thicken as it cools, and when cold, it should have the consistency of thin corn syrup. But, I like it a little thicker – so use your judgement.
Cajeta will keep one month, or longer, in the refrigerator. I like to store it in a glass jar that I’ve sterilized first, extra insurance for a long storage time. (To sterilize a jar, cover a glass jar with water, bring to a boil, and boil 10 minutes, or place a room temperature jar in a cold oven, heat oven to 250, and let “bake” for 20-30 minutes.)
things in life take time, and so does cajeta. Reducing a quart of milk
into silky thick, nut brown caramel is worth every second you stand
over the pan. When doing tasks like this, I also remember to be
thankful for that time I have to spend quietly stirring, remembering.
The milk evaporates, gone but somehow still there in concentrated
form: like the loved one who is gone, and all of the memories that come flooding back.
