Salted Pumpkin Caramels
Medically reviewed by Christiana George Updated Date: June 8, 2023

One of my biggest motives for food blogging is to fulfill these long-built-up desires to make foods I’ve never made before. What I mean is, it, the blog that is, and wanting to keep it reasonably interesting, becomes the impetus to try new things.
Take marshmallows for instance. Oh my gosh, I’ve been wanting to make them for years. Years! But what compelled me to finally go for it was this, my little online space, and wanting to share the results with all of you.
Which leads me to these caramels. Do you know how intimidating candy-making has always seemed to me? What with the scalding, spattering liquid, and the weird chemical properties of sugar that make it do wacky things at high temperatures, and the fact that I didn’t have a candy thermometer, it seemed too daunting.
But I did it. It may have taken two tries, but I did it. (I was really hoping it wouldn’t take three.)

There’s nothing that can quite prepare you for the execution of caramel-making. I mean, I know it’s not as exciting as sky diving, nor as important as, I don’t know, heart surgery or hostage negotiation, but the thrill you get out of it can be just as exhilarating. Should I switch from second-person to first? I don’t think many people would describe caramel-making as exhilarating, haha.
Let’s stick with second.
You start off with a huge vat of disparate ingredients, that you stir, stir, stir. It begins to foam and hiss, jump up and spatter onto the sides of the pot. And all the while, it’s slowly changing color, changing in aroma. Reaching bona fide caramel takes awhile, but you know you’re on to something when you begin to recognize the smell, and when it hits you full in the face, it’s as heavenly as it is familiar. You’ve smelled it before. It’s caramel.
It’s so affirming, the feeling that you’ve created something, like really created something, out of scratch, out of the simplest of ingredients. I felt this way the first time I made chocolate chip cookies successfully (we’ve all overbaked them, admit it!), the first time a loaf of yeasted bread came out of the oven with actual air pockets in it. Cooking and baking are incredibly positive experiences for me.

But before I get too ahead of myself, waxing poetic on the spiritual aspects of caramel-making, I should tell you, I don’t think mine came out quite right. They’re a bit too hard, so that you feel like you’re getting a jaw workout chewing on them. But they’re delicious nonetheless, with the taste of the pumpkin really complementing the caramel perfectly. Add to that roasted pumpkin seeds and the final flourish of sea salt, these candies are not cloyingly sweet at all. But they are perfectly suited for the season, or rather, the amalgam of two seasons, because we are at a crossroads right now, are we not?
On my first try, the hot sugar and cream mixture wound up turning into toffee, so at least I managed to avoid doing that again. The failure also taught me how important it is to calibrate your candy thermometer, because a couple degrees can make a huge difference. Mine is apparently off by four degrees, meaning it registers the temperature of boiling water as 216 degrees Fahrenheit rather than 212.
If you do decide to make these—and you should because they’re wonderful—I hope you feel as triumphant as I did, even if it’s your 87th time making caramel. And then give them away as fast as possible, because what’s a person to do with 81 pieces?!


SALTED PUMPKIN CARAMELS
From Food52
Makes 81 1-inch caramels
Ingredients:
- 3/4 to 1 cup roasted pumpkin seeds
- 1-1/2 cups heavy cream
- 2/3 cup pumpkin puree
- 1 tsp pumpkin pie spice (1/2 tsp cinnamon, 1/4 tsp ground ginger, 1/4 tsp nutmeg, pinch allspice)
- 2 cups white sugar
- 1/2 cup light corn syrup
- 1/3 cup maple syrup
- 1/4 cup water
- 4 Tbsp unsalted butter, cut in chunks
- 1 tsp lemon juice
- 3/4 tsp sea salt
Tools:
Candy thermometer
Directions
Line the bottom and the sides of a 9-inch square baking pan with parchment paper. Butter the parchment on all the sides. Evenly spread out the pumpkin seeds on the bottom of the pan.
In a saucepan, combine heavy cream, pumpkin puree and spices. You want the mixture to be warm and foamy, but not boiling. Set aside.
In a second heavy bottomed pan, with sides at least 4 inches high, combine the sugar, both syrups, and water. Stir until the sugars are melted, Then let it boil until it reaches 244 degrees F. Then very carefully add the cream and pumpkin mixture, and slowly bring this mixture to 240 degrees F as registered on a candy thermometer. This will take awhile (around 30 minutes), but watch it and stir occasionally. You’ll want to stir more frequently once it hits 230 degrees to keep it from burning on the bottom of the pan.
As soon as it reaches 240 degrees, pull it off the heat and stir in the butter and lemon juice. Stir vigorously so that the butter is fully incorporated.
Pour the mixture into the prepared pan. Let cool 30 minutes, then sprinkle the salt on top. Let the caramels fully set (at least 2 hours) before cutting them into 1-inch squares. Wrap in wax paper.
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Honey Thyme Ice Cream, And A Countdown

If you follow me on Pinterest, you’ll have noticed that the activity on my Wedding board has increased lately (mostly because it used to consist of nothing).
Bouquets, dresses, venues, they’re kind of the topic du jour. Du année is more like it. Chris and I are supposedly getting married next summer.
I would understand if nobody believed us. After all, ‘we’re getting married… soon’ is becoming something of a party line, a slogan of sorts. It’s good for when our moms call, or when our friends inquire—although I have noticed that the asking of the question has trailed off as of late. See, nobody believes us anymore.
Though we got engaged last summer, we decided to postpone our wedding by a year because we knew that 2012 was going to be extremely tumultuous: we both quit our jobs, went on an extended backpacking trip, then moved across the country. Who has time for wedding planning among all of that action?
Anyway, we’ve agreed to start planning in September, a prospect I’m not really looking forward to. All the details and the spreadsheets (I’m a Type-A wannabe), the tracking of said details, the eventual arrival at the point where I realize I can’t stop thinking about the details. And there will be lists, and the honing of lists, and the further honing of lists. Finally, the horrifying realization that we’re probably going to spend more on this one day than the two of us did during the whole four months that we spent backpacking through South America. Times two. Or three. I won’t let it reach three, I promise.
Below is one last ice cream recipe to mark our loss of innocence. Before we become initiated to the world of on-site versus off-site catering, sweetheart versus wedding party table, sleek versus poofy (dress, of course), signature cocktail versus open bar, and much, much more. All to come, my friends, all to come… (don’t worry, I promise I won’t inundate you with wedding details.)
Or maybe this recipe just marks the end of the summer months, and a successful conclusion to our very first summer in New York City.

I love the interplay of sweet and savory and this ice cream is both subtle and satisfying. I can’t decide if the thyme amplifies the honey or the honey amplifies the thyme, but it has a very distinct flavor I enjoy very much. Honey ice cream on its own tastes so pure to me: it loses its super-concentrated sweetness, and becomes creamy and floral and light. Thyme is by no means heavy-tasting, but it adds just that touch of… darkness, moodiness, a slightly off-kilter note that’s therefore more complex. An olfactory play on chiarascuro?
Here’s to the end of August, and the beginning of a countdown. 12 months, 11, 10….until I get hitched!

HONEY THYME ICE CREAM
From The New York Times
Makes about 1 quart
Ingredients:
1 cup whole milk
2 cups heavy cream
6 large sprigs fresh thyme
4 egg yolks
3/4 cup honey
Directions:
Combine the milk and cream in a saucepan and add the thyme. Bring to a boil. Remove from the heat, cover and let stand for 20 minutes. Strain and return the mixture to the saucepan.
Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks in a bowl. Slowly pour in the cream mixture a little bit at a time, whisking constantly. After adding a cup, whisk in the honey and add the rest of the cream. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan, cook over low heat and stir constantly until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Cool, then refrigerate until cold, 2 hours to overnight. Freeze in an ice-cream machine according to manufacturer’s instructions.
Note: The type of honey you use probably matters very much because there are so few ingredients. Mine was light, kind of a general all-purpose honey. I wonder if the buckwheat honey I tried at the farmer’s market, which was a little too bitter for everyday use, might not work well in this recipe? Also, this ice cream melts quickly. Maybe the honey’s chemical composition lowers the frozen custard’s freezing point? I’m not sure, but if serving to a group, you might want to pass out the bowls as you scoop.
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