When Christmastime would roll around,
Out came the big bottle of Steen’s
Placed beside the pot on the stove…
We knew ‘twas time for Mom’s pralines.
She never donned any aprons,
So neither did any of us,
But we each had our assignments
In the praline production fuss.
First, the sugars – oh, yes, two types –
Both dark brown and the plain white kind.
Mom always used the sep’rate cups,
So we’d each get ‘measurement time’...
The older ones measured the milk –
You know, the kind that’s in a can –
It went in just before the Steen’s
Then the butter would join the pan.
Mom would grab the thermometer
Then we’d each take turns with the spoon,
Bubblin’ bubbles would rise and fall
And that temp would peak far too soon…
Wax paper lined the countertops,
The pecans were ready to go,
But first came the endless mixing
At an almost frantic tempo.
Then when the sheen of the mixture
Reached that perfect deep golden hue,
We’d add the nuts and mix ‘em in
And the race ‘gainst time would ensue.
The window for perfect pralines –
Shiny-firm not a crumbly mess –
Is quite small and unforgiving
And each spoonful requires finesse.
Delicious, yes, but oh the fun –
Making gifts from sugar and Steen’s –
Sweet mem’ries of the lot of us
Making Mom’s New Orleans’ Pralines!
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