Falling for Gelatin

An out of the blue facination

Who knows why desire takes hold of you? One second you’re happily ignorant and the next obsessed. If you possess a squirrely brain such as mine, you bite and don’t let go. This explains why my desk and the dining room table is currently a towering mess of history and cookbooks with torn bits of newspaper marking any page containing the word gelatin. Research has uncovered a jumble of unnecessary but fun gelatin facts, such as Martha Washington’s recipe for making one of her husband’s favorite jellies calls for gelatin scraped from a pile of male deer horns as oppose to the usual calves hooves. And I bet you didn’t know that citizens of Paris and Napoleon’s army survived the Battle of Paris in relatively good health by living on beef gelatin bouillon. Gelatin was a favorite cure to treat the sick from as far back as the Sumerians and as near as Fanny Farmer. Wine jelly is suggested to serve a restless patient before bedtime—it sooths their stomachs and knocks them right out. It’s such a treat that I often make it, usually with a healthy dose of port wine, even when the house is free of germs.

I came upon an illustration in one of the Victorian books that fed right into my infatuation and decided it was the perfect finale to a holiday meal. It didn’t come attached to a recipe but it appears it would be fairly simple—crushed, perhaps liquor soaked, strawberries (drained before adding) encased in a clear gelatin. The clear gelatin could be flavored—I would have to think about that. In any case, I’d serve it with strawberry snow on the side.

Spectacular, right?

First, the right mold must be purchased, but an exact replica is elusive. eBay has several vaguely acceptable vintage versions that may work. I buy the green one because there’s a detachable inner mold to it that could form the tower part of the dessert. It’s $13.99 and promises to arrive by December 18.

The eBay top choices.

Next, I go out to the market to buy a box of unflavored gelatin. The idea is to fly in and out of the market because I hate all manner of shopping and the shoppers who insist on impeding my progress. Let’s hope it’ll be a twenty minute excursion from entrance to exit and back home again. The store’s blessedly uncrowded, just me and a young mother navigating a substantial stroller down the baking aisle. It takes a lot of concentration to find unflavored gelatin so the first inkling that the day is about to turn is the young woman suddenly deciding to change course and steps on the tip of my sneaker. She swings the stroller around and with my toe still tacked under her foot, there is no escape when she bams right into me. All I’m thinking as I slam down onto the hard floor is ‘don’t hit your head.’

“Oh no!” the mother cries. Her eyes project the evening’s news ticker: mother kills old lady in supermarket.

I’m not old. I’m in the best shape ever. I can get up by myself, thank you, and brace against the shelves full of cake mixes to right myself. The other shoppers behind the stroller back out of the aisle in the way one does when stumbling upon strangers caught in an intimate moment.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she says.

Embarrassed, I sort of wander around in small circles trying to piece together what just happened, replaying each frame in the fall. The young mother grabs my arm. She is tearing. I am tearing.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” I say.

She pours out, “He’s going to start screaming any minute…. I just needed a couple of things. I tell myself all the time to stop rushing around but if I don’t…. I can’t believe I did this to you…. Are you okay?”

I can’t say at the moment but I do know how she is. She is me decades ago, always running out of time with only minutes to find what life in my house needs before my tired/hungry/annoyed child begins screaming and thrashing about, drawing dirty looks from strangers for unleashing such unbearable decibels upon their innocent ears. Like I did once, I bet the young mother considered leaving her kid alone for a nanosecond to run a marathon of errands and be back before a gazillion imagined tragedies occurred to this overwhelming sweet burden of hers.

“We’re all right,” I say.

“I should have seen you.”

“No, really. We’re okay.” I wipe away another tear, laugh to shake off shock, and hug her. “Let’s take a breath.”

She and I stand in the baking aisle and slowly breathe together. There’s a world of trouble outside. A small mishap in a supermarket on a Wednesday is nothing to worry about. No harm done. No blame to hold.

I turn away and, figuring she’s watching me, I walk up the aisle trying not to limp. By the time the checkout counter comes into view I’m well into the five stages of grief, something I tend to do a lot: shock/ denial (I don’t hurt so much); anger (now how the hell am I going to get everything done for Christmas); bargaining (if I ice and soak in Epsom salt when I get home, I’ll feel my butt and hip again, right?). Depression takes firm hold when I fail to quickly empty my cart in my usual manner at the checkout counter. The drive home is excruciating.

My husband wonders what new disaster have I visited upon my already banged-up body. This is warranted: I’m a legendary klutz. I tell him the story. He digs out our largest ice pack. Come nightfall, I lie on my side and figure the young mother may very well be as astonished as I am at how we met, two strangers now bound in a story together.

And acceptance takes hold in the wonder of the holiday season: four days later and three days early my mold arrives. Yesterday, while searching for Motrin in the kitchen cabinet, I discover an unopen box of Knox unflavored gelatin on the top shelf. It’s been no problem at all writing this standing up. I’ll shuffle out later to find fresh strawberries.

I can’t wait!

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I’m still trying to figure out how to construct the gelatin tower but in the meantime I will attempt the strawberry snow to accompany it..

Strawberry Snow for a Fancy Gelatin Dessert

2 envelopes gelatin
1⁄4 cup water
2 cups crushed strawberries
4 egg whites
1⁄2 cup sugar
1 cup whipping cream
6 whole strawberries (to garnish)

Sprinkle the gelatin over the water and allow to soften for 5 minutes.

Heat 1 cup crushed strawberries to the boiling point, add the gelatin and stir until dissolved.

Chill until the mixture begins to set around the edges of the bowl.

Whip the egg whites until soft peaks form and gradually whip in the sugar.

Fold into the strawberry mixture, then add the remaining crushed strawberries and whipped cream.

Serve immediately in individual glass dishes and decorate each serving with a whole strawberry.

Note: This dessert may also be served frozen. Pour the mixture into freezer trays and freeze.

Courtsey of Food.com