A Day in the Candy Kitchen

I get to the kitchen early. That's not me being noble about it, it's just that shared commercial kitchens work in blocks, and if I want my full time, I need to be set up and ready before the clock starts. So I load the car the night before. Sugar, organic unsalted butter, organic sweetened condensed milk, Light Grey Celtic sea salt. Molds, the depositor, packaging, labels. It's more than it sounds.

The first thing I do when I get in is wipe everything down and check my setup. Do I have everything I need before I turn on the burner? Because once the sugar is moving, I don't have time to dig around for a thermometer.

Caramels are what I make most. I start by getting my silicone molds arranged on the speed racks and setting out the hand-operated depositor. The depositor isn't photogenic. But it's the reason my caramels come out consistent, same size, same shape, every time. I'm depositing them directly into the molds, which gives me a smooth bottom and a clean top and a much better finished product than hand-cutting ever did.

The cooking itself requires full attention. I watch the thermometer, I watch the color, I watch how the mixture moves. Caramels need to hit 245F for that soft, chewy texture I'm after. A few degrees under and they're too soft. A few over and they get firm in a way I don't love. There's a window, and you have to catch it.

Once the caramel is cooked, I work fast. I fill the depositor and start moving through the molds. The caramel is hot and it thickens as it cools, so there's no dawdling. My back reminds me of this. Standing over a production line, moving quickly but carefully, it's physical in a way people don't always expect from candy making. My feet hurt by midday. That's just true.

Then comes waiting. The molds go on the speed racks to cool, and I clean everything while I wait. The depositor, the pot, the thermometer. A commercial kitchen has to be spotless, and I take that seriously. By the time I'm done cleaning, the caramels have usually set enough to start unmolding.

Unmolding is satisfying. Each piece pops out clean from the silicone, and you can see right away if the batch came out right. I check the texture, the color, the shine. If something's off, I figure out why before I start the next batch.

Wrapping comes next. Every piece gets wrapped individually. This takes time. It is repetitive. I put on a podcast or music and I wrap. It's the part of the day that feels most like a factory, and also somehow the most meditative. You get into a rhythm.

Packaging is last. I count pieces, check weights, fill boxes and bags, apply labels. The Celtic Sea Salt Caramel Gift Box gets 20 pieces nestled in a gift box with a bow. The Celtic Sea Salt Caramels go into their own packaging. Same care, different format.

By the time I'm breaking down my station and loading the car again, I've been on my feet for most of the day. The kitchen smells like butter and caramel, which is honestly one of the better smells there is.

People sometimes ask if I'd ever want a bigger space, more equipment, more automation. Maybe someday. But right now, this is what small-batch means. One person, one kitchen block, one careful batch at a time. I think that shows up in the candy.