mud pies to medicine: Pumpkin Spice Latte Hack

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Pumpkin Spice Latte Hack

Exam tomorrow? Been sitting on my butt for two weeks. I can't study and all I think about is sleep and caffeine. Result:

I <3 Pumpkin Spice Lattes. I am one of those people. And like many of my fellow fall lovers that look forward to a great pair of leather boots, a comfy sweater, colorful leaves, chilly air, and clutching a PSL, reality is a little more bitter. As much as I love me some coffee, I just cannot fully enjoy paying nearly $5 a cup. There is also no such thing as a Grande Skinny Pumpkin Spice Latter- psh don't kid yourself girl, skim milk and no whip doesn't make a glass full of sugar "skinny". The thrifty calorie conscious side of me likes to buy Starbucks sugar-free syrups and make myself lattes at home. But, alas, no such thing for the pumpkin sauce. Not available for purchase, no Splenda substitute.

Solution, make it myself, and make it better! Those of you who know how I cook realize that recipe is not exactly part of my vocabulary. So I looked at a few suggestions from fellow bloggers and threw a bunch of stuff in sauce pan. (Funny side note: I thought it was a complete failure at first and then realized that the milk I used was sour. Classssic Med Student.)

So here goes my best guess at what I created:

1. 1/2 Can Libby's Pumpkin Goop (you know, normal can size)
2. 1/2 Cup Sugar (low cal? Try Splenda!)
3. 1 Cup of Water
4. A large helping of cinnamon (idk like 2 tsp, 1 tbsp? I like cinnamon)
5. A medium amount of nutmeg (1 tsp?)
6. A sprinkling of ground cloves
7. Vanilla- either some extract (2 tsp or so), or some of the Vanilla Coffee Syrup (lots)

All of that was mixed over medium heat in a sauce man until it started bubbling and then I let it sit on lowish heat for 10 minutes, covered, but stirring pretty often. It'll probably turn into a brownish goo (depending on how much you love cinnamon).

It is hard to make something the texture of baby food look good.

Couple spoon fulls of that stuff into some milk (I like to use a little skim and a tbsp of sweetened condensed milk). Microwave until hot and pour in a shot of expresso (I use a single serve stove top Bialetti with El Pico coffee (because I love cafe cubano).

Measurements are imprecise because I don't measure and because this one is hard to screw up. It is a bunch of deliciousness mixed together. And go light on the sugar if you want, because you can always add it directly to your coffee to taste. Save your goo in the fridge and enjoy all fall and winter and smirk at those who spend $5 on a PSL that is an unnatural shade of orange. (Okay, so I still like to go get them). And O HEY, you can save the environment because you won't be using a paper cup (hola added bonus).

cheers!

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The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.