Randy P's awesome sounding chocolate coated cashew brittle I decided to try it myself. Since I didn't have a candy thermometer, I had to use my inner Julia to tell my soft crack from a hard crack. Evidently my inner Julia is on crack.
I knew it literally wasn't brittle when I could use a pizza cutter to make bite-size morsels. I forged ahead anyway and dipped them in dark Belgian chocolate. The next morning I looked them over. They looked good. Real good. So I popped one in my mouth.
Whatever it was that I made, it wasn't candy. It wasn't even edible. In fact, it almost killed me. It stuck to every part of my mouth that didn't have the good sense to excrete protective mucous. Then it went for my throat, and that's when my flight-or-fight instinct kicked in. Do I try to swallow this mess or do I try to spit it out? Either option seemed equally impossible.
Oddly my main concern was, do I remember the Heimlich from my Red Cross training? And would I be able to convey the instructions to JB in interpretive dance before running out of blood oxygen?
After my near-death experience I evaluated what was truly important in my life. Revenge. I marched straight to the Cook's Warehouse and bought a candy thermometer.