More Praise for Condensed Milk

Time to use up the rest of that can of condensed milk.

And by lucky coincidence, there's an interesting article in the New York Times about the fondness for sugary canned dairy products in the Caribbean, Latin America, and Southeast Asia. Someday I'll get around to laboring over a tres leches cake, but for this weekend I decided to go with brigadeiros, a Brazilian confection made by heating condensed milk until it thickens into a chewy fudge.

Though the NYT article gives some worthwhile recipes, I can't totally understand its lamentation of how condensed milk has been shunned by Westerners for so long, or its claim that it's only just now coming to be appreciated. Personally, I've been appreciating condensed milk for a long time. At one fortunate period in high school, Canned Foods must have been selling eight-ounce cans of it for about six cents each, because my mother came home with around 50 of them. After she reminded me of her favorite childhood recipe of fried bread with condensed milk, Katherine and I took to pan-frying slices of bread in butter and dipping them into a communal bowl of the wonderfully sticky milk. It became a common afterschool pasttime, despite Marc's looks of disgust.

But I was introduced to condensed milk long before high school, as evidenced by a quote from one of my favorite books at age five:

"Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o'clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, 'Honey or condensed milk with your bread?' he was so excited that he said, 'Both,' and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, 'But don't bother about the bread, please.'"

But the New York Times did introduce me to this foolproof way to make fudge. Regular brigadeiros are flavored with cocoa powder, but Brazilians are well aware that combining rich, buttery sweetness with coconut is a great idea, so I imagine this type is quite popular too. I had to adjust the recipe to the amount of condensed milk I had left, but I wish I had been able to make a bigger batch. All kinds of colorful garnishes, like crushed nuts, colored sprinkles, candy-coated fennel seeds, even a small amount of fleur de sel, could make a very whimsical fudge ball platter.

Coconut Brigadeiros

1 cup sweetened condensed milk

1/2 cup coconut milk

2 tablespoons butter

2 teaspoons corn syrup or agave nectar

1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut, divided

Combine all ingredients except 1/2 cup shredded coconut in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer, whisking constantly, until mixture thickens and starts to come together into a ball (about 10 minutes). Pour into a bowl and allow to come to room temperature, then cool in the refrigerator for at least four hours. Using a teaspoon measure, scoop fudge and roll into balls about 3/4 inch in diameter. Roll in the remaining shredded coconut to coat.

The Greatest Possible Sandwich: A Parody of Seasoning

Proving the existence of God has proven tricky. Anselm’s proof is famous for not getting anywhere, but it is nevertheless taught in every intro to philosophy course, which probably has something to do with how funny it sounds.

His reasoning, known as the Ontological Argument, was basically along these lines:

1. God is a being that than which nothing can be greater.
2. Things can exist in the mind or in reality.
3. Things that exist in reality are greater than things that exist only in the mind.
4. Therefore, God must exist in reality.

This is an abridged version, of course, and Anselm elaborates on the argument using the words “that than which” so many times that his writing leaves you feeling somewhat dizzy and not much closer to grasping the nature of God. But apparently it doesn’t really matter, because his argument has been refuted (and then subsequently ridiculed) by a parity of reasoning. If the above argument is valid, then the following must also be sound:

1. The greatest possible sandwich is a sandwich that than which nothing can be greater.
2. Things can exist in the mind or in reality.
   
3. Things that exist in reality are greater than things that exist only in the mind.
   
4. Therefore, the greatest possible sandwich must exist in reality.

But of course, we’re told, there’s no such thing as greatest possible sandwich! So Anselm can’t have proven the existence of God. Right?

That’s the traditional response, but I think another reaction is possible. What if you had a particularly spiritual experience with a tri-tip sandwich from a shack in a parking lot on University and Oxford? What if its proprietor, dressed in white linen, glowing in the sun against the green and orange backdrop of his Brazilian flag-covered establishment, handed you a carton of soft bread filled with steak that than which nothing could be more tender, grilled onions that than which nothing could be more caramelized, and green cilantro dressing that than which nothing could be creamier? You might think that this man had just supplied you with the true Thatthanwich, the greatest possible sandwich, and thus restored the viability of Anselm’s proof of God’s real existence.

There’s a problem with this argument as well, however. The same Brazilian Café’s vegetarian sandwich, a precarious tower of avocado, shredded carrots, ricotta, corn, and other vegetables between two thick slices of sunflower seed bread dripping with cilantro dressing, might cast doubt on the ultimate status of the tri-tip sandwich. One might also recall the three-pork banh-mi at Nicky’s, the Montecristo on French toast at Trident, and the brie and roasted pepper baguette at the Musical Offering, and worry that we cannot, in fact, demonstrate the existence of the greatest possible sandwich, since any attempt to choose between these candidates would be unsuccessful, though enjoyable.

Still, there’s no reason to despair yet – the multitude of great sandwiches out there is an indication that we should be optimistic about the existence of God, after all. Furthermore, it gives us reason to turn to a more Spinozist conception – God can be found everywhere, since everything in existence makes up a part of him. Every tree, human, porpoise, and avocado is an element of the greatest possible being. I would argue, however, that the avocado is particularly essential.