Hottie's Nut Bars

I know what you're thinking, reading that title. I imagine a few furrowed brows, possibly a head scratch or two. Wondering what exactly you're in for here. Well, I'll end part of the mystery right now: "Hottie" was my paternal great-grandmother, and - if the stories are true - her nut bars were about the finest treats you could put in your mouth.

Hottie's given name was Mattie Lou, and she honestly hated cooking. After learning about her upbringing, I can't say I blame her for it. She died well before I was born, so I never actually got to meet her. According to my dad, though, she didn't exactly have the easiest childhood. Some might argue that she didn't have a childhood at all.

Hottie was orphaned very young and sent to live with an uncle, her only surviving relative. He was older, unmarried, and a farmer by trade; distant, cold, and often cruel. With no interest whatsoever in being a parent, he treated Hottie more like a house slave than a daughter. As soon as she got settled, he had her cooking for him and the farm hands three times a day. And she did, even though she could barely reach the stovetop to begin with.

That all changed when she met my great-grandfather, Tom. If I remember correctly, Tom was somewhat of a drifter, and he came to Hottie's uncle looking for a job. Hottie ran off and married him the first chance she got, barely fourteen or so at the time. Just to get away from her uncle. Whether or not Hottie and Tom loved each other initially, I can't rightly say. But according to my dad, their love was deep and genuine when he was a boy.

From the minute they got hitched, Hottie and Tom had an arrangement. He did all the cooking day to day, while she took care of the washing and kept up the house. from what I hear, Tom was a pretty good cook, too. Hottie only ever set foot in the kitchen to bake, which wasn't often at all. So, you can imagine it was an absolute treat sinking your teeth into one of her signature, lip-smacking good nut bars.

My dad still talks about them fondly, mostly from eating them during his childhood. I've never actually tasted one of her bars, but I still have the recipe. The once-white scrap of paper that holds it is now brown, and more delicate than a maple leaf in December. It doesn't really matter, though, because the recipe itself is... well... barely a recipe. All it really contains is a list of ingredients, with instructions to "cook together" and pop in a "graduate" oven until done. No time or temperature given.

I first came across the recipe myself in high school. My junior year history class was having an event, requiring us to bring a recipe from a particular time period. I had the 1940s, so my dad immediately suggested this one. As a novice cook back then, I admit I was confused and overwhelmed from the second I laid eyes on it. It took days of experimenting, and several batches before I got anything close to what my dad remembered.

The bars were a hit with my class. My teacher even asked for the recipe she liked them so much. Since then, I've made them a few times for family parties or just for kicks. They're great to knock out in a pinch, as all you really need is a handful of items I always keep in the pantry to throw them together.

No matter how many times I make them, however, I'm never sure I've made them right.

They always seem to turn out differently every time: one batch a little denser; the next a bit chewier. Once, I decided to change up the order of ingredients, using the muffin method instead of treating them like traditional blondies. That's all a nut bar really is anyway. A blondie, AKA a brownie with no chocolate. I think that version is the best yet flavor wise, but the butter separated in the oven and left a greasy skin floating on top of the bars. Not appetizing at all.

Seventeen years later, I still feel no closer to cracking the secret. Perhaps I'm simply not meant to. Like most women of her generation, Hottie baked by feel: she just knew how much of an ingredient to add without measuring; stopped stirring when the batter looked right; trusted her nose instead of a timer to tell when the dish was done. My maternal great-grandmother and both my grandmothers follow the same pattern, based on skills they'd developed over a lifetime in the kitchen. While I consider myself a seasoned baker at this point, I just don't have those same instincts. I need a detailed set of step-by-step instructions to feel the least bit confident in my baked goods. If the recipe comes with pictures, that's icing on the cake.

That's what makes this recipe so much harder to nail down.

The biggest issue is that I have no reference for the finished product. I've recruited my dad as official taste tester, but the only feedback I ever get when I offer him one is "good". With a frustratingly vague recipe, a blatant lack of culinary ESP, and an extremely biased taste tester, it seems I'm permanently set up for failure. Sometimes, though, I think that's okay.

Whether or not I get the recipe one hundred percent accurate - which, honestly, will probably never happen - I always manage to put a smile on my dad's face. The best memories he has seem to involve summer days at Hottie and Tom's, and these bars always bring him right back. Seeing him get all misty-eyed when he talks about them warms my heart in ways that words cannot express. Although I never met them, his experiences and the recipes I have keep me connected to Hottie and Tom.

Every time I break out this recipe for one more college try, he says Hottie would be proud of me. I'm not sure if that's true... but it's still a very encouraging thought that makes every failure worthwhile.

Hottie's Nut Bars

1/2 Cup butter

1 pound brown sugar

4 eggs

Cook together. Add 2 cups self-rising flour and 2 cups nuts. Cook in greased pan (Graduate oven)