There's a particular shade of amber that caramel reaches just before it tips from perfect to burnt. Our kitchen fills with a smell that's equal parts butter and brown sugar, and if you've been doing this long enough, you learn to trust your nose as much as the thermometer.
Yesterday I was training a new team member on our sea salt caramels. She kept checking the temperature—302, 304, 306—and I told her to close her eyes and breathe. "What do you notice?" The moment the toasted notes hit, she smiled. "That's it," I said. "That's when you pour."
We could automate more than we do. Temperature probes exist that would beep at exactly the right moment. But there's something lost when you remove the person from the process. The caramel doesn't just need to reach a temperature—it needs to tell you it's ready.
