Newton Newman, actually.
Since the Ginger-O reproduction was successful, I thought it might be time to conquer the Newman Fig Newton (say that 5 times really fast).
Studying various recipes, it was hard to find one single method that seemed just right. So I went back to one of my old books, Maida Heatter’s Cookies. The recipe seemed like it ought to convert to GF, but there was that big stumbling block again – volume measures. I couldn’t really find any source that gave the flour measurement in grams or ounces.
I played with the flours until I was convinced I had it nailed (apparently not). The dough was refrigerated overnight to give it time to rest, absorb the liquids and do whatever dough does overnight.
Looking back, my first two oversights were easy to see. Baking powder would make the dough puff up once the oven heat hits it. Not only would the dough puff, but it would expand.
Second, rolling out GF dough requires an assist – plastic wrap or the parchment (that it will bake on eventually) under the mess so that it can be moved. I rolled it directly on the granite counter top. Sigh.
Sloshing enough fig mixture down the center of the oblong, following instructions (because more is always better, right?) I piled it high. That used more fig stuff than any Fig Newman or Fig Newton would ever see in a month of commercial Sundays. I used up almost two cups of the mixture for a small rectangle of dough.
Carefully folding the edges together I could feel the figs squish in the center. This thing was never going to be picked up and moved to a baking sheet successfully. A few stupid pastry scraper tricks later, I awkwardly lifted its sorry-self to the baking sheet all the while muttering un-sweet nothings.
I should point out that the muses, Lulu & Pheebs left the kitchen snorting in disgust.
The fake-Newton-Newmans more than doubled in size and flattened. The mountain-high figgy mixture evaporated into thin air (or left through the door while I wasn’t looking).
As you can see, they split in the middle though the seam is on the bottom. And after cooling and refrigerating (recommended) I cut them with a serrated knife and confirmed that the figs had left town.
Seriously, where’s the fig?
The cookie? Tasty, but dry and without any fig, not a Newman, Newton or much of anything.
Back to the drawing board.
Humbled by a fig.