There’s food. And then there’s food. Homemade fudge, just like my Mamma used to make, is food. It is the kind of thing that doesn’t just fill your tummy…it nourishes your heart and soul. One piece can make a good day great and a bad day better. Mamma used to send a shoebox-full (literally) of fudge to my Dad for his birthday, or Christmas, or just because.
A shoebox full. Do you have any idea how much fudge that is?? I’m pretty sure that’s at least three batches. I know, because I recently ate made one batch and it didn’t look like that much.
Anyway, it was like every holiday rolled into one when that shoebox would arrive. It was magical. And, amazing. And, perfection.
P. S. For those of you who have never made fudge before, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: working with boiling chocolate is much like playing on the edge of a sputtering volcano. It isn’t a matter of if you get burnt, but when. Even though you know you’re going to get burnt, the experience is absolutely, 100%, completely worth it. Seriously.