Chapter 32 - Making Fudge

According to Boy: From the time I was in the eighth grade I could make fudge. I learned from my sister. I remember telling her once that I preferred her fudge to any other. She loved the compliment.
"Really? What do you like about it?" she asked.

"It’s grainy," I said. "I love it that way."

I was serious. I liked my fudge on the grainy side. Little did I know she made every effort to cook smooth fudge; but, for some reason, it always turned out grainy.

So, that’s how I learned to make fudge. I would take the batch off the stove before the mixture produced the firm little ball when dripped into cool water. That way it would be slightly undercooked, and would be grainy when cooled. That was just the way I liked it.

After Evie and I got married, she would sometimes help me make fudge. As with everything she endeavored to do, she would first read the instructions.

"I don’t think it’s quite done yet," she said, trying to form the little blob of fudge into a firm ball at the bottom of a bowl of cool water. "The directions say we should cook it on low heat until a drop can be formed into a soft ball when dropped in cool water."

"This is how I always do it. I think it’s done."

"Let’s follow the instructions," she insisted. "Just for the fun of it."

I knew she would burn it, but I went along with her request nevertheless. I poured her a soda, and just stood back to observe the impending disaster. I did not wish it on her, but I knew it was inevitable.

She lowered the flame to the minimum, and stirred the brown, bubbling concoction as directed. At least fifteen minutes later she exclaimed, "Look, it’s a ball. I can even pick it up."

And she did. She picked the little ball of fudge and popped it into her mouth. "Umm, that’s really good. Let me get one for you."

She took the spoon and dripped a little of the fudge into the water. "See how this sticks together?" She then formed it into a little ball, and put it in my mouth.

I have to admit that it was good.

She removed the fudge from the heat, and stirred it until it started to thicken, then poured it into a buttered pan. When it had cooled, she cut it into pieces. It was perfectly smooth, with no grains.

We have probably cooked fudge together more than a hundred times since then. Almost every time it has turned out perfect. There was, however, one instance when it did not.

For some reason I decided to overcook it. When it reached the stage when it could be formed into a ball, I just kept cooking it. I think I might have had Harvey Firestone in mind, the day he made synthetic rubber. I cooked it and cooked it. I was careful not to burn it, however.

Finally, I started cooling it. It took only a few seconds to start getting hard after I had removed it from the stove. Immediately I poured it into a buttered pan, and set it aside to cool.

When I returned to cut it, I found that I could not even dent it. It had hardened into a single block of brown glass. I popped it out of the cooling pan in a single piece. Taking it in both hands, I tried to break it. Nothing happened.

I then took the handle of a butter knife, and smacked it a good one. It dented, but did not break. I struck it again, this time a little bit harder. Still no success. So I hit it again.

This time I knocked it right out of my hand, across the kitchen and onto the floor. I was amazed to see it shatter into a dozen pieces. I gathered up the larger pieces, and put them in a dish.

Evie and I agreed that the three second rule could be applied here. That rule stated that when you dropped something on the floor, if you picked it up within three seconds, it was still good. In this case, I had started picking up the pieces of fudge within the time allowed, so it was all good. Besides, we had spent altogether too much time on that batch of fudge to just throw it away.

It was terrific. You could suck on a piece of that fudge for fifteen minutes. It would slowly dissolve in your mouth. If you tried to chew it at all, it would dislodge every filling in your mouth.

It did last an inordinately long time—it was just too difficult to eat.

Finally, after about a week, we threw away all that remained uneaten. I have tried to duplicate that batch of fudge, but with no success.