Fudge and other Festive Follies
I was JUST thinking earlier today that I wanted to do a personal holiday story for the Springville Times perhaps. I gave the Springville Journal my family recipe for Jello Cookies (I should write that story too.) And then the fudge story came to mind as a funny one I could tell. AND THEN I go to log off of this page of writing and into Facebook one more time before bed and what appears on my On This Day timeline? Oh, Auntie Carroll with this message. “You could try family fudge again… hint hint.” Along with a link to BAILEY’S FUDGE. Ding!
I love baking and almost every year since I can remember, I bake lots and lots and lots and lots of Christmas Cookies and share with the community and friends and family.
Back when I was in High School however, I decided to try something new.
Fudge.
I truly believe that if I would have just learned long ago at the age of 16 that doing ALL THE FESTIVE THINGS AT THE LAST MINUTE never works out, well, my family wouldn’t be still making fun of me over the FUDGE INCIDENT
As usual, I was running late and this time I was rushing around the house, on Christmas morning, making last minute fudge for the family. I had the cute little holiday tins from the dollar store, circles and squares and stars oh my! I can’t really tell you if the recipe I was using failed or if I didn’t actually grease the pans before pouring or if I should have waited until the fudge cooled just a bit before pouring anyhow—I poured. And poured the scalding hot fudge straight from the pan on the stove and into the pans. About 12 pans maybe?
YAY FUDGE, riggggggght?
Hahaha.
While putting everything in the car, I remember putting the stack of hot tins of fudge on the hood of the car for just a moment so I could open the door. A star shaped imprint was forever embedded on that icy cold hood, branded to commemorate the incident that would follow.
The pans of fudge were cool by the time we reached Grandma and Grandpa Baker’s house. Hurrah! Fudge for all! You get a pan of fudge and you get a pan of fudge and it all was going perfectly until someone, I have no idea who, probably Uncle Ken, opened their tin of fudge and tried to cut out a piece to nibble.
Um.
Hard as a rock. Solid. Like cement. No fudge for you. Just a sweet confectionery holiday doorstop in a cheap metal star shaped tin.
I’ve not attempted fudge since. Maybe this year is the year?