I do, however, have serious concerns about how my body will respond to eating at the godforsaken hour of 1 p.m., so I decided to make a few goodies today for the crew to munch on while we’re carving turkeys and slicing hams and whisking gravies. Those are important tasks; we'll need to keep our energy up.
I started this morning by making my mother-in-law’s recipe for fudge. I’ve never actually made typical fudge – the kind that starts with chocolate or chocolate chips. I’ve never even seen anyone make it. I’m not really a fudge person. Which is shocking, because I’m really a chocolate person. But as far as traditional fudge is concerned, my mother-in-law’s is the best I’ve tasted, and the hubby loves it. (And it’ll be totally cute on my little crystal candy plate.) I was thoroughly nervous the entire time I made this, but it turned out really well. It’s almost foolproof.
This is Fudge, Part I, because I also attempted to make my dad’s fudge recipe. That recipe is almost fool-guaranteed. It’s an old family recipe from my dad’s side, and it is old-fashioned candy-making at its best: cream, sugar, and cocoa. Apparently I didn’t inherit the gene for knowing when the fudge is done. (“Use a candy thermometer,” you say? “Thermometers, bah,” my dad says.) I’ve watched him make fudge dozens of times, but I’m still missing something. Perhaps next time I’ll videotape it so I can study the process in slow motion. I will master this, and we will have a day of reckoning that shall be Fudge, Part II.
On a side note, I accidentally invented fudge-flavored taffy.
Fudge
Makes 16 pieces (you can double the ingredients and use a 9x13 pan)
2/3 c. evaporated milk
1½ c. sugar
½ tsp. salt
1½ c. chocolate chips
1 tsp. vanilla
1½ c. miniature marshmallows
½ c. chopped walnuts (optional; I think nuts ruin fudge)
1. In a medium saucepan, bring evaporated milk, sugar, and salt to a full boil. Cook 5 minutes, stirring constantly.
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