Fudgemas

Change has come into my life since last year. I have a chronic health condition, I moved after 13 years in the same apartment, and I went home for two weeks at Christmas because work was closed for a week and I stacked a week of vacation on top of that. Because I was out of town at a time when I am normally here, another change happened, and it upset several of my friends:

I didn't make fudge last year.

I'm not a candy maker. I don't make the kind of fudge that people talk about and look forward to because it's so delicious that oh, God, it's like a chocolate bird laid a chocolate egg in your mouth. No, instead, since 2010 I have made the kind of fudge that makes my friends look forward to how bad it's going to turn out and how bad I'm going to feel about it. These adventures include peanut butter fudge that never set and stayed liquid forever, Velveeta fudge that sweated out an undefined liquid and turned spongy, fudge that was somehow sticky if left out of the fridge too long, fudge that was flakey, fudge that was gritty, fudge that actually turned out ok, and one constant: every year I make fudge from the Carnation Famous Fudge boxed kit, and this year my friends were annoyed that a Christmas tradition came and went.

Well, friends, it's Christmas in January, I guess, because guess what I did today?



I bought the kid in early December, but just didn't get around to making it before I flew out of town, so I've just been walking past the box as it sits on the side table by my kitchen counter, silently daring me to tear it open.

As I said, change has come into my life, and that change affected this year's fudge process in two ways:

1) I have a different stove. For ten years I've made fudge on the same stove, but now I would be using a different stove.

2) I have different pots. When I moved into my first apartment in 1998, my mom gave me her pots and pans, which she and my dad had received for a wedding gift in 1970. I've replaced some of them over the years (the frying pan went first, because Dad warped it by constantly sticking it in cold water as soon as he was done cooking in it to make sure nothing stuck to the pan), and when I moved this summer I realized that the nonstick coating was finally starting to come off and maybe it was time for these 49 year old pans to go. That means that, for the first time ever, I would be making the fudge in a new pot.

Would the change in my life lead to changes in fudge outcomes?

Things started out relatively unchanged. I brought the butter, sugar, and condensed milk to a boil, and stirred vigorously:



This happens every year.

I removed the mixture from heat, and there was a slight delay of a few seconds while I tore open the marshmallow bag, dumped them in, then tore open the chocolate chip bag and dumped those in. After that, I stirred until both were melted, and something happened that has never happened before any time that I've made the famous fudge kit:



The fudge came together into a ball, like dough. Every other year I have to pour it into the pan and then scrape the rest off the sides, but this year it all came out in one piece, kind of the consistency of warm taffy, like I imagine a melted Tootsie Roll would. Recipes online always say that fudge has to be cooked until it reaches the soft ball stage, and had I somehow done that? Did my fudge spontaneously form a soft ball?

Was such a thing even possible?

Had change come to my fudge making?

I poured it into a round cake pan (Not the pan I usually use, but since I was changing everything else I figured why not change the dish it cools in, too?), smoothed the top with a spatula, and put it in the fridge to cool. Two hours later, I pulled it out, and it looked like it usually does on good years:



Not glossy, but not gritty and wrinkled like an old pioneer woman's face.

I lifted the foil out of the dish and let the fudge sit for twenty minutes, because I feel like one of the other reasons it seems hard and gritty sometimes is that I slice it when it's rock hard and half frozen, and I needed to just be patient and let it rest. See how much I'm changing and growing as a person? Anyway, I sliced, and got this:



It's pretty good. It's solid, creamy, not gritty, and tastes fine. It's not the fudge on the box, but it never will be because the fudge on the box is made of wax and modeling clay and sprayed with oil by a food stylist so that it photographs well.

Merry Fudgemas, friends.