Fudge, Fudge, Fudge

My Papa made the most delicious fudge I have ever had. Every year at Christmas we would get a big holiday shaped plate of it and I would eat it every chance I got. When I was younger I was always there when he made it and sat in the kitchen waiting patiently for him to be done. I knew I would get the wooden spoon and pan to lick after he poured that goodness into it's glass dish.

2001 is the last year my Papa was well enough to make his fudge. If I had known then that it would be the last year I honestly think I would have frozen most of it just so I had a piece for years to come that I could secretly savor at Christmas. It was that good! And more so it was a work of love that my Papa did for us. Even when his hands stopped working and he could barely stand he would still manage to make our fudge every year knowing that we were counting on it.

In 2002 my Papa became very sick. He had been battling Parkinson's for the last 8 years and was losing his battle very quickly. We moved him into a home right before the holiday season started. I realized that we wouldn't be having fudge that year and it broke my heart. It wasn't about the fudge though. It was about finally not being able to ignore that my Papa wasn't going to be around forever.

In 2003 I tried to make his fudge. I found the recipe my Grandma had written in her loopy chicken scratch and between trying to make out what she had written and what I remember him doing I was in the kitchen for hours. The directions she wrote didn't make sense but I thought for sure they had to be right. I remember her copying them down for every person who asked. (I wasn't the only one who loved that fudge!) I failed miserably 5 different times that year. After the 5th batch was tossed in the garbage and the chocolate mess washed from the pan I just couldn't try again that year. All I could do was cry. I wanted that one piece of my Papa back and I couldn't get it right.

I tried again in December 2004, 2005, 2006, and 2007. I didn't come any closer those years and threw out more ingredients than one can imagine in all my attempts to recreate a memory I so desperately tried for. I blamed it on the pan and the directions every time. But no matter what I did differently I still ended up with a glob of chocolate and tears running down my face in defeat.

This year I was determined to make that fudge no matter what. I bought a new pan, I called my mom and asked about the directions and whether she remembered my Papa making it the way they stated. I quietly talked to my Papa in my head and asked him to please just let me have this one thing back. I knew I couldn't see him or hug him again but please just this one thing! I pleaded...

I got the ingredients out and made sure all my measuring cups and spoons were ready to go. I didn't look at the directions except to get the proper amounts that were necessary. I was nervous but ready and tried to be calm. After a few near freak outs I finally poured my fudge in the buttered glass baking dish. Ben asked how it turned out but I explained I wouldn't know until it cooled.

To get my mind off of it I started in on other things to bake. I made chocolate chip cookies, chocolate chip caramel cookies, butter cookies, toffee, and peppermint bark. Finally the fudge was cool and it was time to test it...

I cut into the fudge...so far so good. I took out a piece and immediately noticed the consistency seemed near perfect. Now for the taste test...holy wow! It worked! If I hadn't spent an hour of my time making it I would have sworn it was made by my Papa. Ben sat on the couch watching me, not knowing if he should say anything. I finally broke into a smile and with tears in my eyes told him I had finally done it.

Every year my younger brother, Matt, asks me if I made the fudge. Every year I have to tell him it didn't work. It breaks my heart to see the disappointment in his eyes. I know he doesn't blame me but I also know he wants that little piece of my Papa back just as much as I do. I was so excited that I would be able to give it to him this year. I would need to get going though because the hour it takes to cook and the 2 hours it takes to cool would mean a lot of time and I didn't have much left.

I made another batch and was shocked by my laid back attitude. I was doing other baking while I made it and didn't feel the need to stand right next to it and stare at the candy thermometer perched on the side of the pan. After I poured it I didn't have to worry that it wasn't right, I knew I had done it again and that feeling I had will never be forgotten. I had my Papa back in a small way and soon so would my brother.

I wanted to surprise Matt on Christmas morning but I had to share it with someone. Ben took a bite but wasn't a fan. He's more of a soft, creamy fudge person and this fudge is definitely not that. It has a different texture than the usual fudge. I knew my mom would be excited so we drove over (in the 2 feet of snow) so I could give her a few pieces to savor until Christmas. She couldn't believe how right it was and immediately asked when she would get more than the 4 pieces in the little baggy I had just handed her. I told her Christmas morning but only if she didn't tell Matt about it.

Christmas morning Matt came in and I gave him a piece of fudge. He looked at me in disbelief and said "Is this Papa's" I told him to just take a bite. He did and the tears sprung to his eyes. Right then all the past years of tossed out chocolate mess were worth it. I could have been given nothing else but that moment and my Christmas would have been just as good.

Thank you for showing me how to make your fudge, Papa! If you only knew how much it means to all of us. That fudge will be made for years to come and I promise to rewrite the directions that were so very clearly wrong. (No wonder no one could ever make it right except my Papa. He didn't follow her directions.)