The Fudge Caper

Maybe everybody makes peanut butter fudge, or maybe practically nobody makes it, I don’t know.  I do know though that my mother could make it soft and creamy, and so tasty I would drool just to be in the same room with it.  I loved to be in the house when mom decided she would give we children a treat and make a batch.

So it happened one day that she whipped up a batch and cooked it.  The odor was wafting through the house, and I was in some sort of a dream world.  Mom poured the cooked mixture into one of her 8” by 16” cake pans, about an inch deep and let it cool and set.  I remember that my two brothers Ron and Dell were there as well as myself, all of us with our tongues hanging out like sweating hound dogs.

After it had properly cooled enough for it to stay in a square when cut, mom cut it into 1” cubes.  She then allotted each of us a piece which we cut into the tiniest bits so as to make it last as long as possible.  This went on each day for two or three days.

One day dad and mom went off to town to run errands and buy groceries.  Ron, who always thought up ideas first, decided that he, Dell, and myself ought to each have a piece of fudge.  He had decided that mom wouldn’t care.  The only reason we weren’t given any by her was that she wasn’t home.  I hesitated to take any and told Ron that maybe mom knew how many pieces were left in the row that was partially gone.  Ron said, “That’s an easy one,” and removed an entire row leaving the pan looking just as it had except for an entire row missing.

We each then ate two pieces, leaving a remainder of two.  Ron and Dell decided they were the biggest so each of them should get the extra pieces.  No such thing as dividing them up!  I assured them I was going to tell mom on them, but they told me if I did I’d get in just as much trouble as them.  I knew they were right so I just had to settle for my smaller share of the pilfered goods and keep my mouth shut.

Later in the day, after our parents return, Ron had the unmitigated gall to ask mom if each of us could have a piece of fudge.  Mom said sure, and we each got another one.

My wife now has my mother’s recipe.  She makes it several times a year.  Of course I can have any amount I want of it, but it’s not anywhere near as fun as it was that day when we were young and nearly ate ourselves sick on it.