I don't make fudge anymore. I'm not good at it like I was in the old days when I nailed the recipe every time. It's because I'm out of practice. When we were young, my friend Gaye and I used to whip some up in her kitchen, cackling like two little witches as we stirred the pot, barely letting it set before devouring it together. Did we share with her brothers and sisters? Maybe. (But I doubt it.)
Years ago, I used to make fudge all the time, especially when I was first married. I'd make an 8x8" cake pan's worth, either chocolate pecan or maple. And I'd eat it. My hubby would come home after a hockey game and say, 'Hey, I'll try a piece of that fudge, now."
"Oh honey," I'd reply, my voice dripping with pity. "It's all gone." He'd be shocked every time. I'd offered him some before he left, but he 'wasn't in the mood for sweets.' To me that was like turning down a trip to heaven because you're ninety-five and enjoying life with no teeth.
When I turned fifty-something, I started praying about my sugar habit. "Dear God, help me kick it. I swear it's going to kill me." I meant it, too. I formed this habit as a young child stealing fudge from the downstair's freezer. My dad would shake his head. "I could swear we just made that batch. Where did it all go?" You poor, sweet, innocent man. With five daughters and one son around, (and one more arriving later) you'd think he'd have been a little more suspicious.
Anyway, back to my fifties. For a couple years, I prayed this prayer without doing a thing about it. And then one day while walking home from work, I broke out in hives. It started in a small way...the bite of an apple, some coconut shrimp. Then it was strawberries, kiwi, and after a while I couldn't tell anymore what was causing them. I ended up in emergency a few times, feeling like I'd been stung by a thousand bees.
And then I called my cousin, Sue Fraleigh. She was our food guru, and knew a lot about nutrition. "It's not that stuff that's really bothering you," she said. "It's wheat, maybe oats. But definitely sugar." I remember holding the phone and watching my life flash before me. That prayer! This was God's cosmic joke. Fix her, and fix her good.
Sure enough, we'd found the problem. Every time I tried going back to my old ways, the hives returned, along with a belly ache, which I'd never noticed before. I was a crybaby for quite awhile, until I got used to my new diet. You know what replaced wheat and sugar? Vegetables! (Even now I can picture the heavenly angels holding their bellies and laughing after my prayer was transferred up the heavenly chute. Or however that works.)
But today, I decided to make fudge for our church bake table. I was like a scientist, stirring, but not too often! Getting the mixture to a low boil, transferring it in the nick of time to my Kitchen Aid and mixing it well. I did this twice, for chocolate pecan and maple fudge. And let me say, it's delicious.
How do I know? I made the mistake of trying it. 'I'll just clean up these edges around the pan," I said to myself. "Oh, those ones are broken! I'd better eat those." Next thing you know, I'm lying on the couch, the room is spinning, my stomach feels funny, but my brain is so satisfied! The stuff was like crack. I pictured myself lying in some back alley, feeling too stoned from my sugar high to get back on my feet. (I may need a sponsor after this.)
All was not well. I was so sick. But thankfully, I got better. Yes, I still have a few hives and my gut is a bit icky, but I've decided to consider it a life lesson. Like the time last year when I became convinced I was over my wheat allergy and ate a piece of bread. Not over it.
Here's my advice. Be careful what you pray for. Write it down like a contract so you don't foolishly bet the farm or engage our Creator's sense of humour, which I believe is considerable. As I sit here, my back and joints aching as a result of my foolish lack of self control (inflammation...it's so fun) I realize that I'm glad things had to change. I'm happy my cousin Sue steered me in the right direction, and that I'm healthier for it. But I have to say, I enjoyed the fudge high while it lasted. Now please excuse me while I hobble off to bed.
