Do you know anyone in the world who does not like fudge? Jackie and I love it, and were it not for the fact that chocolate is bad for dogs, she would live on it. This story is about Christmas fudge.
Once upon a time there was a young woman who was eagerly anticipating a visit from her beloved grandmother, who had volunteered to come help out for a few weeks late in her granddaughter's pregnancy. And an 18-month-old was running about the house, so you can well imagine how much this aid was appreciated and looked forward to as Christmas approached. The expected baby was due on Christmas day.
The grandmother was a good cook, and her annual gift to everyone on her list was a generous amount of fudge, the wonderful kind made with marshmallow cream, which is so good you just can't cram it in fast enough and makes you want to slap your mama.
The young father was partial to the candy made with peanut butter, while the young mother leaned heavily toward the chocolate chip with pecans, and the little one ate whatever she could get her hands on. Thus it was that the two large batches which the grandmother made early in her visit were greatly enjoyed and vanished with amazing rapidity.
Upon learning of the demise of the fudge, the grandmother remarked, "Well, I'll just make a double batch of each kind this time and we can put most of it in the freezer. That way we'll have plenty when company drops in."
So she went happily to work, made a double batch of each kind and put most of it in the freezer. However, a generous amount was left in the candy dish for consumption by the young father who was partial to the candy made with peanut butter, and the young mother who leaned heavily toward the chocolate chip with pecans, and the little one who ate whatever she could get her hands on. The grandmother was not a candy eater; she just made it.
In a day or two the young mother was heard to remark to her grandmother, "Boy, some of that fudge would really taste good to me, Grandma!" And the grandmother, who loved the child to pieces, replied, "Well, honey, let me get you some out of the freezer. It won't take but a minute to thaw."
"Oh, that candy is all gone, Grandma. We finished it off last night after you went to bed."
Dear God!" the grandmother shrieked. "Child, you will die! Nobody could eat that much frozen fudge and live."
"Well, I didn't eat it all myself," the slightly offended young woman replied. "You know we all like candy."
When the grandmother realized that the "child" was not going to die, or even be ill, she got busy and made more fudge, loudly proclaiming to one and all that she had reached her candy making limit and in all probability would never make fudge again.
But of course she did, and each year at candy making time she laughed till she cried at the thought of the young father who was partial to the candy made with peanut butter, the young mother who leaned heavily toward chocolate chip with pecans, and the the little one who ate whatever she could get her hands on. Blessed memories.