Fudge and the people who make it.
There are some things you need to know. First, it is Christmas time. You probably already know this, America, but just in case I thought I would mention it. If there was ever a man who loved Christmas it was my grandpa. His official grandpa name was BahPah, but as we grew older it got shortened to Bop. Here’s what you need to know: Bop looked like Santa Clause, sang like Bing Crosby, always wore one red and one green sock on Christmas day, actively used the interjection FANTASTIC! and made the best fudge in the history of the world.
Lots of people have grandparents, and many of those grandparents make fudge, so what sets Bop apart? Let me hit you with a little SAT style analogy to explain: Other people’s grandparents fudge is to caffeine what Bop’s fudge is to heroine. Once you start you can’t stop. In college Bop would send me back to school with a big old tin of the good stuff, and my roommate, suite-mates, and I would gorge ourselves until we were in a fudge coma. You can ask them. They will testify. Bop’s fudge was the good stuff.
Although I have been an adult for a while I’ve only recently begun to do adult style activities like Christmas baking. Today I attempted to recreate a masterpiece. With the help of my college roommate Amanda and her awesome organizational skills the recipe was resurrected. The only problem with any of my grandpa’s recipes is that they all require a lot of intuition and reading between the lines. His measurements were unconventional, his descriptors were vague, but his final products were always awesome. So today, I gave it my best shot.
The fudge looks pretty legit, but the taste is not the real deal. The recipe is open to so many different interpretations that I’ll just have to keep manipulating variables until I come up with the original. But, for a first attempt at grown-up fudge making, I think I was very successful. I think Bop would be proud.
In other news, Sergeant Pepper is the cutest. Behold the following: