Christmas Fudge

We may or may not be enjoying Christmas Fudge this year.  I love fudge.  (I know, who doesn't?)  Normally, my mother makes it, and when I do it it's just a bonus.  This year, she didn't happen to make any.  (Not a problem- we will manage to achieve obesity by New Year's regardless.) But, since we like it, I thought I'd make some.  Seeing as how I'm done with almost all the other holiday tasks, and all.

Let me begin by explaining that I have gotten a different set of pots and pans since the last time I made fudge.  They are, in fact, a NICER set.  But different, nonetheless.  So when I picked out the pot I thought would work and diligently hooked up the candy thermometer, it came as something of a surprise that as the level on the thermometer rose, so did the contents of the pot.  Apparently I either forgot all about this phenomenon, or it wasn't nearly as noticeable in my wider, shallower pot last year.

So the candy continued to swell until I had twenty more degrees to go before the candy mixture and the chocolate were supposed to meet, but about one more degree before the pot boiled over.  Have you ever tried to "stir constantly" while transferring a boiling hot, sticky substance from one pot to another?  Well, it wasn't pretty, but everyone came through okay except, possibly, the fudge.

Time will tell, and, you know- the proof is in the pudding.  Or, the fudge, as the case happens to be.  I have a feeling we will choke it down somehow.

As a sidebar, the Little Dude observed part of this process (thankfully, not the incredibly ridiculous and possibly dangerous pot transfer) and immediately pointed out that Auntie Tarra needed to help us eat the fudge.  To which I replied in two parts.  One: Auntie Tarra, this little person has got your number.  And Two: as soon as she gets here, we will share our fudge.  Which may or may not be any good.

PS: The fudge is fine.  One billion calories per square inch, and all.