Story¶
Lots of recipes on the Internet have folksy stories that go along with them. This isn’t much, but it doesn’t hurt to share. When I was a kid in New England, we’d sometimes go out to get fudge. There were shops that only sold fudge, in all sorts of different flavors, and we’d get samplers of different varieties. My parents called it fuh-duh-juh, with 3 syllables.
The first time I tried making this, I had undercooked it. I was also stirring by hand. I had waited for it to get plenty cool enough, but after 40 minutes of stirring with no hint of losing its gloss, I dumped some (too much) water in it, put it back on the stove, and tried again. At this point, it had the peanut butter and vanilla, but not the chocolate mixed in. I got it to the right temperature this time, let it cool again, and put it into my stand mixer.
I wasn’t sure how much mixing it would take, so I was pulsing it on then checking with a spoon. It didn’t lose its gloss until one time I stopped the mixer and stirred it a little with the spoon. It immediately dulled. I put the chocolate in, and mixed it at very low speed for a little bit longer (too much longer) then crumbled it into my pan that had been sitting there, greased, since I had started this experiment 2 hours earlier.
After I got what I could into the pan, I scraped the mixing bowl a bit and tasted some. It was like being a kid in a fudge shop again.
I got this recipe from my Mom. We used to make it (very) occasionally when I was little.