Oh, Fudge! An Ode to America’s Nostalgic Confection
A Vintage Kitchen Korner Post (Follow my Vintage Kitchen page at https://www.facebook.com/vintagekitchenFB/ )
American lore tells that fudge first debuted at Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, NY, at a senior auction in 1892. Whether this is true or not will remain a mystery, but what we do know is that chocolate fudge is truly a vintage confection that the U.S.A. can call its own. Many speculate that its invention was pure chance. Fudge is no more than a drier cousin of fondant, that pliable sugar dough we cover cakes with and use as a center in chocolate confections. And therein lies the secret to success when making old-fashioned fudge; if you understand fondant, you can master Fudge.
You know what I mean if you have ever tried to make fudge from scratch. Fudge is fickle. It needs lots of attention and care to come out right. Fudge is one of the recipes that requires what I like to call “muscle memory.” Rare is the cook who makes a perfect batch the first time… or the tenth time. Fudge asks a lot of you. It asks you not to give up on it, to keep ruining batch after batch, till your body “knows” you are doing it right.
I was ten years old the first time I took a crack at making fudge. My grandmother’s Better Homes and Gardens Dessert Cookbook, published in 1960, promised glossy squares of perfectly set fudge with its “Old-Time Fudge” recipe. Suffice it to say, I failed. I stirred the pot too long, and the fudge set stiffly on the bottom of my grandmother’s Magnalite pot. We scooped out spoonfuls, and it did taste like everything you hope fudge will taste like. I was hooked. I was determined to master this culinary feat.
The next batch got out of the pot, but it was never set up. It stayed semi-liquid in the pan like a thick syrup you put on ice cream. The next batch was set up (hooray!), but the texture was grainy, indicating the sugar had crystallized. This went on for a decade. I kid you not. Each batch would have a flaw. I began to realize a very scientific thing was going on between ingredients and heat. Temperature and technique were everything.
As I grew older and wearier from batch after batch of heartache, I turned my attention to simpler recipes, recipes that touted sayings like “No-fail” and “No-cook.” It was an irresistible siren calling me to take the easy route. These recipes had strange ingredients like marshmallow fluff and sweetened condensed milk. They used the microwave instead of the laborious method of stirring a hot pot for endless minutes. The biggest difference between the “easy” and the old-fashioned was how the fudge set. The East method used the cooling powers of the fridge. The old-fashioned method used chemistry. The new fudge had to be chilled, whereas nostalgic, real fudge could be left at room temperature. I figured it out pretty quickly that the imposters were merely lying to you. It wasn’t fudge but a refrigerated frosting meant to fool. And the taste was a giveaway: flat, comical, and not really fudge.
Armed with a little science know-how from my favorite TV food star, Alton Brown, I returned to the difficult task of making real fudge. After a few years on hiatus, I was surprised when I made the first batch how much my body had remembered what to do. I had an almost sixth sense of when to cut the heat and when to stop stirring and pour the mixture into my pan. It set up perfectly and tasted just how good fudge should be. What is the big secret to mastering this time-honored recipe? Heat is number one. You must have an excellent candy thermometer that you can read easily and clips to the side of your pan, keeping the temperature gauge off the bottom of the pot. Some veteran candy makers can go by look, but they have that muscle memory down. The technique is second. Knowing how long it takes to beat the fudge is a huge hurdle and one that is hard to articulate in an instruction. The recipe tells you to beat till the mixture loses its gloss. There is about a fifteen second gap between shiny and matte finish, then there is about a twenty second gap between matte and set. I have watched in horror as my fudge has set as I pour it, creating a somewhat interesting fudge waterfall effect from pot to pan. This is why many cooks work the fudge on a cool marble slab till ready to set. Working the fudge on a stone slab, take away a step: pouring. This is where my years of fondant experience have really helped. You boil sugar and glucose ( a type of liquid sugar) to a certain temperature, then pour the hot mixture onto a stone slab and fold it in on itself while it cools till it forms a white dough called fondant. I now make my fudge this way. I suggest you try it, too; if you have granite counters, you can use them.
Why spend a decade mastering a silly candy recipe? Why go through such pain and suffering? I guess I am a sucker for a lost art, and fudge making in the home is certainly on the endangered list. I can say there is nothing like making a batch on a warm summer’s night while you listen to the crickets sing outside. For me, it’s a golden memory of summers as a child.
Old-Time Fudge
Ingredients
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup milk
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, cut up
1 teaspoon of light-colored corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chopped nuts (optional)
2 tablespoons butter
Directions
Line a 9x5x3-inch loaf pan with foil, extending the foil over the edges of the pan. Butter foil; set pan aside.
Butter the sides of a heavy 2-quart saucepan. In a saucepan, combine sugar, milk, chocolate, and corn syrup. Cook and stir over medium-high heat until the mixture boils. Clip a candy thermometer to side of pan. Reduce heat to medium-low; continue boiling at a moderate, steady rate, stirring frequently, until the thermometer registers 234 degrees F, soft-ball stage (20 to 25 minutes).
Remove the saucepan from the heat. Add butter and vanilla, but do not stir. Cool, without stirring, to 110 degrees F (about 55 minutes).
Remove the thermometer from the saucepan. Beat the mixture vigorously with a wooden spoon until the fudge just begins to thicken. If desired, add nuts. Continue beating until the fudge becomes very thick and just starts to lose its gloss (about 10 minutes total).
Immediately spread the fudge in the prepared pan. Score into squares while warm. When the fudge is firm, use foil to lift it out of the pan. Cut fudge into squares. Store tightly covered. Makes about 1-1/4 pounds (32 pieces).