Fudge, Glorious Fudge

Fudge is exciting. Its caramelly flavour, crystallised and grainy texture, sometimes studded with nuts and swirled with dark chocolate - these things convince me that fudge is the quintessence of an old-time sweet.

One does not quickly tire of this smooth and visually stimulating candy: despite its almost indecent calorie-laden sugariness, it is possible to eat at least four pieces at one time - or a whole tray full, if you are of the male sex.
When I wrote the above few sentences a couple of months ago, I was feeling victorious after making a big dish of thick, smooth and just-the-right-firmness fudge without gloopiness, and without the hard, over-cooked texture commonly found in fudge trials.

It was maple and walnut. One triumphant tasting of fudge later I was writing the above lines, about to (modestly and understatedly) praise my brilliant culinary skills.

The success of the fudge made me heady: such a triumph over one of my Achilles' heels was worthy of a good glass of champagne.

Sadly, I didn't complete the post. You didn't get to hear the ravings of a girl in a fudge-mood.

Tonight I was waylaid by some Alison Holst books. (Beware of such an occurrence when you have been industriously studying all day. The sudden desire to make old fashioned sweets comes upon you more suddenly at such times, and you will be powerless to do anything other than obey your sweet instincts.)

I turned to the ginger fudge page. There it was, an old-school picture of creamy ginger fudge, sprinkled with walnuts and placed appetisingly in a little black box with tissue paper around it. Oh, so good. Seeing the picture was the point of no return.

Quickly, (before Mum could get back home and stop me in my illegal proceedings) I placed the butter, sugar and milk in the microwave-safe bowl, then pressed instant start on the microwave. And kept pressing the button and stirring the gloop and testing the sugary liquid in the bowl-of-cold-water-testing-solution.

I believed in myself.
The mixture was bubbling and becoming golden, then caramel-brown.

Finally, my instincts told me the toffee was ready, the fudge-making could begin. Engrossed in the mesmerising fudge process, I measured maple essence and a little salt into the mixture, then took the hand beater and began to beat.

After a minute I felt something was rotten in the state of the fudge proceedings - the mixture was becoming grainy. Then grainier.

It became at length so grainy that it was somewhat pointless to beat the resisting globules anymore.

Hastily, I grabbed the fudge tin, sprayed it and spread the hardening material inside it.

But it was too late: the fudge was overcooked.

My splendid visions of glorious, creamy fudge were gone. I had thought my fudge-making skills were invincible - that I knew the meaning of the mystery to true fudge production.

Now I knew the truth: happiness in fudge-making is entirely a matter of chance. There will always be vexations, and disappointments, but it is better to know as little about the trials of fudge-making before you start.

Do you guys have some tales of fudge making? Do you find fudge difficult to make - or at least, difficult to get right - or do you find it a breeze? And if so, could you please share your recipe? :)