What’s strange about fudge, you ask? Well I’ll tell you. Fudge is a wonderful thing, something I’ve enjoyed every time I’ve ever had it, since I was a little kid. But before a vision of it randomly popped into my mind one day last month, I probably hadn’t thought about it for years. It might have been half a decade since I’d last popped a piece in my mouth, but suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So, I’m an adult, I have a car: I decided to go out and get some fudge. And that’s when I realized fudge is hard to come by.
Most treats are available by the ton every few miles. Some, like Cadbury Cream Eggs, are only available seasonally, but that one time of year, they are ubiquitous. But it’s never fudge season. Fudge has a place—vacation destinations, it would seem—but not a time. If you aren’t at the shore or in Disney World, your prospects for securing some are poor.
So where do you get it, if you don’t feel like driving to the beach? The answer is not that simple. For example, the Amish used to sell fudge at the Columbus Farmer’s Market. But last time I was there, I noticed the fudge station was gone. Maybe they just moved it, I don’t know, but it looked to me like the fudge counter had been replaced with other treats.
I asked other people where they would go to get fudge. One person recommended a chocolate shop in the Lawrence Shopping Center, Carl Fischer, which for many years was located in Trenton. I drove down there: cleared out. Checked the phone, it was disconnected.
On Facebook, someone recommended Jann’s Sweet Shoppe in Pennington. It, too, was closed. Now I was more than just casually curious. Fudge was scarce to begin with, and now three places local to us that had been known to carry it were gone. What gives?
Fudge is one of the most purely indulgent foods ever invented. Sugar, butter, cream, chocolate—and that’s essentially it. Even cookies have flour and eggs, ingredients that could be seen as nutritious.
I can’t be sure, but I believe my first taste of fudge came at the Wildwood boardwalk. I have a ghostly memory from the summer when my grandmother, uncle and aunt joined my family on vacation in Wildwood Crest. What I remember is that we were at the boardwalk one afternoon and my uncle or my aunt bought a pound of fudge, which they shared with everyone.
Before that, I’d never had it. From then on, every summer was a fudgy summer. In the early 80’s, a pound would set you back about $4.95, so a significant portion of my July or August allowance was earmarked for the sweet treat.
In 1985, we stopped going to Wildwood regularly, and like that, my fudge supply was more or less cut off. But I can’t say I missed it, exactly. Perhaps the brain has a way of balancing its want for fudge with its need for it.
Eventually, with the help of some friends, I did find fudge at the Trenton Farmers Market, in the store at the far end. You can also, I’m told, get it at David Bradley Chocolatier in Robbinsville. In Flemington, there’s a place called The Fudge Shoppe, but that’s almost as far away as the shore.
At the Trenton Farmer’s Market, where I finally found the stuff, I asked the cashier for 1/4 lb. I took it back to the office, excited to quench the craving with that familiar and long-missed flavor.
But after I had taken a few bites, the intense sugary richness started to make my jowls itch. I thought I liked sweets as much as anyone, but I was surprised to find myself throwing the last couple bites in the trash. And it all made sense.
Fudge is a food that is tasty, but too intense to really enjoy. So we eat it now and again—maybe on vacation—until we can’t stand it any more, then forget about it. The thought of it doesn’t return until we have forgotten that intensity, and remember only the tastiness. Fudge’s scarcity is no mystery at all. It’s saving us from ourselves.
Also, I figure in about five years, I’ll be able to break this column out again.
