🍫 “Fudge Maadida” — A Story of Sweet Mischief and Meaning
By the third day of summer vacation, Jenny and Andy had declared war on the beach.
“The sand is getting everywhere,” Jenny grumbled, pulling a gritty towel from her backpack.
“Even in my ears,” Andy added solemnly.
That morning, they staged a silent rebellion: no sunscreen, no hats, no enthusiasm. Their aunts gave up and let them stay indoors.
Inside their ancestral home in Udupi, the kitchen smelled of roasted coconut and nostalgia. Ceiling fans whirred lazily above as Amma and Aunt Paddu sipped filter coffee, nibbling jackfruit chips and catching up in rapid Kannada.
“Avanu account fudge maadida,” Aunt Paddu said, her voice spiked with disbelief.
Jenny, eavesdropping from behind the fridge, gasped. “Did she just say… fudge?”
Andy leaned in. “Fudge? Like… chocolate fudge? Or—wait, is someone fudging the family accounts?”
“Scandalous,” Jenny whispered.
Back in their room — a faded green space with creaky floorboards and a suspiciously squeaky ceiling fan — they retrieved the Reader’s Digest Illustrated Dictionary, a book that had once doubled as both a weapon (against cockroaches) and a pillow (during forced nap times).
Fudge (noun)
- A soft, creamy candy made from sugar, butter, and milk.
- A plan or action that avoids making a clear decision or giving a clear answer.
- (verb) To cheat slightly or to avoid the truth.
Andy read the entries aloud with the gravitas of a courtroom judge. “So… it’s a sweet, and a cheat?”
Jenny’s eyes twinkled. “Let’s make the sweet kind. And maybe fudge the recipe a little.”
🍯 Operation Fudge
It was 2:07 p.m. Nap o’clock for the grown-ups. Prime mischief hour for the kids.
They tiptoed into the kitchen like spies. Pots clanged. A ladle fell. Jenny shushed it like it was a crying baby.
They found a recipe scribbled on the back of a Femina magazine from 1996: Chocolate Fudge (No Egg!). There was mention of “double boiler,” which Andy interpreted as “one vessel inside another, probably not exploding.”
“Chocolate,” Jenny said, pulling out a half-melted bar of Munch and a suspiciously dusty cocoa tin.
“Condensed milk,” Andy muttered, prying open a dented Nestlé tin with a spoon and a prayer.
They melted. Stirred. Fudged. It turned grainy.
“More butter!” cried Jenny.
“Spoon of Bournvita!” yelled Andy.
“Maybe cardamom?” Jenny wondered.
“Why not cinnamon?” Andy offered.
The mixture looked like chocolate upma and smelled vaguely of confusion. But before they could decide on a garnish, a shadow darkened the doorway.
Aunt Selvi stood there — arms folded, sari tucked, one eyebrow arched high enough to touch the fan.
“Out. Now. Before you fudge the gas cylinder.”
They dropped their spatulas like criminals in a heist gone wrong.
🌼 Aunt Selvi’s Quiet Magic
That evening, the kids sat sulking on the veranda, nursing their wounded pride and listening to distant temple bells. A mosquito buzzed near Andy’s nose, and he waved it off with the same energy he used to shoo away guilt.
Then, the scent hit them — rich, chocolatey, irresistible.
Inside, on the dining table, sat a tray of perfectly cut fudge squares. They glistened like edible tiles under the yellow kitchen light.
Aunt Selvi placed the tray between them and said with a smile that barely curled her lips:
“No eggs. No drama. Just follow the recipe.”
They each picked up a piece. It melted on the tongue — sweet, smooth, and impossible to hate.
Jenny licked her fingers. “You fudged it better.”
Andy mumbled, “I taste… justice.”
Aunt Selvi said nothing. Just handed them a recipe card, written in her neat block letters — tucked like a secret between the folds of quiet competence and intergenerational love.
📜 Aunt Selvi’s Eggless Chocolate Fudge Recipe
Ingredients:
- 1 cup chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate
- 1 cup sweetened condensed milk (Nestlé works beautifully)
- 2 tbsp butter
- 1 tsp vanilla essence
- A pinch of salt
- Optional: chopped nuts or tutti frutti
Instructions:
- In a bowl, combine chocolate and butter. Melt using a double boiler or microwave in 30-second bursts.
- Stir in condensed milk, vanilla, and salt. Mix until smooth.
- Pour into a greased tray. Flatten with a spatula.
- Let it set at room temperature or refrigerate for 2 hours.
- Cut into squares. Serve with a side of mischief.
🥄 Epilogue: Language, Like Fudge, Can Be Tricky
Later that night, Andy leaned over to Jenny and whispered, “You think when Aunt Paddu said fudge maadida, she meant cheat… or chocolate?”
Jenny smirked. “Both, probably. This family’s full of sweet talkers.”
They both giggled under the mosquito net, their hands still smelling faintly of cocoa and chaos.
This post is written for #blogchatterfoodfest hosted by Blogchatter.
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