The Original Chocolate Melt

No one ever chewed my mother’s hand-beaten fudge poured into a single pie pan to cool and be cut. My mother’s cocoa-powder fudge made-from-scratch did not melt in your hand, nor stick to your fingers. But it did crumble, and we greedily sought out each tiny brown-topaz crystal to stretch out the moments of delight for as long as possible.

You popped a small square whole into your mouth, or you bit the tiny cube in half to make the pleasure last. An inextricably delicate grit slid across your teeth only to melt immediately on your tongue as swift a liquefaction as when ultra-fine silt dissolves into rain.

The essence of that fudge then spilled into every oral crevice, across every smooth plain until it slipped inevitably over the edge of tongue to slide down the long narrow gully of your throat.  Afterwards, the briefest memory clung to teeth and gums like perfume lingers on a breeze.

The fragrance of the fudge making lingered in the rooms of the house tantalizing us long after the pie tin was empty, washed and put away.

No one ever chewed my mother’s homemade cocoa-powder fudge, but oh, how we indulged.

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