When we were kids snow days meant certain things. Usually it meant making a snow man in the front yard. There was always hot chocolate on the stove top that my mother would make from scratch in a big pan - no powdered mixes in those days! And very often it meant that in the afternoon, after we were all inside recovering from our hours in the snow, my mother would make fudge. Yum!
Just thinking about sitting in front of the television watching an old movie (there was no such thing as a DVR or video recorder so we had limited choices of things to watch. We only had two good channels, both from Connecticut, and afternoons brought us the "Big 3 Theater" which was always a classic movie and the source of much of my movie knowledge). So when the snow was falling so beautifully the other day I sat on the couch watching it and I could literally smell the aromas of the home of my childhood. There was the scent of wool mittens drying on top of the cast iron radiators that were pumping out some serious heat. There was the undeniable smell of our wet dog who had been outside running around with us as we threw snowballs and created igloos. And the luscious smell of fudge being made on top of the snow: melted butter, sugar, and chocolate being stirred together to create a rich, sinful concoction we would gobble up as soon as it was cool enough.
It's no wonder I'm always compelled to bake on snowy days. This week it was pork dinner in the crock pot and a chocolate layer cake. But truthfully, I wanted some fudge made by my mother.