Hot Fudge Puff

If you asked our family friends what foods they thought of when they thought of us, they would probably answer with one of three things: Wine Cake, Seven Layer Dip, or Hot Fudge Puff.

You fancy, wine cake... even when you aren't a bundt cake.

The wine cake is legendary... mainly because as seventh graders, the idea of eating a yellow cake soaked in sherry for three days was crazy enough that we had a contact high just from being in the same room. It is a staple at the Annual Atlanta Christmas Ladies' Brunch and Molls makes countless mini versions for neighbors and friends every year. The recipe is a well-guarded family secret, except for the seven years I didn't know it was a secret and emailed it out to everyone who as much hinted at a fondness for Williams-Sonoma shaped bunt pans or booze-filled desserts. Whoops.

The Seven-Layer Dip is basically the most American-ized version of the Mexican (Tex Mex? Made up from some guy who has never been South of the Border? Something random our mom saw on the back of a box of sodium and chemical laced taco seasoning? Who knows.) recipe possible. There are no olives. The refried beans are kept to a bare minimum. Guacamole is rarely included because it is just so hard to mesh up that many avocados. It is basically a glorified bowl of sour cream and cheese. In other words, it is amazing. It was a staple, though, at every class party or shower thrown at our house. We made it in college for late night snacks and RB and I bonded over it on a rainy Labor Day in Charleston the summer we became friends.

Hot Fudge Puff was a "fancy" staple growing up in our house. Originally, it was reserved for dinner's with dad's bosses and old friends in town. It was served right before the kids were ushered off to bed and always with fine china. It included fresh cherries and huge chunks of pecans and was always served with coffee in the formal living room. It might make an appearance twice a year - at most.

As things tend to do, though, the family evolved and so did the dessert - reflecting our new lives. I started being allowed to stay up late, which meant the cherries became an optional side and not a staple. Though, to this day, I still have the "Wait? You don't like cherries? Since when?" conversation with my dad each time it's served (Daddy, if you are reading this - I also still don't like seafood. Since always. Yes, I have tried it. No, I don't want to try it again. Yes, that includes crabcakes. They are basically just giant spiders that live underwater.). RB became a fixture at our holiday dinner table, and so the pecans were 86'd. Not because he is allergic to nuts, but just because he apparently has an allergy to awesome.

Fourth of July 2013.
No time to remove goggles. Must start eating. 

Then, the first grandbaby came. And, a short 13 months later, #2 and #3 arrived. Suddenly, we weren't waiting for formal occasions anymore. Hot Fudge Puff became a staple at Mom's house. It was made constantly, with my mom always offering some excuse as to why the kids should get some ("They played so hard in the pool! It's only 18 days until Christmas! Well, I already told them I was going to do it, so ... I am doing it.") It somehow stopped being called "Baked Fudge Puff" and became "Hot Fudge Puff" during those years.

Momma would make it quickly and efficiently, rarely needing to consult the recipe. She would let the babies smell vanilla and sometimes let them lick the spatula if my sister wasn't looking. She would tell stories about making it every Sunday night with her own mom and how her family loved it growing up. This, though, is highly disputed by her older brother and sister. My Uncle Ronnie was visiting Atlanta several years ago, so I made Hot Fudge Puff as a nostalgic throwback. He listened to my retelling of my mom's story of it being a staple in their West Virginia home, took a big bite, and smiled broadly. "This is delicious, but I have never had this a darn day in my life." Aunt Pookie agreed. Many Kyle stories end in this sort of disagreement, inevitably leaving future generations very confused about their family history.

A few days after Momma's passing, I sat shell shocked on my parents' couch. I could barely see straight through the grief and didn't even realize Soph was in the room. Quietly, she came and curled up next to me, her long legs pulled into her chest protectively. She wasn't her usual active self, and I could tell she was thinking hard about Mom - her nickname for her grandmother.

"Aunt Maggie?"
"Yeah, Soph?"
"If Mom's gone, now... who will teach me how to make hot fudge puff?" she asked so quietly I almost didn't hear.

I looked up from the fog I was in, and saw her big brown eyes - exact replicas of my mom's - brimming with tears.

"Will we not have it anymore? It is a tradition, right? How will we do it without Mom?"
"Oh, Soph.Your momma and I will. Just like Grandma's mom (supposedly) taught her. And like she taught us. We will teach you, sweet girl."
"Okay... I don't think it will be the same without her, though."

"I have to fil this WHOLE cup up? That
seems like a lot of sugar."

And it won't. It hasn't been. This Fourth of July, though, just like last Fourth of July, we made hot fudge puff. We measured the cocoa and the vanilla. I cracked the eggs because "Momma says raw eggs kill you" and Colin worked diligently as "official taste tester." The kids asked for it for breakfast the next morning and their request was granted way too early.

And, like last year, there was too much Mexican food and not enough sleep. There were pool days and laughter and retelling of the same stories for the millionth time. There was the singing of patriotic songs and prayers thanking our Lord for this country and fireworks that were probably age inappropriate.

This year, there was also tears. And a longing and ache that won't go away.

"I will supervise. I have practice
on my fake kitchen at home."

The babies saw all of it. They saw the good and bad - the sudden crying at an unexpected flash of memory and the deep belly laughs that only come when you are in the comfort of those you love the most. They saw more happiness than sadness, though - probably for the first time since November.

Fourth of July 2014
Sweet Lilly, so proud of her baking skills

And they had hot fudge puff. With whip cream and no cherries or pecans. They will have it next year, too. Probably at Christmas as well and when they come to visit in a few weeks. We will make it every chance we get so they learn how to do it and can show their own kids, telling their own babies about how Mom used to make this for them. How her house smelled like chocolate for days afterwards and how she would let them sneak cold bites straight from the fridge when no one was looking. How they could feel her love in every bite and taste the joy she had in being their grandmother. And then, hopefully, their kids will know her - at least know her love. All through a little cocoa and butter.