No Fudge

Which is probably for the best, because had the leche quemada turned out great (or at all) I would eat it. I know that sounds strange, right? Why cook something if you’re not going to eat it? Good question. My hope of course is that I would cook it and give it away…at which I am sometimes successful, but I usually end up eating way more than I need to.

I enjoy cooking and I love to feed others and sometimes I do that with food.

So  I poured out a pan of luscious caramel laced with burnt crystalized bits and now it’s a new day and I get to start all over.

Wonder what I’ll cook up?


Oh Fudge!

Smarty me thought I’d make Mexican burnt milk fudge, aka leche quemada, the traditional way. Whatever that means.
Most of the recipes on the web use condensed milk or sweetened condensed milk, but I found one that uses fresh milk. And the website is in Spanish. Must be authentic right?
At this point I have a big cast iron pot of brown frothy milk and I’ve been at it for almost two hours now.

I was pretty happy with my two cups of milk and four cups of sugar turning a nice caramel color. I was a little unsure of the other pan and its six cups of milk and half a teaspoon of baking soda. Hmmmm. It took longer than I thought to bring it to a boil.

Then, if my translation doesn’t completely suck, I should pour the 6 cups into the now brownish and thick 2 cups. But I hesitated and spooned out about half a cup and dropped it in. Yep, just like I thought. The baking soda milk foamed up and just about doubled the contents. Glad I didn’t pour the whole thing in or I’d STILL be cleaning milk and sugar off the counter, stove, floor, and me.

But spoon by spoon I merged it all and now I’m looking at what appears to be the foam from a really good root beer. Or Guinness.

I’m not sure what I’m going to end up with. I may be dumping it out in the pasture later. I may go into town and let it sit while I have coffee with friends and then dinner. It may turn out to be fantastic and I start a side business as none of the Mexican restaurants in town sell it.

Like most things in life, its going to be what its going to be and maybe I’ll like it and maybe I won’t; maybe I’ll eat it and maybe I won’t, but I learn a little more about my cooking skills and recognize my poor translation skills.

Ce la vie say the old folks, which goes to show you never can tell.