The Chocolate Conundrum

Okay, I admit it; I missed the prologue and all the chapters.

Coming in only at the yummy epilogue.

That doesn't seem to be sufficient.

Maybe I should explain . . .

Every year, at Christmastime, Mom made chocolates.

Chocolates.

They were just as yummy as they sound.

Sweet little balls of deliciousness dipped in more deliciousness.

Could life get any better?

Mom would heat melting chocolate on the stove. Assemble long strips of waxed paper on all sides of the table. Seat several willing children at said table and beside described paper.

Arm those children with a toothpick a piece.

Bring out the great sheets of frozen little balls of fondant.

And let the adventure begin.

But here is where I admit I must have missed a few steps.

How did those little balls of sweet amazingness end up on the cookie sheets in the freezer?

I mean, I know Mom was magic, but did that apply here?

What did she do between the shopping (which I was often somewhat present for)?

And the dipping (which I never missed)?

There must have been some sort of assemblage which looked enough like work that Diane had disappeared.

The dipping I had down. Five dipped, one eaten. Or was it four dipped, one eaten? Three? Two?

Let’s just say: I was especially good/efficient at this step.

But the whole construction process?

Yep. I’ve got nothing.

The reason I am telling you this?

I’ve got my gallon of melted chocolate.

A cart load of waxed paper.

And a tree’s worth of toothpicks.

But, as hard as I look, sheets of little, round balls of fondant simply aren’t appearing in my freezer.

I’ve looked.

Several times.

Yep.

Definitely missing something here.