He would always make us smell the vanilla -mmmmm- and then taste a drop straight from the bottle -yuck!- so we wouldn't drink it and get drunk, I guess. I remember how the fudge smelled while cooking, so sweet and rich and chocolatey. When it was done, it was all plopped into a clear glass pyrex dish that we had buttered up and left to cool. For about 30 seconds. Of the many things my father gave me, our time together in the kitchen is the most precious. I have to believe that I was imprinted with a love of food and the ability to find creative expression in cooking from those early years with him. I haven't made this fudge in decades, but maybe I'll give it a try today. What are your memories of your father in the kitchen? Are you a father and do you let your kids 'help' you?