It’s In The Bag

Up North Michigan has alot to brag about.
Okay, it’s not the shoes (too sensible). It’s not the amazing shopping (why bother). And it’s certainly not the Mexican food (wet or dry burrito? what does that even mean?)

But one of the claims to fame  is FUDGE.
Milk, white, dark chocolate fudge. Cherry fudge, maple fudge, chocolate chip fudge. Fudge with walnuts or pecans or, hell, probably rhubarb, if you look hard enough. Whatever your poison – it’s here. And it’s good.

They put the fudgemeister in the storefront window and let him roll out that chocolate velvet on a solid marble slab. It’s poetry in motion, man. I double-dog dare you to not lick the window.

In the end, you’ll buy that fudge. Yea verily, in quarter pound slabs. And you will carry that fudge in a little white bag while you wander the town, silently proclaiming to those who see, that, you, dearheart….. are a tourist.

Locals buy it, too. But carry it around in plain brown bags like a Baptist carries bourbon. Because the worst thing to be called, Up North, is a FUDGIE.

My husband’s mother’s family has been coming to the area since the 1940’s. Fudgies.
Our little family has spent all summer here for 13 years. Fudgies.
We own and pay taxes on two homes here. Fudgies.
We got upgraded to Perma-Fudge when we started spending a few winter weekends….
 
Well, now we’ve gone and done it. We’ve moved Up North permanently.
Not just from anywhere, like Down State.  We moved from wayyyy down state.
Texas, baby!
Y’all get ready! We got a little Dixie in the house!

Now, I’m usually a big fitter-inner. (shut up! I am!) But it’s just too much dern dang fun to get my Dixie on up here. I swear my southern accent has gotten worse just because it cracks all y’all up. That’s okay. God knows I’m laughing at your accent! “Jeez o’Pete”? puh leeeese!

Don’t get me wrong – we love it! Love it Love it Love it!
I’ve only cried three times:
The day I put on my first puffy vest.
The day I put away all my gorgeous high heels.
And the day I realized big tits were not the preferred accessory.

Well, here’s the deal, you Yankees.  I’ll wear the vest and the thermal underwear and the Sorels and the ugly-ass knit hat. I’ll eat the squash and the whitefish and the cherries that give me the runs.

But this Southern Fried Fudgie is gonna teach you a few things, too!

Yeah, so….. yeah….. let’s see how that works out for me. Wanna?

Article Comments

One thought on “It’s In The Bag”

  1. Love the blog! It has a certain Southern etiquacy about it that withers like a Scarlett O’Hara glance. (p.s. anyone reading this comment: know that the word etiquacy came out of the blogger’s first snowmobile safety class in Greilickville, and that maybe if we beg the blogger she’ll blog us the entire story). Now some tutelage (or is that spelled tootuhlage?) for you, friend blogger: Round these parts we translate “in a brown bag like a Baptist carries bourbon,” to (take your choice) “like a Dutch Reformer …” or “like a Christian Scientist.”

     

    … in a little brown bag the way a Baptist carries bourbon

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