Chocolate fingers

My dad was a firefighter for 26 years. He was also an entrepreneur. And among other income-enhancing businesses, he started a candy business out of our basement.

He bought an industrial tempering machine that melted down fifty-pound boxes of chocolate. The machine melted each 10-pound chocolate bar, my mom poured it out of the machine onto a marble slab and mixed in peanuts, cocoanut or Rice Krispies. Then, she laid out the candies on wax paper, spread over masonite trays that slid into rolling racks.

When she wasn’t doing that, she was packing the clusters into 8-ounce cellophane bags and stapling on the Brackin’s Homemade Candies labels. Then, Dad drove all over Cleveland, delivering them to all the Hough Bakeries branches.

Around the holidays, my folks also made solid chocolate Santa Clauses and Easter bunnies that Mom wrapped in wafer-thin colored foils.

You’d think that, growing up with a candy factory in the basement, I’d be sick of the stuff by now. Actually, my taste buds have merely switched from the deep, rich brown goodies to higher-cocoa dark chocolate.

So wonderfully addictive.