For some reason this is known in the Antipodes (and I got this recipe from a Kiwi) as Russian Fudge and, although I like this name better, I feel that it perhaps leads the rest of us to expect something altogether more exotic, when this is the plain, comforting, yet temple-achingly sweet, confection of my childhood. I confess that even listing the ingredients below makes me hyperventilate slightly. I am no stranger to excess, but even I baulk somewhat at the amount of sugar and so on needed. But it does make an awful lot of fudge: as you can see, my portion control is rather erratic, but I reckon you can get 77 pieces out of it. I also have to preface this recipe with a warning: fudge is not exactly difficult to make, but it is dangerous. Unless you proceed with caution you will burn your pan and yourself. Never leave the pot, and make sure there are no children nearby. Mobile telephones are banned for the duration, too. You need to use your own instinct as to how long to cook the fudge. The recipe I was given indicated it took 20 minutes; my fudge was ready after 12. Just make sure you have a bowl of cold water nearby. Drop small amounts of the molten fudge into the water and if it sets (known as soft ball stage) it's ready. Or you can use a sugar thermometer, which will indicate 'soft-ball stage'. The final whisking is what turns what is a pan of toffee (though you could leave it like this if you want smooth fudge) into grainy texture traditional fudge — or what the Scots call Tablet — demands. I highly recommend adding some sea salt flakes — I imagine two teaspoons should do it — but since I made this for my daughter (and children are nothing if not traditionalists) I didn't dare stray from convention. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.