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I have fond memories of tucking into fabulous apple crumble with lots of cloves whilst watching my father on the set of Live and Let Die at Pinewood Studios. Its been a favourite ever since, he says. Such puddings are heady reminders of a rose-tinted childhood, even if, in reality, they were rare treats.
Trifles, too, are back in fashion, but not in quite the way I remember them from my childhood synthetic concoctions of raspberry jam, tinned fruit and Birds Eye custard slathered over sugary trifle sponges and studded with glace cherries and lurid green angelica. Todays trifles are more likely to be restrained, sophisticated creations containing brioche or panettone with rhubarb and ginger, or pineapple and lemongrass.
Even the French admire our puddings. Back in the seventeenth century a certain Madame de Valbourg was travelling through England. She was moved to exclaim: Ah! What an excellent thing is an English pudding! It is manna better than that of the wilderness.
Four hundred years later and Nico Ladenis is entertaining legendary French chef Albert Roux at a private New Year meal. Whats for pudding? None other than that nursery staple, pain perdu, otherwise known as eggy bread.
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