| Take comfort
Like it or not, big, bad-for-you British puds are back It’s a truth universally acknowledged that when the temperature drops our craving for old-fashioned comfort puds goes into overdrive. Hot sponge puddings oozing with syrup or treacle, nursery food like bread-and-butter pudding made extra indulgent with lashings of double cream, even school-dinner jam roly-poly served with masses of reassuring proper custard – puddings like these make winter something actually worth looking forward to. The sweet British pudding had its heyday in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and enjoyed immense popularity in Victorian times – Queen Victoria, herself, was a great fan. Up at the Palace kitchens the royal chefs got busy creating sweet and steamy temptations for the most discerning palate: two of them – Empress Pudding and Queen of Puddings – are still popular today, but whither Prince Albert Pudding? The eighteenth-century monarch, George I (known as Pudding George or the Pudding King – hence the nursery rhyme Georgy-Porgy), was particularly partial to the boiled variety. The real beauty of steamed puddings is that they are pretty undemanding to make. Once you’ve mixed the ingredients together and put the pudding on to steam, it requires very little attention, and won’t be ruined by a dinner party that’s run an hour late. Traditionally, cooks used linen cloth to cook the pudding in. These days there’s no need to ruin your best Irish tablecloth or napkin – a double layer of buttered foil pleated in the centre (to allow room for the pudding to expand while cooking) will do the trick. If you’re serious about your puddings, a proper modern steamer with a tight-fitting lid that seals in steam and water is a good investment. The traditional British pudding seems to be enjoying a sustained revival. In restaurants all over the country the vogue for lusciously retro, naughtily decadent puddings continues unabated. Our very own Gary Rhodes has become something of an ambassador for the British pud: his marmalade sponge has proved a great hit on the menus of his Rhodes & Co restaurants in Manchester and Glasgow. Chef Anton Mosimann’s much-imitated bread-and-butter pudding has elevated an irresistible yet simple dessert to the realms of haute cuisine. Achingly hip London restaurants are giving these reassuringly simple puds star billing on their dessert menus. Sheekey’s, the luvvie favourite in the heart of theatreland, has even made spotted dick – no sniggering, now – popular again. Camden’s ultra-contemporary Pie2Mash serves sticky toffee pudding with dates and a chocolate and caramel sauce to well-heeled media moguls. And apple crumble and vanilla ice cream is a regular fixture at Geoffrey Moore’s (son of Roger) Mayfair restaurant, Hush.
‘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. It’s 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 Bird’s Eye custard slathered over sugary trifle sponges and studded with glace cherries and lurid green angelica. Today’s 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. What’s for pudding? None other than that nursery staple, pain perdu, otherwise known as eggy bread. |