The Christmas Pudding

Today I'm making Christmas pudding, following my Granny's recipe, written in her own handwriting, which always makes me feel a little sad and  wistful for Christmas' past, but very grateful that I have this piece of her to share with her great grandchildren here today. They may not have known her, but they DO know and love her pudding....for various reasons!
Here's my Christmas pudding memories from last year...

Granny and me

When I look back at Christmas' past, (and is it just me, or do we look back MORE as we get older?), an integral part of it all was Granny's Christmas pudding. Not just the eating of it, although that was pretty great, but the annual ritual of preparing it, mixing it and cooking it.

Growing up, Granny was like a second mother to me - it didn't matter that she had 11 children of her own, I was her first grandchild and she always made me feel special and important - unsurprisingly, I spent as much time there as I possibly could.

Every year about mid November, Granny started the mammoth task of making Christmas puddings for her children and their families. First, there was the buying of industrial quantities of ingredients, and then the soaking of  fruit in Guinness and brandy overnight.

 Next day, there was the weighing, mixing and stirring of several huge basins of pudding mixture, followed by the filling of the bowls, then covering them with greaseproof paper and tying them up with string. Finally, and most time consuming of all, was the 12-14 hours steaming of each one. This took MAJOR commitment -  she often got up several times during the night to top up the water in the saucepans. When they were eventually distributed to each family, I often wondered if they all knew just how much effort had gone into each and every one.

Of course, the best part of all was the eating of it. After being steamed again on Christmas Day, it was almost black in colour, (on account of all that Guinness!), and  heavy, rich and delicious when served up with fresh cream and brandy butter on the side. A veritable heart attack on a plate.

My three brothers in particular, put away vast quantities of the stuff - they LOVED the fact that as an added bonus it made them fart... a lot. Even more than usual, in fact,  which was quite a feat - to them it was a gift that kept on giving,  if you like. The leftover pudding (we always got an enormous one), was wrapped in tinfoil and gradually eaten over the holidays. Actually, it was often just nibbled straight from the fridge and Christmas wouldn't have been the same without it.

Granny died in March 1999, just a few months before our Anna, her first great grandchild was due. There had been great excitement on both sides of the Atlantic when she agreed to come and visit us that summer in Virginia, but tragically it just wasn't meant to be. Later when Anna was born, I found it comforting to think that she had lovingly held her even before we did. I miss her still.

So it's a little bit special to have her handwritten pudding recipe in front of me now and it's an honour to follow in her footsteps with this Christmas tradition.
 I'll not lie -there's been a few disasters - for instance,  several years ago, I committed the unforgivable error of letting the pans boil dry. That combined with the use of plastic pudding bowls meant an unprecedented pudding disaster. Unless you prefer your pudding with melted polymers, of course.
 Thankfully, the birds didn't seem to mind - I just picked out the plastic and they feasted like kings and that year we had the fattest robins for miles around.

This year I wisely stuck to glass and ceramic bowls, and thanks to Mr Google I also finally worked out how to steam them in the Aga - sooooo much easier, no pesky topping up required and now I'm kicking myself that I didn't realise this before.

And On Christmas Day I'll take a piece and remember my Granny and if it tastes half as good as hers did, I'll be very happy ...(that said, with four boys, we could possibly live without the 'hilarious' side effect of enhanced flatulence!)

Happy Christmas Granny   xxxxx

Bonds and Dogs and a New Name

Well, he's been a member of our family now for a whole month, and truthfully? It's been a steep learning curve...mostly for me. I've dealt with it by doing what I usually do when I feel a little out of my depth and more than a bit insecure... I read as much as I can on the subject, listen to all kinds of advice, and then try and do it perfectly.

But exactly like child rearing, I'm learning that you can read all the theory and get all sorts of wisdom from Mr Google AND the rest, but there comes a point when you just have to jump right in, trust your instincts, make your mistakes and make it up as you go along.

The problem is....and all you  animal lovers should look away now....I'm not sure that I have it in me. The dog loving gene. There, I've said it! I'm pretty much including all animals in that shameful confession-in my life I've never bonded with so much as a goldfish...ever. I can just imagine the shocked disbelief on your face right now and I can't say I blame you.

I did have my  pre-dog suspicions - I just sort of hoped that it would be like having children - once you had your own you'd finally 'get ' what everyone was going on about....but so far, not so much. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I hate him (you'll possibly be relieved to know), I actually quite like him in a detached 'Aren't you a great wee fella there in your crate!' kinda way, but not in a 'licky face, jumpy up, kiss with tongues' kinda way.  And while I'm on the subject, and I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I'm SO not into the smell of dog, especially wet dog ...dog breath...and dog farts (in the car, ALWAYS in the car!) Does this make me a bad person? Don't answer that.

 Thankfully though, I'm in the minority around here. The kids love him and yes, the novelty may have worn off in regards to scooping the poops, but he's definitely one of the gang. And Loverboy? What can I say except that little pup is a sixth child to him. The accidents, the smells, the early mornings, the endless shoe chewing-it doesn't seem to matter one bit. It's a one man and his dog love in, and despite the fact that it makes me more aware of my own shortcomings, it also convinces me that we've done the right thing. And anyway, I'm quietly hoping that as we get more used to each others little ways (read-he learns who's boss!), we'll bond a bit better too. I know it's too late now for love at first sight, but maybe we'll have more of a slow burn thing going?

Oh, and just one more thing before I leave you with a few cute pictures to illustrate that I'm not a totally heartless and unfeeling cow. We called him Coburn - a family surname on my side and it was chosen as a loving gesture, a way for my children to know their heritage and to keep alive a name that means a great deal to me. Not even for one second did I think that it might be regarded by some as a slight...and yet it has..and for that I'm sorry.

I love you more....no, I love you more...

So now he's getting a new name, which I'm sure he'll learn in time, and the children will soon stop asking why, and I'll learn to live with the fact that despite my best intentions I somehow got it wrong, but sure isn't the shine's off it anyway so let's just start anew.

Therefore, in lieu of his shade and inspired by the strong black stuff, say hello to Arthur for me!(Guinness just seemed too obvious!)....and that's all there is to say about that. Emxx