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

Friday Quicktakes

He hasn't even the decency to be handsome!

1. Now,  I know I'm a bit behind everyone else here- I was playing catch up on the Sky+-but did you see the season finale of 'Mr Selfridge'? What about that dirty dog Groves? Talk about having your cake and eating it! Never has a character gone down in my estimation so much. Poor Miss Mardle-she gave her best years to him and he turned out to be a cad and a bounder! ( See-I'm completely in the zone, insult wise). I'm just so glad she held on to her last shred of dignity and told him to sling his hook in the end. She's well shot of him and I'm just hoping that he gets in comeuppance in season 2. ( There I go again! Comeuppance-a most versatile, yet tragically underused word. )

Mary and her Aga...I just know we'd be besties!

2. Staying on the TV theme for a moment, I seem to have developed a bit of a girl crush on Mary Berry after watching her two part life story. Although in relation to Ms Berry, it seems tote inapproprope to even call it a girl crush- a lady crush just seems much more fitting.
 The elegant way she pops a teeny tiny forkful of something yummy into her mouth, declares it delicious...and then puts that fork down! And you know looking at her that she's won't be sneaking back to fill her Tupperware with the leftovers. No indeed, she's seamlessly moved on, already detached from that plateful and on to the next delicious mini-bite.
No way could I do that in a million years! As soon as that camera was turned off,  I'd be shoveling that Victoria sandwich into me like it was going out of fashion, and then covering the rest with cling for later. Born greedy, I'm afraid, and just one of a whole myriad of reasons why I'd never be asked to do a cooking show.

3. Speaking of which, inspired by Mary Berry, I dug out my Aga book, which was written by the woman herself and shamefully underused. When we moved here, I inherited the Aga but I just didn't 'get it' at all. It seemed temperamental, over rated, and unreliable, but  gradually over the years I've grown to love it...just like everyone said I would. Now we're moving, but sadly the Aga isn't, so better late than never I'm getting stuck into a few of Mary's recipes.
For example, would you believe that I'd never made a lasagne before? Shocking, I know. Someone once told me it was very complicated and that put me right off and anyway, we used to live near a bakery that sold the most gorgeous 'home made' ones at a very reasonable price, so of course I reasoned, 'Why bark when you've got a dog?'
 But I was inspired when I saw Mary B make it, so I used her recipe and made it myself, took a little teeny weeny forkful and pronounced it tote amaze! (I know what you're thinking-self praise is no praise at all, but it WAS delish!) The moral of the story? Don't be scared by lasagne or any other recipe-just go for it. (Except possibly if it has the word 'terrine' or 'roulade' in the title- that IS scary.)

4. Its 'Helping Others Day' in school today- a day entirely focused on the children raising money for Trocaire- a most worthy cause. There's all sorts of activities going on- Cormac made Shreddies buns last night (a little twist on Rice Crispies), to sell in the tuck shop, and the school has called an amnesty on all Lenten promises for the day.
There's the tombola stall, where Cormac was delighted to win a travel iron several years ago, and the jumble sale where the children enjoy buying back not only the old tat that I've donated, but other people's tat as well. For instance, last year Rory was delighted to gift me with a rusty colander, which unbelievably, he'd actually outbid someone else for.
 There's also lots of sponsored activities going on- Rory's class is doing a sponsored hop, skip and score. (No I'm not sure what it is, either.) What I do know,  is that it involves exercise which isn't Rorys bag AT ALL, so when he brought home his sponsorship sheet he announced he wasn't doing it.
'Teacher said you don't have to!', says he. '
Oh indeed you are!' I told him. 'It's your duty to raise as much money as possible for Trocaire..etc etc'.
It turned out he didn't want to miss all the 'fun', which on further investigation translated as 'chocolate'. He actually argued that he could raise more money spending all his pocket money in the tuck shop- essentially doing a sponsored 'eat'. They say that God loves a trier...but he's still hop, skipping and scoring, as well.

5. It was Loverboy's birthday during the week- he got quite a few cards, including a beautiful home made one from Anna and a  regifted Tigger one from Rory, who just rubbed out his best friend Lara's name, and inserted his own.(Simple but effective.) My personal favourite though was this one from our good friends N and P..... Well it made me laugh!

 6. Finally, this weeks boogie in the car seat. Given the hideously awful weather today (snow- WTF???) it had to be something upbeat and happy. So here's a little bit of summer for you-Take it away Katrina! Happy Friday peepsxxx


PS If you haven't already, please take a moment and vote for me in the Family Life Category of the MAD Blog awards before 26th March- Thank you so muchxxx

Lakeland..Proceed with Caution

Beware the Lakeland catalogue! And I say that as a concerned devotee. You see, I coveted their stuff before they opened a shop here, before it was mainstream, when it was still 'edgy', when a typical reaction was,

'Lakeland? Is that like Kleeneze?' (Sort of, only better.) 'Nope, never heard of it.'

And no, I'm not exaggerating when I say that I'd be LOST without my silicon egg poachers, and that I'm not actually sure how I LIVED without my insulated butter dish, and quite frankly, life would be INCOMPLETE without my Chip and Dice. And don't even get me started on this shoe tree, (Yes I know!  Both novel and space saving!) I snapped it up for the children's shoes that appear to breed in the playroom ..and it's been great. It IS perhaps a little precarious looking, but bear in mind the rigorous testing conditions it's been forced to undergo. 

Almost too good to be true!

So you get the picture- I'm a fan. That said, I know the power that it holds over me so there's a bittersweet dread when the latest catalogue pops through the letter box.  I always intend to put it straight into the recycling bin without looking ...but I can't. *holds hand up* I'm only human,  so  inevitably, I sneak a quick peek and then I'm off down that slippery slope.

With great clarity, I suddenly realise that I MUST possess that floral insulated picnic bag- how can we, as a family, possibly enjoy the summer without it? And surely nothing says 'sunny day'  like those beaded food covers? And what about the silicon cupcake cases? I don't even bake, but I soooo would if I had those bad boys. And the pinny with cakes all over it? Clearly, THERE is the reason why I havent become the master baker that I was born to be. I mean look it, I own all the latest cookbooks and I've even got an Aga, for God's sake, so it's practically compulsory! All this time, there was I thinking I was just a lazy trollop, when in fact all I needed was that gorgeous pinny! And now that the house will be coming down with cakes, I'll DEFINITELY need those coordinating tins....in all three sizes obviously, because there's nothing worse than having a cake in the wrong sized tin...I'd imagine.

You can see the problem here.

Poach pods-you"ll never go back!

The other night, as I was indulging in a Little Lakeland lust before going to sleep, (I know that sounds rude but unfortunately, it's so not), Loverboy glanced over from whatever rubbish car magazine he was pretending to read, (even though I KNOW he only looks at the pictures), and said incredulously,

'Are you actually reading a kitchen catalogue before bed?'

' I might be,' says I, ' and what?'

'Oh my God, that's sooo sad. Let's have a look. (putting on an excited voice) 'Oh yes, I simply must have that utterly useless piece of crap to clutter up my kitchen even more than it is already.' And away he went on this theme, but I'm proud to say that I didn't rise to the bait, not even to point out that he clearly had deep feelings for the poach pods, judging by the number of eggs that disappeared down his neck.  Eventually, by stonewalling him with dignified silence, the abuse stopped ..and yet he was still  having a good old nosy over my shoulder. Then,

'That sandwich maker looks the business. How much is that?'

 Dear, oh dear,oh dear,  if only our twenty year old selves could have seen us at that moment- tucked up in bed, dual control electric blankets on, perusing a kitchen catalogue together.... Or on second thoughts, possibly not. This Kodak moment (for eighty year olds), was our embarassed 'Oh God, we ARE sad', but for a twenty year old it would be a living nightmare. So I decided, no more Lakeland love in the bedroom...and I'm definitely drawing the line at the electric jam maker too...unless it goes on sale anyway.