Dammit, I really LIKE Christmas pudding. Nothing much to do with Christmas, of course, although something to do with Christianity – it is a Crusader thing, brought back from the Levant. According to Elizabeth David anyway. She would have known about this stuff.
I have a Christmas pudding. It says “best before” March 2017. I have dropped hints to my family when they have been around. I have said, “Do you fancy some Christmas pudding?”. No bites. Nothing. Not a flicker of the needle. Niete. It is now June 2018.
You can microwave these boys, apparently, but that does not seem quite right, somehow. And so I have decided to stick it on my combustion stove. Oh yes. Right now, it is not that hot. It has not been lit for long. The chimney is 135 degrees and the top is still a mere 65 degree (Note to Americans: we are talking centigrade here) (Note to European bureaucrats who want to rename centigrade as celcius: Fuck off).
Hopefully, it will be ready in a few hours’ time as a delicious follow-up to supper. Especially as I know how to do the flaming brandy thing (you put some brandy in a metal ladle, then play it over an open gas flame until it catches light, then you pour it over the pudding. Unless you are a feminist or a floppsy or some-such with no open gas flame. In which case, try just glowering at it for a while).