ILLUSION
Wait and See pudding was popularised in our household
by the latter end of the 20th Century; it became a particular favourite
of my mother’s. It may be rice pudding with less almond and more jam,
or blancmange no longer true to its name, bright raspberry
and straight from a packet. Cheesecake, jelly, milk jelly —
kitchen alchemy; swiss rolls, semolina, sliced peaches, yoghurt.
Ice-cream which involved no churning, or generous slices of chocolate cake.
When funds were low it was tinned fruit cocktail with evaporated milk,
which I once watched someone serve on ‘Come Dine With Me’.
So imagine my delight while researching 18th Century desserts
to discover the Transparent Pudding, I was actually searching for John Farley’s
Gilded Fish in Jelly, which when served looked as if the scales were in water.
Transparent Pudding made me think of the invisible space Wait and See
held in the centre of our table, only known to our imaginations and
Oh!
What puddings we dreamt: knickerbocker glories and triple tiered pancakes,
jelly as big as our place-mats, slabs of cake smothered in warm fudge sauce,
banana splits and the never decreasing, grown-up-on-a-diet-of-Roald-Dahl,
strawberry shortcake…
The end of Farley’s recipe, like all good stories, will stay with me.
Eight well beaten eggs and half a pound of butter, the secret of invisibility
is smallness, grated nutmeg almost disappears,
the magic of loaf sugar submitted into fineness, stir the fire pot until
it holds the thickness of buttered eggs.
Cool in a basin. Roll rich puff pastry as thin as a promised pudding,
layer around the edge of a dish, add the mixture and bake.
At the table the transparent pudding, much visible, was sliced and it
cut light and clear.
By Nina Lewis
Former Worcestershire Poet Laureate, International Guest Poet in Australia (Perth Poetry Festival), curator of Transatlantic Poetry Projects and a Director of Worcestershire LitFest & Fringe. Nina has two collections: Fragile Houses and Patience (V. Press).