IT'S funny how memories can suddenly pop into your mind.
There we were in the office, talking about milk puddings.
Well, it was a quiet day and we can't always be involved in intellectually challenging subjects, we're only human for goodness sake.
Milk puddings were involved because some of us are on diets and were swapping ideas for desserts which were neither full of sugar nor full of fat but yet delicious. I don't know why we were bothering because no such creature exists.
Several of us mentioned sugar free jelly, which is fairly near the mark but like everything in life comes with a price. The price is that you will have to find a secure environment to keep it in because no sooner have you made a bowl full of delicately shivering sugar free strawberry jelly than every member of the family who has never displayed any interest whatsoever in jelly in any form or flavour will want to share it.
If you don't believe me just try it. 'Oh jelly', they'll say, 'is there any cream?" It's no use reminding them that the last time they ate jelly was at their fifth birthday party and by the time they were six they refused to entertain any idea of jelly in pretty little paper cups and wanted twiglets and sausages on sticks instead. Now they want jelly and you'll be reduced to hiding in the coat cupboard clutching the bowl and a spoon.
But I digress. Someone mentioned milk jellies or jelly mixed with creme fraiche and suddenly I remembered an aunt of mine and her party piece, a pudding called Honeycombe Mould.
There was nothing actually wrong with honeycombe mould, it was just the palaver she made while making it that the whole household dreaded. And there was never any warning that she was about to embark on it, nor any particular time scale. You might get it twice in one month or once every six months. Once I was staying for two weeks and we had it twice. She would suddenly say 'I think I'll make my honeycombe mould tonight' and terror would spread through the house.
Firstly, she would issue a string of orders for visits to the shops for the ingredients, which as far as I can remember involved lots of cream, lemon juice, gelatine, brandy and sugar. Someone else would look for the moulds.
Then in the true tradition of all chefs she would have a tantrum because she couldn't find her favourite spoon or the scales were missing or inaccurate, or the kitchen too hot or too cold. Then she would throw everyone out of the kitchen, but we had to stay within calling distance in case she needn't anything.
Hours later she would emerge red faced, leaving behind a trail of devastation on floor, work surface and sink. Honeycombe Mould makers didn't deign to wash up as they went.
The worst wasn't over because the thing had to be turned out, and we all knew that if it didn't turn out well, in both meanings of the words, we would all suffer.
The finished dessert had a solid blancmange like top and a delicate honeycombe bottom, or maybe it was the other way round. Either way, the forces of gravity were often against all of us, and the mould would slide delicately onto a plate, stand shimmering for a few seconds and then gracefully slither into an ungainly heap. She usually blamed the quality of the gelatine, or anyone who happened to be in her line of vision. Sometimes, however, the mould stayed firm and faithful until it was sliced and we would all breathe a sigh of relief. I can't remember what it tasted like, and I've never found the recipe.
My grandmother's pudding party piece was Sussex Pond Pudding, which was, and is, a lovely recipe which consists of a suet pudding inside which you place sugar, a whole lemon and butter. When cooked and cut the lemon is sweet and tender and a delicious mixture of sugar, lemon and butter flows out. Sadly, this only happens if your suet pudding totally encases the central filling, which in my grandmother's case was not always. Quite often the crust would leak and the lemon/butter/sugar mix would end up outside. She would then adapt the recipe next time to make a tougher outside and eventually she ended up with something resembling one of those rocks which contain a central core of crystal, as tough as granite and only entered by way of a small pickaxe.
Party pieces ought, of course, to be dishes we know we can make successfully. Not things which look good in the cookery book but which we have never tried.
Like making profiteroles and failing to notice that the insides of what is supposed to be light as air balls of choux pastry actually have little blobs of uncooked mixture in the middle and tumble like a rock fall when you pour the chocolate sauce on them. Or exotic gateaux which stick in the tin so you have to piece them together like a mad Roman mosaic maker before you can cover them with cream.
My own experience tells me that nobody should attempt any kind of fancy party dish without having made it 25 times before under adverse conditions and yet still succeeded.
Even then there are lessons to be learnt.
Any recipe which says 'place in fridge for half an hour to allow it to set' should be translated into 'double the quantity of gelatine and put in fridge for five hours or preferably overnight and have a few tubs of Ben and Jerry's Ice cream ready just in case anyway'.
All home-made ice cream sets like concrete and needs a dentist's drill to extract an eggcup full and yet if you leave it 'at room temperature' for five minutes you end up with a milk-shake mixture.
Any dish which needs to be turned upside down to serve is a recipe for disaster because no matter how careful you are one little bit will always stick to your tin. And any set pudding which needs turning out and has the instruction 'dip the dish into hot water for a few seconds to ease the pudding out' should be avoided at all costs because it will make a sudden escape from its mould, slide off the plate and give the dog a nice surprise.
Putting a caramel top on anything is fine if you have a fully trained fireman on the premises. Especially if you've bought one of those fancy chef's blowtorches.
Souffles of any kind always know if you are entertaining anyone you especially want to impress.
Finally, if you want to make a party piece everyone will rave over, invent something nobody has ever heard. Mine used to be chocolate bread and butter pudding, using up the Christmas brandy or rum butter, lots of chocolate spread, dried fruit, cream and good bread. A leftover heaven until some frozen food firm came up with a similar dish and ruined the surprise.
Perhaps I'll experiment with a Honeycombe Mould and see what I come up with.