Summer pudding
I discovered summer pudding many years ago at my mother-in-law’s place. It felt as if the dessert had been invented just for me. Cherries and berries are my favourite fruits and from the moment they come into season, my hands and lips are stained red and blue. I have been known to eat a kilo of cherries on a long car ride, with disastrous consequences to follow. Still, I can’t help myself. ‘Just two more,’ I tell myself, and then 2 kilometres later, ‘just another two and I’ll stop.’ These days I only buy 500 grams at a time. Self-control has never been my strong suit.
Summer pudding combines all my favourite fruits in a simple, almost humble dish. It originated in England, and I expected it to have a long, storied history. Surprisingly, the recipe dates back only to the late nineteenth century. In my mind, I had imagined a tradition going back hundreds of years. I pictured young girls wandering through fields, gathering wild berries for their mothers to turn into a cheap pudding. In reality, those girls probably ate the berries as fast as they picked them.
Nowadays, berries are expensive unless there happens to be a glut. Mulberries, raspberries and blackberries can be wildly expensive. Early season cherries are a luxury not many people can afford. Even strawberries, the most reliable and affordable of the berries, fluctuate in price. Making a summer pudding, at least without access to free fruit, ends up being more expensive than baking an elaborate cake. So much for my fantasy of it being a poor man’s pudding.
The trickiest part of making it is leaving it to set overnight. Patience is another virtue I lack. Every time I open the fridge, I can see the pudding with my cast iron teapot on top, pressing the bread down over the fruit. It will be ready by tomorrow afternoon, I remind myself. Less than twenty-four hours to go. And besides, I don’t even have clotted cream. Yet.
If this dessert sounds like heaven to you, here is a recipe. The quantities aren’t exact. Use whatever fruit you have, however much of it you can get your hands on. You could make a summer pudding entirely from raspberries, but I prefer a mixed variety.
Summer pudding
Stale sliced white bread to line the bowl
1kg mixed summer berries such as strawberries, cherries, blackberries, mulberries, raspberries
¼ cup caster sugar
A splash of liqueur such as Kirsch if you like
Clotted cream to serve
Cut the crusts off the bread.
Wash the fruit and remove stalks, stones and pips.
Cut the strawberries into pieces.
Place all the fruit into a pot with the sugar and about ¼ cup of water.
Cook for 2–4 minutes, until the sugar dissolves, the fruit softens and the juices run.
Drain the juice.
Brush the stale bread with the juice and line a bowl, juicy side outwards.
Slightly overlap each slice so there are no gaps.
Cover the bottom of the bowl too.
Pour the fruit into the bowl with a little juice and cover the top with bread.
Press the pudding down with a saucer and some heavy items on top.
Refrigerate overnight or longer.
Run a knife around the edge of the pudding and pour a little juice around the outside.
Invert the bowl onto a plate and ease the pudding out.
Serve with the remaining juice, clotted cream and extra fruit if desired.
Thank you dear Margaret for sharing this recipe and memories they evoke.
Post script
I bought clotted cream, invited a neighbour and a friend, and we attacked the pudding. It was delicious. The cream had to be scooped off the spoon, it was that thick. If you think the cream is unnecessary, you’d be mistaken. The pudding is quite sweet and needs the richness of the cream to balance the flavours. As scrumptious as it was, none of us could fit in seconds.
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