"The holiday season, when a young woman's fancy turns lightly to thoughts of pudding." I doubt Alfred Lord Tennyson could have said it much better himself (given his present condition).
Let me start by saying I am not a subscriber to the belief that the British are entirely terrible cooks. I canceled my subscription to "Boiling The Living Fuck Out Of Vegetables Monthly" just last week, as a matter of fact. But jokes aside, I could honestly drink Worcestershire Sauce by the bottle. Thank you, United Kingdom, for that culinary treasure. Crumpets are okay too.
One thing I don't trust though is British pudding. While more often than not, when a friend from across the pond offers you pudding, they do indeed mean some sort of Jell-O instant chocolaty goodness, the word "pudding" can be used to encompass a variety of more sinister semi-solid foodstuffs as well.
Take, for example, the bubonic pudding. Erm... I mean the black pudding. Either way, the stuff should be avoided like the plague. Who thought this stuff was a good idea? Why did it catch on? I always get this mental image of a sweet little old granny rushing about her kitchen, preparing for her grandchildren to pay a visit. Lo and behold, she discovers she's out of pistachios. Oh bother, what will she use to flavour her pudding now? Then suddenly it occurs to her. She picks up an axe and hobbles to the barn. Oink. Chop. Thud. A few moments later, Granny returns with a jar, glistening crimson with the old sow's vital fluids. There's a different gleam in Granny's eye now as she stirs the viscous substance into her pot. Won't the grandchildren be surprised!
Then there is the matter of Figgy Puddings. I have never actually heard of these outside that popular albeit redundant Christmas tune, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". The line, "Now bring us a figgy pudding," honestly baffles me year after year. And to make matters worse, the next verse of the song informs me that the Carolers in question won't go until they get some. Could someone please just tell me what a Figgy Pudding is so I can get these figging Carolers out of my FIGGING HOUSE? If they start singing Feliz Navidad, so help me God, someone's going to get a knuckle... pudding.
And of course, the holiday festivities would not be complete without the reading of that beloved Charles Dickens' classic, "A Christmas Carol". Yeah, forget Jacob Marley and The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. For sheer creepiness factor, how weird is that part where the Cratchit children whisk Tiny Tim off to the wash-house 'that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper'? Uhh... I don't think that "singing" is a verb i personally want applied to my dinner, thanks. But oh, those lovable Cratchit imps.
God bless us, every one. And also our freaky singing pudding.
