Just The Caffeine Talking

Kitchen Report: Pudding!

This Christmas, we had a traditional English Christmas Pudding for dessert after our dinner. What's a Christmas Pudding? It's . . . well, it's a lot more akin to a fruitcake than anything most Americans would describe as "pudding." I'll try to generate some suspense in this 'blog post by not revealing how it tasted just yet.

I got the idea because my daughter made plans to visit us for the Christmas holiday season. She's not a huge fan of turkey, so my wife and I decided to cook a goose as the centerpiece of our meal. If you're making a Christmas Goose, the temptation to go Full Dickens and have a Christmas Pudding to follow is very strong, and I gave in. Plus I'm interested in food history and wanted to try it.

My recipe was from the extremely useful historical cookbook Lobscouse & Spotted Dog, by Grossman and Thomas. It's a solidly researched and fearlessly kitchen-tested companion to Patrick O'Brian's novels about Captain Aubrey and Dr. Maturin in the Royal Navy of Nelson's era. If you want to know how to cook a rat, this is the book to consult. Since Captain Aubrey is a huge fan of English pudding in all its forms, the book has thirty-odd different pudding recipes, ranging from "Figgy-Dowdy" to "Drowned Baby" to "Floating Islands."

A useful technique when trying an unfamiliar recipe, especially a historical one, is to find as many versions as possible and compare them. This gives one a sense of which ingredients are central to the dish, which are optional, and what the core techniques are for cooking. So I did some online research and consulted some of my other old cookbooks.

The core of a Christmas Pudding (aka a Plum Pudding because it contains raisins and the English don't know how to speak their own language) is a mix of beef suet, flour, sugar, breadcrumbs and eggs; packed with dried fruit, chopped nuts, and spices. And booze. The exact fruits and spices vary somewhat from one recipe to another.

Which was good, because getting hold of all of them was quite a chore, and some proved impossible to find. I had all the spices (cinnamon, mace, nutmeg, and clove), so that part was easy enough. Suet came from Sutter Meats in Northampton. Raisins, currants, and almonds were no problem. Candied orange peel had to be ordered via Amazon, and candied citron was simply unavailable to me. The fact that we were in the middle of a global supply chain crisis may have had something to do with that.

I began accumulating the Christmas Pudding ingredients in October, and actually prepared it in early November. This may seem like a long lead time, but Grossman and Thomas recommend getting your pudding ready a whole year in advance. Other recipes tended to center around six to eight weeks prior to serving, so I went with that.

The actual cooking is simple but time-consuming. You mix everything up together, put it in a pudding-basin (I used a metal bowl), and then steam it in boiling water for five hours. Extract it from the pot — my cookbook authors went into a certain amount of technical advice about getting the pudding out of the boiling water but I simply let it cool down before removing — and then store for two to twelve months. Give it a shot of booze every few weeks.

On the big day, heat it up with a couple of hours of steaming, then turn out onto a serving dish. Heat up a few ounces of brandy just to boiling, set it on fire, and pour the flaming liquid over the pudding. Because what dessert isn't improved by flaming brandy, really? Here's what it looked like.

So, I hear you ask, how is it? It's good. I liked it a lot — but then I'm also someone who loves mince pies and old-fashioned sangria. Raisins and cloves and citrus are a flavor combination I love in just about any form.

As one can see from this close-up view, the pudding is mostly fruit. The suet-flour-egg mixture is just a matrix to hold it all together. It goes very well with red wine, less so with champagne. We accompanied ours with vanilla ice cream, a combo I recommend.

It made a nice finish to a meal built around a roast goose. I suspect it would also go well with beef or game. Probably not a good Thanksgiving dessert — too much like the stuffing and cranberries anyway, plus everybody's expecting pie.  It's kosher, so you could have it for Hanukkah. Since I've got a quarter-pound of suet left over, I may make it again. Try it yourself — you've just about got enough time for next Christmas if you get cracking.

Christmas Menu

Menu for this year's Christmas dinner:

Oyster Patties    Cremant de Bourgogne

Cold Poached Salmon

Onion Soup    Sourdough Rolls

Roast Goose    Chateau Les Grands Sillons 2010

Chestnut Rice    Roasted Brussels Sprouts

Salad

Christmas Pudding    Apple Pie    Ice Cream

Overall it was quite delicious. The pudding will rate its own post soon. The only real flaw was that we planned this dinner for six people, but only three were available to eat it thanks to the Dread Virus. That means we're going to be eating leftovers for the rest of the year. 

Right now the goose skin is rendering for goose fat, the rest of the carcass is simmering for stock, and my son is passed out in a food coma upstairs.

Merry Christmas!

 

Last Thoughts on Dune

I finished re-reading Frank Herbert's epic novel Dune a few days ago, and had some final thoughts about the book. I asked myself "How would I have done it?"

The book is about the desert planet first and foremost, and so I'd keep that. I'd keep the interstellar intrigue plot, as well. Reluctantly, I guess I would have to leave in the psychic powers. I don't like psychic stuff, but I guess that's the best way to make the spice into the Most Valuable Stuff in the Universe.

The big change that Jim Cambias's Dune would make to Frank Herbert's original is the resolution. I wouldn't have young Paul use his precognitive powers and loyal Fremen warriors to take the throne of the Galaxy. Instead, I would throw a curve ball. 

The problem that the Fremen of Arrakis face is that their planet just happens to produce The Most Valuable Stuff in the Universe. This means that powerful off-world factions like the Houses of Harkonnen and Atreides, the Emperor himself, and the Spacers Guild will always have an interest in controlling the spice production on Arrakis. Basically, the Fremen and Paul must make a bid for power, or else they'll just get a new set of colonial overlords. The Empire and its great noble houses simply can't leave Arrakis alone.

Or . . . can they?

Only the Fremen know the "secret of the spice" — how it is produced as part of the life cycle of the giant sandworms which inhabit the deserts of Arrakis. Curiously, the Empire and other mighty powers who depend on the spice have never bothered to investigate how it's made.

So here's my curve ball: instead of arranging things so that the Emperor comes to Arrakis and then launching a coup against him, Paul works with the spice smugglers to move a series of secret parcels off Arrakis, bound for other desert worlds all over the Galaxy. We assume that the Empire contains other worlds with little or no water — many of them are probably uninhabited, but that's actually a benefit. The smugglers seed these desert worlds with sandworm eggs.

It may take a few years, but in time sandworms — and spice — will be all over the Galaxy! Spice will no longer be scarce, and will be impossible for any one faction to control. Everyone can get access to spice. The price drops by orders of magnitude. It's no longer the Most Valuable Stuff in the Universe, just a useful substance with applications in space travel and medicine.

Paul gets revenge on his enemies. Baron Harkonnen is ruined economically. The Emperor may be, as well. The Spacers Guild are likely to lose their monopoly and thus their own wealth and power. 

And Arrakis? It's now just one of dozens or hundreds of desert worlds where spice can be found. The great powers capable of ruling it are ruined, its chief resource is commonplace. Arrakis gets to be left alone. Paul remains there as a leader of the Fremen, with the woman he loves as his wife.

Naturally, there's likely to be plenty of plots, counter-plots, and the inevitable knife fights. But in the end, I'd write a novel about how economics trumps political power.