With bated breath the pale canvas was removed. Slowly. Carefully. So as not to crack the thick golden skin. Mmmm ... the best bit. Dollops of brandy cream or lashings of cold custard, though nothing could mask the sweet fruity flavour of a beloved family tradition. As its disappearance set in, the recipe pursuit began. Crinkled? Discoloured from age? Where was that piece of paper that held the key to the infamous Christmas Pudding. It was to no avail. Oh how I crave it. Little did we know just how much it would be missed until years of it being gone. A beloved family tradition. A beloved family member, my Nan.
Posted on: Fri, 13 Sep 2013 06:24:16 +0000
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