CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘So I thought I could use Millicent’s recipes as my inspiration for the first session – Wartime Family Favourites.’
Flushed with nerves – even though my audience that morning in the café consisted of only five friendly faces – I held up Millicent’s little blue notebook and anxiously awaited their reaction. I’d only talked for five minutes, outlining my plans for the inaugural meeting of the Sunnybrook Pudding Club, but my heart had been hammering throughout and my palms were sweaty. (What on earth was I going to be like on the first night, when I had literally dozens of people to address?)
Ellie nodded. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea, to start with a sort of history of puddings... how they had rationing during the wars and some ingredients just weren’t available, so they had to make do with what they had.’
‘With food being scarce, they had to bulk everything out,’ said Sylvia, the former owner of the café, who – being in her seventies – remembered quite vividly her grandmother’s tales of surviving though tough times. ‘Meals had to stretch a little further. And you could always get flour. So that’s why suet puddings were so popular.’
I nodded. ‘Imports of fresh fruit stopped because of the war, so people used produce from the hedgerows and their own gardens, like apples and plums, rhubarb and blackberries. They even used carrots to sweeten their puddings.’
‘All served with Bird’s Custard, of course.’ Katja, one of the wonderful bakers at the café, pointed at the tin poking out of the top of my bag. ‘Apparently everyone ate Bird’s Custard.’
Sylvia picked up the tin and examined it with a fond smile. ‘It was a way of using up the dried eggs that were also a thing during the war. Rationing during World War II meant you were only allowed one fresh egg per person per week. It’s hard to imagine that now, when you can pick up a dozen any time you like. But back then, you could either have one fresh egg a week or alternatively, a whole tin of dried egg per month.’
I smiled. ‘Sylvia, you’re a mine of information on the subject.’
‘Well, it fascinates me, how the women managed to cope during the war. They were so brave and resourceful when you think about what they were having to face on a daily basis. The constant uncertainty... the bombings... having to put on a cheery face for the sake of their children... and being forced to wave goodbye to their menfolk as they went off to war, not knowing if they’d ever see them again.’
‘With sugar rationed, I guess puddings would have been a real treat, especially for the kids,’ said Maddy. ‘Even if they were made with carrots.’ She made a face at the thought.
‘Absolutely.’ I smiled. ‘You should never underestimate the power of a good steamed pudding to lift your spirits. And by the way, you’re about to taste a pudding made from carrots.’ I got to my feet. ‘And one made from beetroot as well.’
‘Beetroot?’ Maddy looked horrified. ‘Um, I might sit that one out, if you don’t mind.’
‘Coward,’ said Sylvia good-humouredly. ‘I can’t wait to try it.’
‘When food was scarce,’ said Olga sternly, ‘you would have killed for pudding made from beetroot. You could not afford to be fusspot.’ Olga was Katja’s plain-speaking Russian grandmother.
Maddy grinned. ‘Okay, Olga. I’ll give it a go. One mouthful only, though.’
I’d brought my wartime puddings over to the café for everyone to try, and they were now warming in the oven in the café kitchen: Spotted Dick, Jam Roly Poly, Apple Charlotte and a Hot Jam Sponge Pudding, which used carrots to sweeten and make it moist. And of course, the controversial Beetroot Pudding. I’d decided to include it to lend some merriment to the proceedings, because really, its blood-red colour in the white serving dish made it look quite gory, even though I’d tasted it and it was surprisingly good. It was the look of the thing that was the problem. In practice sessions at home, it had turned the custard a rather off-putting shade of pink.
I smiled to myself as Ellie and I retrieved the puddings and set them all on a tray to carry through to the café. I was guessing only the bravest would be sampling my beetroot pudding on the night. But there was nothing wrong with a bit of controversy to hopefully make the evening go with a swing!
I carried the tray and Ellie brought through the jug of custard, and everyone looked eager to dive in. We sampled the Spotted Dick first, passing the custard around, and I waited anxiously in the silence that followed for their verdict.
There were a lot of smiles and encouraging murmurs. And then Olga nodded firmly and said in her wonderful broken English, ‘It steek to the ribs. I love it.’
Everyone chuckled and agreed, even Maddy, although I’d caught her sending a few worried glances in the direction of the beetroot pudding.
‘It’s delicious,’ said Sylvia, sticking her thumb up at me. ‘It brings back so many lovely memories for me.’ She took another bite of the rich, currant-studded pudding, a dreamy look on her face. ‘I remember my mother using a proper pudding cloth to boil her famous treacle puddings. Coming in from school and smelling the hot pudding cooking on the stove always made it a special night for my sister and me. And at Christmas time, my grandmother always made a big plum pudding for the whole family.’ She smiled. ‘I can still remember the excitement of finding one of the sixpenny pieces she’d stirred into the pudding before boiling it.’
The Apple Charlotte, with its soft centre of caramelised apples and a bread and butter casing, was even more popular, and Maddy said she couldn’t even taste the carrots in the Hot Jam Sponge Pudding, which I supposed meant she liked it. The Beetroot Pudding divided opinion, as I’d thought it would, although everyone agreed I should definitely include it on the night.
As everyone was leaving, Sylvia said, ‘I’ll rally the Women’s Institute at our Wednesday night meeting, Annalise. The – um – senior ladies amongst us especially are sure to appreciate the wartime flavour of your first Pudding Club meeting.’
I smiled shyly. ‘I hope so. Thank you, Sylvia.’
‘The poster’s nearly finished,’ said Ellie, glancing at Maddy, who nodded. ‘We just need your approval, Annalise, before we run them off and get them in shop windows.’
Maddy opened her laptop to show me.
Calling all pudding-lovers!
The first meeting of the exciting new
SUNNYbrOOK PUDDING CLUB
will take place at the Little Duck Pond Café on Thursday 5th September
A light supper will be served at 6pm followed by a cookery demonstration at 7.15pm by Annalise from Vintage Puddings
and then the pudding-tasting!
Tickets available from the café
I nodded, glad I’d decided on impulse to give our business a name – Vintage Puddings – after my conversation about it with Loli. It made it seem more professional. ‘It looks really good.’
‘Do you think it’s a bit boring?’ asked Maddy anxiously.
‘Not at all.’ My mind was whirling. I was still wishing it could be The Sticky Toffee Pudding Club, for the principal reason that it was Jensen’s favourite pudding, so it would be more likely to catch his eye and tempt him to come along. Because I really doubted this poster would do the trick...
An idea occurred to me.
‘Um... do you think we could add a head and shoulders photo of Ellie as the organiser? And maybe one of me as well?’ As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. It sounded weird... like I was desperate for people to see my picture! Which wasn’t the case at all. I just thought if Jensen saw my face on the poster, there was more of a chance – a slim one, admittedly – that he might decide to come along for a laugh.
But to my relief, Maddy nodded. ‘Great idea. It’ll make the poster look much more appealing, with actual faces to focus on.’
‘I agree,’ said Ellie. ‘Although can I please choose the picture of me?’ She grinned sheepishly. ‘I hate to sound vain but I don’t want you using just any old photo, Maddy.’
‘Good point,’ I said, feeling slightly distracted because I was trying to remember what I’d been wearing the day I’d met Jensen on the riverbank. It had been my last day at the wedding boutique. So it was my smart but boring black skirt, white shirt and flat black shoes. But I’d thrown my pink hoodie on when I’d stepped out that morning and was wearing it when he sat down next to me on the bench and then I’d used it to give Barley a brisk rub down after his adventure in the river. It was currently in the ironing basket, but I’d look it out and make sure it was well ironed and I was wearing it for the poster photo.
I felt a fluttering of excitement inside at the thought of posters going up all over the village. Perhaps it was just my wild imagination at work, but it felt like there was a lovely serendipity about my situation.
I’d parted from Jensen with no way of finding him again. But then... I’d given Ellie and Maddy shelter from the rain... and they’d sampled my sticky toffee pudding... and that’s when the whole idea for the Pudding Club was born. And as a result of that, I was going to be having my photo posted all over Sunnybrook – and hopefully, Jensen would see it!
Maybe it was all meant to be . . .