A
Christmas Pudding From Katherine
Or,
Through the Looking-Glass
No, it’s not
a person, and not a spelling of my name. Katherine is a town in the Northern
Territory of Australia. The Christmas of the pudding from Katherine was almost
an out-of-body experience.
It happened the second year I was in South
Australia, 1989, and as it’s fast receding into the past I think it’ll qualify
for “What We Ate”. I was lucky enough to have landed a year’s lecturing at an
Adelaide tertiary institution, and a very kind, earnest lady on the staff
invited me warmly to Christmas dinner with her family. To be honest I didn’t
much want to go: I barely knew her, I had nothing in common with her, and I was
very sure that as usual with such typical social get-togethers, I’d only be a
fish out of water—but then, her feelings would be hurt if I turned her down: the
more so as she’d winkled it out of me that I didn’t know anybody in Adelaide
and would be alone for Christmas.
Some people do like being on their own, not all of humanity is cut from the same
cloth, but… I gave in, and accepted with
what I hope looked like true gratitude. On one level I was grateful: it was very, very kind of her.
As promised, it was just a family affair: my
colleague and her husband, their two kids, who’d have been in their early
teens, and a youngish couple who were in-laws (at this distance in time I’m not
sure, but I think her brother and his wife), who’d driven down from Katherine.
We ate around 2.30 of a steaming Adelaide summer’s
day: it was overcast, very humid for South Australia, and hitting 36 degrees
Celsius. Not over-hot for Adelaide: it can hit 43. We were in the sitting-room,
the only room with “reverse cycle” air conditioning. It wasn’t a large room:
the house was in an older, more traditional style, not one of the modem
monstrosities with giant open-plan living-dining-kitchen areas. (The whole
complex history of their aircon, the disaster when the kids got pneumonia from
sleeping in front of the moveable water-cooled apparatus all night, and etcetera
was explained to me in great detail. Not all of it made sense to a New Zealander,
but they didn’t notice.) With seven large bodies in the room, and the oven on
in the adjoining kitchen, the air conditioner wasn’t quite cutting it: it was just
slightly too muggy to be comfortable.
Well, what would you have served under such
circs? I’d have given it away and done at the most cold chicken, a couple of salads,
and ice cream.
Nope: nothing like it. It was, I was
subsequently to discover, a completely typical Australian Christmas dinner. The
main course was the full, no-holds-barred, roast turkey with roast potatoes and
gravy and etceteras. And yes, it is still traditional in the Australia of the
21st century, the TV foodie gurus have assured me of that.
Stunned by a
Prawn
By the time
we reached that course, however, I was already stunned, so much so that I just
felt dazed for the rest of the afternoon. The first course, no kidding, was
avocados with seafood, the latter a mixture of prawns and chunks of crayfish. In midsummer? Oh, yeah. Christmas is the
huge, I mean HUGE, season for prawns and crayfish, down here through the
looking-glass. Already in November the media, both national and local, will
have started reporting anxiously on the probable prices per kilo of these delicacies,
and the probable size of the catch… Yep.
Oh, to be in
Paris, now that December’s here…
I kept
thinking—dazedly, yes—of what my friends in Paris would have said about seafood
in any summer, let alone a swingeingly humid 35-plus day like that. Ten fits? At
least. The lovely fish shop directly over the road from my scungy one-room
“studio” apartment in the dix-neuvième
closed down entirely for the summer months. With the autumn it opened again, still
smelling of nothing but the sea, and as the leaves fell, it began selling
shellfish again. I tried moules the
way Gégé had once shown me, raw, with nothing but a squeeze of lemon juice, like
oysters.* They have to flinch when the lemon juice hits them: it shows they’re
alive. Delicious!
* See “Vini Vidi Vinegar”, http://katywiddopsblog.blogspot.com.au/2016/05/vini-vidi-vinegar.html
Back to the
Pudding from Katherine
The shocks
weren’t over after we’d got through the first two courses, by no means. Those rellies
from Katherine had brought the pudding all the way down to Adelaide with them. Not
a short drive, no. The driving distance is 2,714 kilometres.
Yes, it was a traditional English “plum pudding.”
Large, full of dried fruit, steamed, soaked in brandy and/or whisky, you
goddit. Served hot, of course.
Mad?
Now hear this. The woman had made it weeks earlier and, so as it would mature
properly and not go off, hung it up in the sitting-room with the air conditioning on. To counteract the Northern Territory
climate, which, surprisingly enough, bears no resemblance whatsoever to that of
England as autumn declines into winter.
Mad? That’s
mad.
No, I haven’t
lost it, I’m not recommending you make a great steamy HOT Christmas pudding in
the middle of an Antipodean summer, or even heat one up to serve steaming hot.
If you live Downunder, why not be sensible, wait till winter, and have what my American
friend Susan S. used to call “Christmas In July”?
I won’t suggest a favourite recipe, I’ve
never made a Christmas pudding yet and don’t intend to start now. Besides,
those who make ’em doubtless have their own recipe, much the best. But just for interest’s sake, here is THE classic
Christmas pud from Isabella Beeton. It is pretty much what we had that steamy
hot Christmas, nigh on 30 years back. Not only that, it’s also very like the
classic Christmas pudding my old school friend Susan C. and I had, when we spent
a real winter Christmas with her
aunties and grandma in Dallas, way back in 1966/67. You don’t think Christmas
in Texas can be cold? Wrong. It was freezing weather and we actually had a few
flakes of snow. It was a wonderful pudding, and the hard sauce one of the
aunties made to go with it was miraculous. So full of brandy that it near to knocked
you out! If the Adelaide Christmas was the most incongruous, not to say
surreal, the Dallas one was certainly the most enjoyable of my life.
CHRISTMAS PLUM-PUDDING
(Very Good.)
1328. INGREDIENTS.—1-1/2 lb. of raisins, 1/2
lb. of currants, 1/2 lb. of mixed peel, 3/4 lb. of bread crumbs, 3/4 lb. of
suet, 8 eggs, 1 wineglassful of brandy.
Mode.—Stone and cut the raisins in halves, but do not chop
them; wash, pick, and dry the currants, and mince the suet finely; cut the
candied peel into thin slices, and grate down the bread into fine crumbs. When
all these dry ingredients are prepared, mix them well together; then moisten
the mixture with the eggs, which should be well beaten, and the brandy; stir
well, that everything may be very thoroughly blended, and "press" the
pudding into a buttered mould; tie it down tightly with a floured cloth, and
boil for 5 or 6 hours. It may be boiled in a cloth without a mould, and will
require the same time allowed for cooking. As Christmas puddings are usually
made a few days before they are required for table, when the pudding is taken
out of the pot, hang it up immediately, and put a plate or saucer underneath to
catch the water that may drain from it. The day it is to be eaten, plunge it
into boiling water, and keep it boiling for at least 2 hours; then turn it out
of the mould, and serve with brandy-sauce. On Christmas-day a sprig of holly is
usually placed in the middle of the pudding, and about a wineglassful of brandy
poured round it, which, at the moment of serving, is lighted, and the pudding
thus brought to table encircled in flame.
Time.—5 or 6 hours the first time of
boiling; 2 hours the day it is to be served.
Average cost, 4s. Sufficient
for a quart mould for 7 or 8 persons. Seasonable on the 25th of December, and
on various festive occasions till March.
Note.—Five or six of these puddings
should be made at one time, as they will keep good for many weeks, and in cases
where unexpected guests arrive, will be found an acceptable, and, as it only
requires warming through, a quickly-prepared dish. Moulds of every shape and
size are manufactured for these puddings, and may be purchased of Messrs. R.
& J. Slack, 336, Strand.
(Isabella Beeton. The Book of Household Management. [London], S.O. Beeton, 1861.)
An Alternative
from the Fridge
As an alternative
to knocking yourself out with exhaustion and heatstroke on Christmas Day, why
not choose a cold pudding? By the pudding course most people only have room for
something light, anyway. When we were kids in New Zealand in the 1950s and early
1960s it was always homemade ice cream, usually with a packet jelly, often Mum’s
special “fluffy jelly”. Christmastime in Auckland is nothing like as hot as in
Adelaide, but it is usually very warm, and humid with it. We got our very first
fridge when I was about six, when we moved to our first permanent Auckland
house. (I think in early 1951; Dad
and Uncle Ray had to build it first, in between dropping heavy lumps of wood on
my little brother’s foot, so it probably took about a year.) So Mum was able to
make ice cream quite often. I don’t think it had much in it besides whole milk and
sugar; it was more like a milk sorbet, it was so light. No cream: cream was
sinful and expensive. The fridge was bench height and its freezing compartment
was very small; its one metal tray, used for ice blocks as well as ice cream,
was about 10 cm wide by 25 long, and only about 4 cm deep.
Cold and
Jellied
Before domestic
refrigerators came into general use, cold puddings had to be left in a cool place
to set. Jellies were always somewhat precarious in the very hot weather. Cold puddings
were often variations on the blancmange, made with cornflour; it’s hard to make
a cornflour mixture that doesn’t set
when cold.
Not all Antipodean housewives were
brainwashed into conforming slavishly to the norms of the colonising power from
the other side of the world, even back in the 1950s. You do find some
mid-20th-century recipes for cold Christmas desserts, though they’re certainly
in the minority. I wouldn’t say they’re all palatable, but they deserve an A
for effort! Not to say, for just plain common
sense.
This example is a chocolate-flavoured milk
jelly, with dried fruit added to make it Christmassy. The writer doesn’t say it
should go in the fridge, so it probably dates back to an earlier edition of the
recipe book, which was a perennial favourite in Australia for decades.
A Cold Christmas Pudding
Three dessertspoonful Davis Gelatine, 1 1/2
squares of chocolate or three tablespoonsful cocoa, 1 1/2 pints milk, one
cupful raisins, one cupful sugar, one-half cupful chopped lemon peel and nuts,
one half cupful currants, one-half cupful dates or figs, one-half teaspoonful
vanilla, pinch salt.
Place milk, chocolate or cocoa, and gelatine
in saucepan over the fire and stir until dissolved, but do not boil. Now add
sugar and salt and after further stirring remove to a cool place. When the
mixture begins to thicken add essence, fruit and nuts. Turn into a mould which
has been rinsed in cold water and place aside to set. When required decorate
with holly and serve with whipped cream or custard. Be sure and wash the dried
fruit thoroughly and allow to soak a while before mixing. This is an ideal
pudding for ocasions [sic] quite apart from Christmas.
(Green
and Gold Cookery Book: Containing Many Good and Proved Recipes. 15th ed.
(rev.), Adelaide, R.M. Osborne, [1949?])
The idea must have appealed to the sweating
housewives of South Australia. The selected pudding for December 25 in the
South Australian Country Women’s Association’s Calendar of Puddings, 5th ed., circa 1952, is “Jellied Plum Pudding”,
virtually identical. Thirteen
contributors sent in this same recipe!
Not Only Cold,
But Beaten
Channel-hopping
the other day I caught five minutes of an Aussie cookery programme in which the
two insane gurus, one female, one male, it ain’t sex-linked these days,
solemnly whipped (started whipping) some separated eggs with hand-held wire
whisks. The sort of whisk that Alexis Soyer, Escoffier et al. would have recognised, yep. We weren’t privileged to see the
entire whipping process, and no wonder. It takes ages, and requires wrists of
steel, arm muscles like a Schwarzenegger, and hips that don’t mind standing on
a hard kitchen floor forever. Back around 1950 when the
rotary eggbeater really took off Downunder, home cooks must have
thought, with sighs of relief, that they could throw away that stupid old whisk
forever. This tremendous innovation well-nigh revolutionised the family
pudding, certainly in Australasia; and in combination with the refrigerator,
cold whipped puddings came into their own.
The Proof of
the Pudding…
Examples
abound in the cookbooks of the Fifties. They have all sorts of names, but they
can all be classed as variations on the mousse. Lightness is most often
achieved with beaten whites of egg. And you use your miraculous rotary beater
to beat the air into your pudding:
Marshmallow Dessert
For MARCH 20
3/4 cup sugar, 1/2 pint water, pinch salt, 1
dessertspoon gelatine, flavouring. Heat all together, but do not boil. When
sugar and gelatine dissolve, allow to cool. Whip whites of 2 or 3 eggs very
stiffly and add to cool mixture. Beat all together with rotary beater till
light and frothy.
Set in cold place. Before serving, cover top
with a fruit salad mixture or any fruit in season. Decorate with whipped cream.
–MRS. B. K. JENKINS (Snowtown).
(Calendar
of Puddings: A Pudding a Day for the Whole Year. [5th ed.], [Adelaide, S.
Aust.], South Australian Country Women's Association, [1952?])
Such puddings
were popular on both sides of the Tasman. The following New Zealand recipe is the
closest I’ve found to Mum’s “fluffy jelly”, which made its appearance on our
tea table for many years. As you can see, the concept resembles a “Spanish
cream.” However, the miraculous aspect of Mum’s fluffy jelly was that the layers always separated themselves out.
I thought it had something to do with the temperature of the base mixture, but in
“Oban Summer Pudding” (Calendar of
Puddings, for Feb. 2nd), Mrs. W. Wien-Smith and Mrs. G.H.A. Mahood advise:
“Whisk the whites of eggs stiffly, and then beat all ingredients together
thoroughly, otherwise the gelatine will sink to the bottom.”
Special Jelly [aka “Fluffy Jelly”]
1 packet Edmonds
Jelly Crystals; 3/4 breakfastcup Milk
1/2 breakfastcup Hot Water; Whites of 2 Eggs
1/2 breakfastcup Cold Water
Dissolve jelly crystals in hot water; add
cold water then milk. Fold in the stiffly-beaten egg whites. Set in a wet
mould.
(Edmonds
Cookery Book. De luxe ed., [Christchurch, N.Z.], T.J. Edmonds Ltd., 1955
(1968 printing) (First published as The
Sure to Rise Cookery Book, 1908))
Easy-peasy! You can ignore the further instructions
in the book about serving with a custard made from the yolks: this custom dates
back to an earlier era (as does the book) and in fact was just about dead by
the mid-Fifties. I think Mum usually used the yolks up in the pudding, beating
them with the milk.
To Rotary or
Not?
Although
rotary eggbeaters (aka egg beaters) were invented way back in the 19th century
and the domestic models took off really early in the United States, they don’t
seem to have become popular in Britain:
There’s less evidence of rotary beaters getting a
firm grip in Victorian Britain, although some people certainly used them. With
no well-known brand like Dover [as in the U.S.], they were advertised as
“one-minute” or “ten-second” beaters, or with fanciful names like Biatrope or
Archimedian. Advice on cooking and equipping kitchens mostly assumed an
ordinary wire whisk would be just fine.
(Early Rotary Egg Beaters, Home
Things Past)
I think Australia and New Zealand must have
followed, as with most things culinary, in the footsteps of the “mother country”
(a phrase still current when I was a kid in the 1950s). References to the
rotary eggbeater in Australia date the tool from around the 1930s. This was
when Propert Productions started selling its “Swift Whip”. There are still examples
around today, and it has become a collectable.
In the 1950s Propert’s rotary eggbeaters really
took off in Australasia, becoming fantastically popular:
“Propert became a household name when it started
making all manner of kitchen implements … By far the most successful product
was a ball-driven egg beater, trademarked as the Ezy Whisk.
“In the
days before electric beaters, the Ezy Whisk was the market-leader and exported
world-wide. Adverts in the 1950s boasted they’d even been endorsed by royalty.
Apparently Queen Mary was most impressed when she was shown an Ezy Whisk while
visiting London Expo one year. … For ordinary Australians without electric
appliances or domestic help, the Ezy Whisk was an indispensable kitchen aid.
Charles Propert and his son Bertram manufactured more than a quarter of a
million egg beaters a year in the early 1950s, reason why so many are still
around and used even today.”
Rod Bruem. “The Amazing Propert Family – Caravan
Inventors”, Time To Roam, May 6, 2017) https://www.timetoroam.com.au/the-amazing-properts/
This article indicates that the new model
was the “Ezy Whisk” but I haven’t been able to find any other references to
that name. The “Swift Whip” was still being advertised in the Australian Women’s Weekly in 1959:
Cookery snobbery remained rampant, of course,
and it was only real people—the sort who used the Green and Gold Cookery Book and The
Golden Wattle Cookery Book in Australia and the Edmonds Cookery Book in New Zealand for generations—who happily
discarded the chef’s wire whisk in favour of the truly efficient rotary
eggbeater (and later of course, used the electric beater, blender and food
processor). Don’t take my word for its being more efficient: it’s been tested.
No, it wasn’t in a “test kitchen,” aka sterile laboratory, but it was a real person doing the test. She
writes:
“The set included four different styles of wire
whisks and rotary egg beaters, dated from about 1870 to 1940. In this group of
kitchen tools, I could see the progression of time: how science and mechanics
sought to make a laborious task simple and succinct.” They ranged from
an early whisk through to a rotary eggbeater.
She tested the set: “I separated an egg and let the white warm to room
temperature in a deep mixing bowl. I grabbed my wire whisk [top] and whipped
for what felt like an eternity—but, in fact, it was only 6 minutes and 48
seconds (though my arm wanted to fall off and die after about 30 seconds). As I
whisked and whisked, I thought of countless great-great-great grandmas with
bad-ass arms after hours of whisking. … The shiny, patented, 1936 Super Center
Drive Beater [the rotary beater, bottom] was a different story: the super
smooth rotation gave me a creamy meringue in the least amount of time: 1
minute, 17 seconds. My last step was to compare these whisks to my modern,
electrified, upright mixer: it took over two minutes to beat an egg into a
meringue, and left some unbeaten white clinging to the bottom of the bowl—which
means that a beater patented over 70 years ago was more efficient than my
modern mixer, both in terms of how quickly it made meringue, and quality of the
final product. What does that mean? Should the rotary whisk be reinstated into
our kitchen armory as a means of producing a faster, finer meringue?”
(Sarah Lohman. “The Magic Whisk”, Sep 11, 2012,
I’d vote for that, Sarah!
Interestingly, the second implement from
the top in her picture, which she explains was identified by an expert as a
“sauce whisk”, dated 1920 or later, is a dead ringer for the egg whisk that Mum
used In New Zealand in the 1950s before she had a rotary beater! I’d forgotten all
about it until I saw the picture. So double thanks, Sarah.
The pictures I found, including the Australian
“Swift Whip” examples, were similar to Mum’s New Zealand rotary beater, but not
quite the same. I began to think I'd imagined hers, when I couldn’t find a
picture to match it, but my brother remembers it, too. He writes that it had:
“two intermeshing wire beaters and a big wheel with a hand crank off to the
side. The wheel had about 4mm bumps on as gear teeth which meshed with small
cogs on the beaters, thus turning them fast in opposite directions.”
I had to think about this techo
description, but I finally got it (looking hard at the pics in close-up). That
was it, yes!
Yep, you can become completely bonkers with
over-use of the rotary eggbeater, devising more and more novel notions for the
dessert course. This incredible effort is so deliriously dotty that I have to
pass it on. I’ll give you a hint; it has no watermelon in it:
Water Melon
Delight
For FEB. 22
Make
1 pint of red jelly, and when half set fold in 2 stiffly beaten egg whites and
the pulp of 3 passion fruit. Whisk together. Pour into large bowl and allow to
set. Make 1 pint of thick custard (with custard powder), and when cold spread
over red jelly. Make 1 pint of green jelly. When nearly set, pour over custard.
Chill and cut into wedge-shaped pieces. Serve with cream or ice cream.
--MRS.
C. P. STEER (Clarendon).
(Calendar of Puddings: A Pudding a Day for
the Whole Year. [5th ed.], [Adelaide, S. Aust.], South Australian Country
Women's Association, [1952?])
Get it? The green jelly’s the watermelon skin, the passionfruit make the
seeds and the custard makes the rind!
Too
much use of thy rotary eggbeater hath made thee mad, Mrs Steer.
The Apotheosis
Of course the
apotheosis of the rotary period in Australasia was the “pavlova”.
Horrible
controversy over who named it first, the New Zealanders or the Australians,
supposedly during, or perhaps just after, a tour of New Zealand and Australia
by the ballerina Anna Pavlova in the 1920s—but who cares? It’s still terrifically
popular today; possibly even more so, as using an electric beater to make the
meringue base requires no effort at all.
Here’s
how they made it in the 1950s with their rotary beaters, though I’m not claiming
this is the best recipe. Merely a fairly early Australian one, using the name
by which we still know the dessert today:
Pavlova Dessert
For JAN 1
4 egg whites, 8 ozs. castor sugar, 2
teaspoons vinegar or lemon juice, 1 dessertspoon cornflour.
Beat egg whites until very stiff and frothy,
add sugar gradually, and whisk again till stiff. Fold in sifted cornflour. Add
vinegar and stir lightly. Grease and dredge with cornflour (lightly) an 8-in.
sandwich tin. (Alternatively, line with wet paper.) Fill with the mixture,
arranging it with a slight hollow to take the filling when cooked. Bake in a
very slow oven (250 deg.) until cooked through, but not coloured - 1 1/4 to 2
hours. When cold, spread with a fruit salad mixture, including pineapple.
Decorate with whipped cream or ice cream.
—MRS. W. H. POSSINGHAM (Naracoorte), MRS. R.
L. HALL (Iron Knob), and MRS. E. S. JOHNSON (Murray Bridge).
(Calendar
of Puddings: A Pudding a Day for the Whole Year. [5th ed.], [Adelaide, S.
Aust.], South Australian Country Women's Association, [1952?])
If you insist on martyring yourself by turning
the oven on at Christmas, go ahead and make one. Good luck with the two hours.
Or, as we’re in the 21st century, you could just buy the base, ready-made, and
liberate yourself from the Australasian martyred mum syndrome.
Whichever,
I’m sure it won’t be as good as the ones our Aunty Molly used to make for tea
on Christmas Day, back in the Fifties and Sixties. The base nigh on four inches
tall, crisp on the outside, pure white fluff on the inside, sweet but not too
sweet, with real unadulterated EnZed whipped cream on top of it… A dream of a
pudding!
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