SUMMER FOOD AND DRINK

In praise of summer pudding

Petronella Wyatt

TO THE English patriot, few dishes are as uplifting as summer pudding. Though not a symbol of Merry England, when barons bashed each other on the head with steam- ing roasts, it is a relic of the great days of the British Empire. It is Disraeli at Hugh- enden, Kitchener in the Sudan, Edward VIII lunching on the lawns of Windsor.

As far as foreigners are concerned, sum- mer pudding encapsulates English cooking as surely as Mrs Thatcher contra mundum sums up our politics. In countries as far afield as Hungary, restaurants hopeful of enticing British tourists advertise the words: 'English Summer Pudding' (usually spelt phonetically `summar pooding'). This is followed by an idiosyncratic description of the ingredients we all know so well: `compote of fruit dressed in bread clothes'.

As befits a dish which has assumed such a national importance, there are as many arguments over its origins as there are over the nature of God. Surprisingly, there is a school of culinary historians that claims it is an arriviste pudding, placing it within the first decades of the 20th century. (In sup- port of this theory, there is no reference to summer pudding in the usually thorough Mrs Beeton.) A rival cabal, however, holds to the altogether more pleasing view that the pudding was eaten by the Georgians.

Both are right. Summer pudding is a hybrid food, the ancestry of which can be traced back to the fruit pies taken by the Plantagenets and, later, to suet pudding. According to Michelle Beridale Johnson, the culinary historian, the earliest mention of summer pudding is to be found in the late 18th century. Curiously for a dish asso- ciated with summer gluttony, it's debut was a result of the growing fad for health `cures'.

At hydropathic establishments in Bath and Brighton where Londoners went to `take the waters' for gout and distemper, the invalids were presented with a new health-giving dish. This was portentously named 'hydropathic pudding'. It consisted of cooked fruit encased in bread, which was considered healthier and more digestible than suet or pastry. It was allegedly a good remedy for a hang-over, which made the dish a favourite, on the sly, with the more .bibulous politicians such as Pitt and Charles Fox. It was not until the late 19th century that hydropathic pudding rose from its sickbed and entered the gracious coun- try dining-room. Lacking means of refriger- ation, cooks discovered it was an ideal way for using up surpluses of fruit and stale bread. This was particularly true in the country, where estate owners grew their own fruits, usually left to fester in dingy out-kitchens.

By the turn of the century, hydropathic pudding had been given a new stage and a new name: summer pudding. To the origi- nal fruits, such as redcurrants and raspber- ries, were added strawberries and blackcur- rants. A favourite with the Edwardians, it was served as the finale to summer lun- cheon parties, along with that EEC shibbo- leth, unpasteurised cream.

In its modern guise, summer pudding reached a peak of popularity in the 1950s and 60s. No good gourmet, whether Eliza- beth David or Constance Spry, was without a recipe. In her Four Seasons cookery book, Margaret Costa writes an encomium to summer pudding, calling it, somewhat spu-

riously, 'the true old-fashioned summer pudding'.

Today it is an integral part of the British summer, as ubiquitous in the country as Pimm's and croquet. Normally phlegmatic hostesses will argue for hours over the best recipe. Should the bread be stale or fresh? Should strawberries be included in the fruit compote? (Purists such as Christopher Davies, the cooking expert, would say no.) How long should it be left to stand?

Among its many advantages is its staying power. Summer pudding is one of the few dishes that freeze well. (Tesco does a varia- tion which will freeze happily for months.) Sorbets crystallise, mousses congeal, but summer pudding retains its moist, opaque gunginess. Furthermore, it is cheap, simple to make and versatile. Caroline Walde- grave suggests preparing the pudding in individual cups garnished with fruit. This is a charming aesthetic idea, though some tra- ditionalists may prefer summer pudding in all the glory of its solid, unregimented mass.

The real sticking point is the recipe, the widest division being between those who favour solely red fruits — raspberries and strawberries — and those who believe that blackcurrants and blackberries add a cer- tain piquancy. I have always felt that as long as the fruit is British, seasonal and ripe there is no reason why one should not experiment. For instance, cherries can pro- vide a pleasant counterpoise to more bitter fruits like redcurrants.

As for the case, brown bread is taboo, but white loaves will do just as well as sliced bread: creme fraiche or even yoghurt is a refreshing alternative to double cream. (The most important rule to remember is to leave the pudding to stand for at least 24 hours. This ensures that the fruit juice is thoroughly absorbed by the bread.) But for those of you who are too indecisive, or too idle, to experiment with methodology, I have prepared what I believe to be the ne

SUMMER FOOD AND DRINK

plus ultra of summer pudding recipes. I publish it below for the first time.

Ingredients

2 pounds of redcurrants, raspberries, straw- berries, and cherries 2 tablespoons of water 6 ounces of sugar 6 to 9 slices of stalish white bread either sliced or cut from a loaf.

Method Cook the berries and currants with the water and sugar until the fruit is soft but still bright. Strain off the juice, pour it into a small bowl and set it aside. Remove the crust from the bread and dip the slices into the juice. Use them to line a large pudding basin. While the fruit is still warm, pour it into the bread case. Cover with a round piece of bread, also dipped in fruit juice. Tip the rest of the juice into a saucepan and reduce by boiling until it becomes a syrup. Leave it to cool. Put a plate on top of the pudding basin and place a one-pound weight on the plate. Leave for at least 24 hours. Turn out the pudding and pour the syrup over the top. Serve very cold with creme fraiche.