Oh, the Google hits I will get now. (My favorite recent search term: "Jamie's exhibitionist blog." Mom would be so proud.) But this is not a post about anything I would be embarrassed to discuss with my mother. It is a post about dessert -- about a whole class of desserts, actually, that we don't eat in the US.
Imagine a bowl of something not quite cake and not quite pudding, something light and dense at the same time, something rich and hot with a creamy sauce oozing over it. The something, my friends, is a steamed pudding -- spotted dick is a popular exemplar -- and I am plumping for its inclusion in the American culinary canon. (Though if I don't stop thinking about dessert, I am going to be just plain plump.)
Okay, it is actually a steamed suet pudding, which is why we don't eat it here.* Suet makes Americans say, Eeeewwwww. If it was ever widely used here, it has certainly fallen into -- wait! wait for it! -- desuetude. (Can we pronounce it "de-suet-ude" just for the duration of this post?) But suet gives the puddings their fabulous texture, when uncountable tiny air bubbles appear as the bits of fat melt during the steaming.
Do not think for a minute that I am less squeamish than the average American. I do not eat organ meats; whole fish do not enter my kitchen; giblet gravy does not appear on my Thanksgiving menu. But I am fond enough of Christmas pudding that a hunk of faintly pink beef fat is sitting in my refrigerator, waiting for me to decide whether my love of cooking new and delicious things can triumph over the faintly queasy feeling suet gives me.**
I wasn't quite sure what to do with my suet at first. Did it need to be refined somehow, so I didn't serve up a Christmas dessert with a lingering bouquet of greasy hamburger? Jane Grigson and Nigella Lawson only told me to talk to my butcher. (I'm pretty sure the guy who sold this to my husband is accustomed to provisioning bird feeders -- he didn't have anything helpful to say about feeding it to out-of-town in-laws whose tastes run more to pumpkin pie.) None of my American cookbooks, not even my old Joy of Cooking, had anything useful to say. MFK Fisher and Harold McGee are silent on suet, as far as I can tell.
I moved on to the Google SChool Of Restaurant-y Elegance (SCORE!) and found plenty of advice on rendering suet to keep the birds happy. But I also found enough tips on suet for human consumption that I'm going to proceed cautiously. Today I will soak dried fruit in rum, along with candied peel and chestnuts. I will put the suet in the freezer. Tomorrow I will grate it in the food processor and mix up the rest of the pudding. I will steam it for three or four hours and then let it cool. I will wrap it carefully and put it away until Christmas Eve, when I will repeat the steaming. (This is another reason we don't eat steamed puddings in the US -- they are serious slow food.)
While the Christmas Eve steaming finishes, I will make hard sauce with butter and brandy and confectioner's sugar. I will heat more brandy and pour it over the pudding on a pretty plate. I will bring the flaming pudding to the table (two years ago at that moment my middle son, then three, looked at me quizzically and asked, "Why we are setting the dessert on fire?") and slice into it.
And if the steaming bowlfuls are redolent of the greasy grill in a down-at-the-heels diner, I'm going to be really bummed.
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*Why lard-laden Jiffy muffin mixes continue to sell while Americans spurn suet puddings is a mystery to me, but there you go.
**My suet squeamishness is illogical since I eat bacon, and even drizzle a spoonful of bacon fat over the hot potatoes when I make potato salad (taste before you shudder -- it's so good). But if you are interested in steamed puddings and steadfastly opposed to suet, consider vegetable suet. It's probably just grated shortening, loaded with trans fats, but to each her own.
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