Sunday, 14 December 2008

Puddings that could go either way on paper and turn out to be a triumph

No 1 in an occasional series:

The lemon trifle.

You may think this pudding which I enjoyed at Bistroteque, down a dark alley in east London's fashionable (probably) Bethnal Green, is bathed in candlelight. But no, it is lit by a purely celestial glow. It was a dessert that came to me from heaven.

I wavered over my choice. But I was nobly shepherded towards it by our waiter, who assured me I would not be disappointed, and also revealed that my second choice, the apple crumble, had recently had a topping (by that I mean the stuff on the top, not, like, 'excellent' in Blytonese) makeover from granola-esque to the more conventional powdery crumbs, which in pudding terms, to me, spelt B.L.A.N.D. 

So the trifle and I had our date with destiny. Let me tell you about its glorious strata: 

citrus jelly (this has caused me to question my previously unshakeable and near-religious belief that there is no place for jelly in trifle)
lemony custardness
Chantilly cream
sponge, naturellement
possibly something else I am too dazed to remember
And – this part is the work of a demented genius – lemon granita on the top. 

Lemon! Granita! On a trifle! Somewhere a world made of eggs, cream and sugar is spinning off its axis. 

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