I have spent the weekend with Ms D/Mrs B. I should point out that she is one person, with one unified personality. It's just that I don't know which title she prefers, even though she's a close friend, and even though this is the kind of thing that is important to her. The reason I don't know this detail is not because of my deliquency as a friend*. It is because we have much more important things to discuss, such as the comestible delicacies of her maternal homeland.
Readers, say hallo (I will translate, as Norwegian is a rich and complex language: hello) to karamell pudding (caramel pudding).
I know what you're thinking - so far, so Safeway. But wait! This is no ordinary caramel pudding. In fact, I would argue that there is no such thing as an ordinary caramel pudding. Each one is a tiny testament to the miracles of cooking chemistry. But this karamell pudding? Well, open the carton and it slithers out like a yellow, perfectly cuboid fish.
In the future, all fish will be cuboid, for ease of storage. Evolution is working on the whole concept of perfect right angles as we speak. It's been a lengthy process but they want to get it absolutely right before the launch. They've almost cracked it, there's just some wrangling going on over the marketing budget. Anyway. Once you've delivered your pudding onto a plate, a vast building block of food sculpture is at your disposal, to divide and assemble as your imagination desires. The packaging suggests a train.
But I prefer a more architectural slant to my pudding sculpture, and since I frown on the excessive use of food colouring - it really is so vulgar - karamell pudding's natural, buttery colour suggests to me the MI6 building at Vauxhall, or perhaps one of the more ornate Oxford colleges. But it pains me to say that I will not be the person to render them. Witness my disastrous attempt at the Eiffel Tower.
*It is slightly because of this.