Skip to main content

The Renegade Pudding Cooker

So, you know the two Gü chocolate puddings that I purchased as a token gesture towards a Valentine’s Day dinner, given Andy was on a late finish at work, and a full on gourmet feast was never going to happen because I don’t like going to bed feeling like I’ve eaten a boulder? These were they…


With Andy tucking into his curry dinner, I scoured the pudding packet for cooking instructions. They said: ‘Microwave for 1 minute. Do NOT put in oven.’ Oh bum. This was NOT what I signed up for when buying into my spontaneous romantic gesture. Now what do I do? Andy could take them to work with him to heat up in the microwave there, I supposed, but that would mean he would have TWO puddings and I would have NONE which seemed grossly unfair AND defeating of the Valentine Day gesture. Could they be eaten cold, I wondered? 

Houston - we had a chocolate pudding problem. Firstly, I don’t own a microwave. I’ve always been suspicious of them. ‘T’ain’t natural, cooking food that fast. All that pinging and potential for explosion, not to mention all the plasticky-type specialist cookware clogging up your cupboards. No thank you. Give me slow life Aga cooking any day. 

Secondly, why was I being ordered to NOT put them in the oven? Would they explode? Melt? Burn themselves to an inedible cinder? There seemed no reason for this diktat, and you all know what I am like re: needing a valid and sensible reason for doing something before I do it, or don’t do it in some cases. I have a natural stubborn streak in me which, for 90% of the time, serves me well.

Quite frankly, instructions like this ‘Do NOT put in oven’ are like a red rag to a grumpy cow, the grumpy cow being me. Me, who is a capable and confident cook who can wing it quite ably without a recipe? Me, who laughs in the face of ‘Dry Clean Only’ and ‘Do not tumble dry’ on laundry labels? Don’t make me laugh. Ha! 

The only problem I could envisage was that these here problematic puds might be inclined to dry out if baked slowly rather than having their atoms nuked for a minute at insane temperatures, so I stood the glass ramekins in which they languished in a bain marie (a.k.a a ceramic dish with water in it) and popped them in the oven, 180 degrees C for 15 minutes after which I poked them and they were done. They were hot, they were chocolatey, they were gooey. They were as they said on the packet. 

They were also disappointingly small, and a little cynical voice niggledy at me saying, ‘You could have made something twice as nice for half the price if you could have been arsed.’ Quite right, little cynical voice, but done is done and at least I got two cute glass ramekin dishes from the experience. 

P.S I was going to post this blog yesterday but thought I’d better wait at least 24 hours in case my renegade ‘cooking-a-microwave-only-pudding-in-an-oven’ triggered some fatal chemical reaction which would do me and His Lordship Malarkey unto death. Reader, it didn’t. All is well. 

Comments

Anonymous said…
Never take no for an answer! Glad you got to enjoy the chocolate pudding.
KJ
Anonymous said…
I have done this as well, being similarly not of a microwave persuasion. It’s always worked out so far. I am waiting for the day when it doesn’t though. One of the drawbacks of grocery delivery to the door is the lack of opportunity to study the packet in the shop and therefore we’re too often caught out.
(Slow cooking Duck. Not Crispy though. No. Never!)
Denise said…
KJ, I’m not going to be told what to do by a set of instructions that don’t justify themselves, KJ. Especially when they stand between me and a chocolate pudding!

There’s always a way around all barriers, Mrs Duck. Common sense and a dollop of cunning usually does the trick, in my experience.

Popular posts from this blog

The Frosted Dawn Enigma

The decorators are in at the moment. Stairs and landing. Given my previous history of 'Hoo Ha Occurring on Stairs ' - reference the Trapped Under the Sofa Incident and the Foot Wedged Between Bookcase and Stair Rise Debacle - I thought it wise to pay for professionals to decorate the stairs and landing rather than get myself in a mix with ladder and plank combinations and achieve the Magic Three of staircase accidents. The decorators are a father and son combo who go by the  names of Craig and David. This automatically causes me entertainment. 'Came in on a Monday, prepped, filled and undercoated, back on Thursday, first top coating, by Friday finishing touches...' Okay, not as frisky or well-scanned as the original song, but you get where I'm coming from. Anyway, before they started the job Craig asked what colour I wanted for the walls. 'Same colour as the downstairs walls, please,' said I. 'Dulux Frosted Dawn.' And then white for ...

Day 1 - Decisions Are Made Beyond the Author's Control.

‘Well,’ I say, looking at the expectant faces gathered around the huge table in the Great Dining Hall of Much Malarkey Manor, ‘I didn’t think it was going to happen this year, but it is!’ There is a sharp intake of breath as everyone wonders of what I speak. I’ve been muttering about all sorts recently, and I’m not talking liquorice here either.   ‘The Much Malarkey Manor Annual and Traditional Christmas Story!’ I say, and wait for the expulsed air of relief to settle before I continue. ‘I thought we had done it all. I thought we had covered every Christmas story there was. I’ve been wracking my brains for a full two months now, trying to come up with something we haven’t done before and then it hit me! We haven’t done a version of one of the Great Christmas Films of Yore!’ ‘Your what?’ says Mrs Slocombe, who is more interested in the selection of pastries I have brought to this breakfast meeting, because that is what one does, isn’t it? Eat pastries at breakfast...

Sun Puddles

A few weeks ago, I met up with a dear friend for a meditation and healing afternoon, both of us being light workers on the spirit pathway. It did me good to re-engage in a bit of focused energy channelling (because I have let my practice slip somewhat) and during the afternoon the words ‘sun puddles’ popped into my head.  Now, I know this wasn’t my human brain thinking these words because I have never heard the phrase before; when I arrived home, I looked it up and said to myself, ‘Aaah, you mean sun spots!’ This is a sun puddle... ...there! That thing that Flora is lying on. No, not the sofa - the warm patch of sunshine on the sofa. Here are Flora and Bambino sharing a sun puddle... This proves that no matter how much they scrap with each other and try to denude each other of fur all over my rugs, they secretly share a mutual and fond admiration. I think. And here is Bambino on a sun puddle that has come to rest on my legs... It’s his casual, ‘I’m so cool’ pose. Metaphorically coo...