The trifle

 

The trifle

Taking turns. Look at Roxy's tongue! It looks as though it has a life of its own.

It seems to be developing into a tradition, which is surprising to me, as gastronomic traditions usually pass me by. Actually, my carbonara used to go down well with my eldest grandchildren when they came to stay, but generally my offerings are not memorable.

Anyway. Trifle. It is certainly not a thing of small value and I’m not sure what is the actual attraction of it, but then I’ve never really liked trifle very much. I like the individual ingredients, but not the aggregation of them.

The latest offering was declared ‘the best ever.’ I just wish I could remember what changes I made. The base was Madeira cake, when I usually use sponge fingers, or crumbled digestive or ginger biscuits, so that was one difference.

Orange jelly with fresh raspberries came next. Once that had set, I added strawberry jelly and when it was firm enough, fresh blueberries.

Next came the custard – I remembered to make sure I had some in the cupboard this time, after the custardless one of a few months ago.

On top came the whipped cream, made from whippable oat milk. Barry took over the task of whipping and what didn’t end up on his jumper or the kitchen counter or the dogs’ heads gilded the custard. The final garnish was halved fresh strawberries.

It did look quite presentable and was surprisingly heavy as I nervously carried it into the dining room. I always half-expect to drop it. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, for then I concentrate on completing one task a time.

I shall make another trifle for Christmas Day, but of reduced proportions for a smaller number of people.

As ever, the dogs were in constant attendance, hoping for treats. In reward for their patience and forbearance they were allowed to lick the spoon. They would have preferred a dish each.