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.

April A to Z blogging challenge Jelly

This challenge is inspired and initiated by Arlee Bird at Tossing It Out.

                                     Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Jelly on the plate,

Jelly on the plate,

Wibble, wobble,

Wibble, wobble,

Jelly on the plate.

This skipping rhyme has a steady rhythm which helps the skipper to keep in time with the turning rope.

Why are frightened people sometimes described as ‘shaking like a jelly’? Jellies don’t quiver unless the dish or plate they’re on is shaken. I suppose the reference is to the involuntary shivering of both the terrified person and the inanimate jelly.

How would jellies react if they had feelings and knew they were going to be eaten? Would the first suspicion come as the gelatine had boiling water poured over it?

Here is a short report from an intelligent jelly. It comes to an abrupt halt as the jelly enters its final phase and can no longer communicate with the outside world.

I am a green jelly. Well, actually, I am a green jelly cube joined to other green jelly cubes in a 3 x 4 rectangle.

I have been removed from my packaging. This tells me that I am a lime jelly.

I have been placed in a metal dish with ridges and curves. I hear someone call this a ‘jelly mould’.

I see clouds of steam coming from the chimney of a water container. This is a kettle.

Boiling water is pouring onto my companions and me.

My fellow cubes and I are becoming one. Is this marriage?

We all speak with one voice now, indistinguishable from each other.

We are liquid and we smell delicious. We slop and slosh in the jelly mould.

After a while we can’t move so easily. We are becoming solid.

We are put into the refrigerator. It’s cold in here.

We are taken out and into the dining room.

Lots of little people are waiting for us.

We see ice-cream. Ice-cream is very cold and much more solid than us.

We are cut into smaller pieces and put on plates.

The little people shake the plates and we move around. We wobble. It’s fun.

We are joined by ice-cream. Brrr!!

A spoon comes down and scoops up a piece of us.

We enter a warm, dark place and begin to slide down, down, down . . . 

ABC Wednesday Round 5 J is for Janice

J is for Janice (that's me!) . . . . . . and Jenna (that's her!)

J is for Jamboree, a boisterous frolic, a spree in which some of the following might be involved . . . John Smith's . . .

. . . and Jacob's Creek . . .

. . . and jam which Bonne Maman calls conserve but I've cunningly turned the jar to conceal the word . . .
. . . and jelly which I hadn't made for years until recently when one of my grandchildren, a junior in the tribe, made some one day at our house and reawakened my interest . . .

. . . and jelly babies which another junior tribe member gave me! Are you jealous of all the goodies here? Some of the images are blurry and out of focus - can you wonder with all that booze and sugar?

Thank you to Mrs Nesbitt for this jolly, jaunty meme.

Click here to see other Js from around the world.