| Sunday, May 09, 2004 |
 | Well, what can I say? It's been a testing time...
It has also been a time of surprisingly many birthdays, at one of which I was told the dark secret of Bakewell tarts. Or should I say... Bakewell puddings
Oh yes.
You are, of course, familiar with the Bakewell tart. For those reading in the Americas and other places untouched by milky tea and Anglicanism, the Bakewell tart is, in its traditional form, round, small and topped with white icing, with a cherry on top. The interior is some form of jam. Look, I don't know. Mr. Kipling makes this shit, I don't. Why would I know what you put in a Bakewell tart? Do I look like Nigella Lawson? Am I your domestic goddess? I don't think so... Ultimately, all you need to know is that they're like non-seasonal mince pies.
Anyway. The Bakewell tart is known to all right-thinking people as the Bakewell tart. Except for the good people of Bakewell itself. To them, it is and shall ever be the Bakewell pudding. Seriously. My interlocutor had proof.
Apparently, the Bakewell pudding shop is fantastic. It has one entire side of its building devoted to selling its wares.
"Fifty different varieties?" I inquired.
"One variety," came the response, "three different sizes.
There's something just utterly fabulous about that.
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