Page 25 of Easton Island: Old-Fashioned Christmas
Elizabeth cleared her throat, a look of concern flitting across her face. “With fire?”
“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Arnsby hurried on. “I have some long matches I can use.”
“Are you sure…”
She waved dismissively. “It will be fine.”
“Regardless, I think it would be best if Morgan and I were on hand to supervise.” Elizabeth shot her granddaughter a side glance, giving her a knowing look to remind her of a previous incident when Mrs. Arnsby had sparked a bananas foster fire by adding a pinch too much rum to the sauce, inadvertently triggering the smoke alarms.
“When I found out Morgan was stopping by to help decorate, I made a special batch for us to sample.”
Morgan’s eyes lit. “A special batch?”
“This version of Christmas pudding is a traditional recipe, dating back to the mid-1840s and includes a unique twist.”
“What…”
Mrs. Arnsby held a finger to her lips. “Showing you will be much more fun. Like I said, I made a special cake for the three of us to sample.”
The conversation shifted to the impending storm. Although Morgan held out a slim hope that the blizzard would shift, fizzle out or weaken, from everything she’d heard it had strengthened and continued barreling toward them.
With the tea and decorating finished, Morgan helped load the tray with the leftovers and empty dishes.
Taking a shortcut through the butler’s pantry, Elizabeth and Morgan followed the cook into the kitchen. Crossing the threshold, the senior Easton stopped in her tracks. “Good heavens. It looks like a tornado tore through here.”
Morgan peered over her grandmother’s shoulder, her eyes growing round as saucers. Pots and pans were piled high on top of the stove. Flour, sugar, spices and other baking supplies lined the counter. “A baking tornado,” she joked.
“I’ve been up to my elbows experimenting but will have it cleaned up before you can say Ebenezer Scrooge.” Mrs. Arnsby wheeled the cart off to the side and made a beeline for the center island. “I just took the pudding off the stove. It’s been steaming and simmering all morning. Four hours yesterday and another four today.”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. “You cooked the pudding for eight hours?”
“It sounds like a long process, but it’s actually quite easy once it gets going. On the plus side, it keeps for days. In fact, the longer it sits, the better it gets.” Mrs. Arnsby hustled around to the other side of the counter. “This particular pudding has an interesting history.”
“It’s fascinating, actually,” Elizabeth said.
“From what I was taught growing up, the tradition of making the Christmas pudding started with Stir-Up Sunday, the fifth Sunday before Christmas,” Mrs. Arnsby explained.
Her grandmother picked up. “I know a bit about it as well. Stir-Up Sunday involved the entire family. Each member stirredthe mixture to commemorate the Magi’s journey. It was thought to bring good luck in the new year.”
Mrs. Arnsby tipped a patterned plate with a perfectly round cake sitting in the center. “This is our sample.” The holiday plate featured mischievous elves dancing around while holding brightly wrapped gifts. Sporting green tunics trimmed in fur, pointy hats sat atop their heads. They wore shiny black shoes with jingle bells attached to the ends.
Morgan held her breath, watching as the cook poured a generous serving of syrupy sauce over the top. “Here comes the flambé part.”
Elizabeth grasped Morgan’s arm, instinctively pulling her back.
With the flick of her wrist, Mrs. Arnsby lit the match and held it over the syrupy concoction.
Whoosh!A bright orange flame shot up from the center.
Morgan clapped her hands. “It’s like dinner and a show.”
“Very entertaining, Jane.” Elizabeth nodded in approval. “Your Christmas pudding will be a brilliant addition to our celebratory meal.”
“Thanks. Like I said, through trial and error and an entire kitchen of dirty dishes, I have it perfected.” She extinguished the flame before grabbing a knife and cutting three generous slices. She handed one to Elizabeth, the second to Morgan and kept the third for herself. “A word of warning: eating the pudding is where the other part of the tradition starts.”
“What Jane is trying to say is, eat carefully. There are treasures hidden inside.”
Morgan sawed off a small piece of the pudding and nibbled the end. The flavors mingled with the rich sauce melted in her mouth. “This is tasty.”
