I'm Eating What?! Treacle Sponge Pudding
This week, I was tasked with finding myself something for the blog. That actually seems worse than just showing up with something new on my desk. It's almost like having to pick your method of execution. I knew I couldn't get away with picking something that looked delicious, so I wandered the "Ethnic" aisle at my local Publix scanning the shelves for something strange. I stopped at the British section and spotted a can of Spotted Dick pudding. I thought for a minute about how many STD jokes I could fit into one post and picked it up to place into my cart. Just before I let it drop from my hand, I noticed it had raisins in it and immediately put it back on the shelf. There's something about raisins in pre-packaged pudding that puts me off. Probably a fear that one of the "raisins" ends up being something left behind from a rather large rodent scurrying across the pudding factory floor. When I placed the Spotted Dick back on the shelf, I noticed a can of Heinz Treacle Sponge Pudding right next to it for $4.99. I grabbed it and headed to the checkout before I could talk myself out of the purchase.
I open the can slowly and notice a very sweet smell wafting out before the top is completely off. It smells like molasses. Once the top came off though, the site didn't live up to the smell. A sad orange blob filled about half the can. It was separating from the sides and splitting in places. It looked like a leftover chunk of pumpkin pie from last Thanksgiving. Following the instructions on the can, I ran a knife around the edges that weren't already pulling away from the can, turned it upside down onto a microwave safe plate, and prayed it would taste like it smelled, not like it looked.
A slightly brighter shade of orange gel rests on top of the mutilated pumpkin pie monstrosity as I slide it into the microwave. One minute and thirty seconds later, my kitchen smells like a hot sponge cake and I eagerly grab the plate out of the microwave. During the cooking process, the sponge pudding contracted and the orange gel melted, making the whole thing look almost edible in a congealed, left over Chinese food kinda way. I drive my fork down the middle and scoop up a piece to taste.
It's delicious. It tastes like a hot sponge cake with hot syrup poured over the top. The consistency is a little off putting, lying somewhere between stuffing and bread pudding, but the taste trumps any strange feelings my tongue might have. For one of the first times in the history of writing this blog, I happily take another bite and ponder scouring the internet for recipes to try out myself. With a little amaretto flavoring, this could make for one hell of a follow up to bangers and mash.