In comes I, Saint George,
from old England have I sprung.
I’ll fight the Dragon bold,
for my wonders have begun.
I’ll clip his wings, he shall not fly;
I’ll cut him down, or else I’ll die.
– English Mummers’ Play
Today is St. George’s Day, and in honor of England’s patron saint, Sam of Becks&Posh and Monkey Gland of Jam Faced have declared this to be a day of feasting on that finest of English culinary offerings: the pudding.
The pudding that I chose to make is a called a honeycomb mould. While I could not find much on the history of this pudding, I did find references to recipes from as far back as the 1700’s. This particular recipe is from Jane Grigson’s Good Things, by way of Laurie Colwin’s second glorious collection of essays on food, More Home Cooking. In the chapter “Desserts that Quiver,” after describing her attempts “to make a gelatin dessert that [her family] could all stand,” Ms. Colwin writes:
Next I set out to find some gelatin desserts that a person might serve at a dinner party. I wanted to go beyond Bavarian cream, which is a nice enough dessert but rather dull. In Jane Grigson’s sacred tome, Good Things, I found just what I was looking for. Jane Grigson was never as famous in this country as she ought to have been. I simply could not do without her books, all filled with inspiring prose, plain, elegant recipes, and sound advice. If I were allowed only one cookbook, Good Things by Jane Grigson would be it. One reason is that it contains a recipe for “honeycomb mould,” the three-layered dessert of my daughter’s dreams.
Of this splendid dish Mrs. Grigson writes: “This delicious pudding of childhood should not be relegated to the nursery. Its clear, true flavor (not to be found in the packet-mix versions) is a luxury these days.” It is a wonderful dessert and quite easy to make. If you have an ornamental mold, use it. […]
In Mrs. Grigson’s words: “[The dessert] will have a cap of clear lemon jelly, then a thin band of opaque cream jelly shading off a honeycombed spongy base which makes a slight crinkling noise as it’s eaten.”
As a child of the American South, I have faced far too many a jello “salad” filled with canned fruit (pineapple, mandarin oranges, fruit cocktail), a dairy selection (cottage cheese, cream cheese, even condensed milk) and chopped nuts. For years, I swore off cooking with gelatin; only recently have I attempted to make peace with my jello-stained past. First panna cotta; now honeycomb mould. Just stop me if you see me reaching for the crushed pineapple.
Honeycomb Mould ‘After Jane Grigson’
(Three-Layered Lemon Gel)
3 large eggs, separated
3/4 teaspoon lemon zest, freshly grated
1/4 oz. envelope unflavored gelatin
1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cups milk (or half-and-half)
2 lemons, juiced (about 6 tablespoons)
In a metal bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, lemon zest, gelatin, sugar and cream. Heat milk until almost boiling, and whisk gradually into the egg yolk mixture. Set the bowl over a pot of simmering water (or use a double boiler), and stir until mixture cooks into a thin custard sauce.
Stir lemon juice into custard. Beat egg whites until stiff; fold into the hot custard. Allow the mixture to stand for a few minutes, then pour it into a 1-quart mold or bowl. Chill, covered, overnight, or until well set.
To unmold, run a thin knife around the edge of the pudding, dip the mold in warm water for 10 seconds, and turn the pudding out onto a plate.
I have no ornamental one-quart mold, but I do have a mini-bundt-cake pan, so I portioned the warm eggwhite-lightened custard into its six small tins. Rather than taking overnight to gel, the mini-moulds were set within four hours. I discovered upon unmolding the first of them that the advertised three layers had not materialized; rather, I found a thin layer of translucent jelly atop a relatively homogenous chiffon-like base. Perhaps there was a bit of that middle line of “cream jelly,” but it was not readily visible between the other two layers. My guess is that the small, heavy metal tins caused the gelatin to set before the ingredients could separate to form the layers.
Even in two layers, the honeycomb mould is delicious. Tart, sweet, creamy, and very lemony, with the interesting texture - more mouth feel than noise - that Mrs. Grigson calls “crinkling,” it’s an English pudding to slay this Southern girl’s jello memories.
Technorati tags: What’s For Pud? + St George’s Day
Tags: 13 Comments
13 responses so far ↓
Oh, so cool! You and Bakerina both drew on Colwin for inspiration. I have always loved reading about this recipe.
Yumm. Would you do one for us in August? Your verse about St. George reminded me of our tour in Edinburgh. As we passed a statue of a different George, King George, the guide told us a story. It seems that good King George was of less than noble stature, say 5′-6″, and weighed several stones more than he should. At his birthday party, he insisted on three things: some of the pudding, some of the pie, and a kiss from all of the ladies. That, said the guide, was the origin of the little dittie: “Georgie, Porgie, Puddin and Pie, kissed the girls and made them cry.”
Lovely post, Kimberly. I am a fool for lemon desserts. “Tart, sweet, creamy and very lemony” sounds perfectly divine to me, and the idea of a dessert thoughtfully arranging itself into layers of differing textures is highly intriguing.
Not that I need any more cookbooks, but I must now look up both Laurie Colwin and Jane Grigson.
Mmmm….jello and fruit cocktail (and if my mother-in-law’s in charge, colored marshmallows too). There are some southern culinary traditions that really should remain in memory only.
This, however, looks delicious! Perhaps I should put away my aversion to gelatin too and try it.
Yummy. That looks so good and custardy.
What is it about England that is so comforting?
After the scary green jello salad we had at Easter, I need an antidote. This looks perfect!
no, we still do the jello thing down here. in my family it’s given the appetizing name of “Congeal(ed) Salad” and they don’t get it when I snicker (I’m not From Here.) every christmas, without fail.
English? Comforting? Well we are just a cuddley bunch innit?
I have never heard of this dessert before but it sounds truly delicious.
Do you think its a posh way of calling Blancmange?
Well, m’love, I hate to be contrary, but I can see all three layers. It’s just that the bottom layer is much higher than the other two. I can see the cap of clear lemon jelly, as Mrs. Grigson describes, and I can see the custardy middle as well.
Rest assured, if I hear of you reaching for the crushed pineapple, I will make a beeline for LaGuardia and physically prevent you from doing it.
I’d rather have the mixed fruit ambrosia southern salad than the jello type but my tastes are not that sophisticated and there is one that I like a lot. Fresh strawberries, fresh bananas, strawberry banana jello, lightly gelled. Layer of the jello, layer of sour cream and second jello layer. Perhaps it is the sour cream tartness that makes this one I like.
This sounds wonderful.
I was going to participate, but got myself too busy in the end. Just as well, as you and Bakerina made the 2 things I was considering…both LC, and both lemon! Clever girls.
This looks yummy. I found a paperback penguin of “Good Things” (Grigson,that is, not Martha), some years ago and love to just browse in it.
Over the years I have looked for a Honeycomb Mold recipe and today I found this! Wonderful! I have very fond chiildhood memories of this dessert - made for me by my favorite aunt. Unfortunately I never got the recipe from her - she always made it when I can home from school for half-term and I am so happy to have found the recipe again. I can now induct my own children into this tradition. Thank you!!
Oh Wow!
My Mum and my Gran used to make this, but a vanilla version - as far as I remember it was a fantastic taste and mix of textures. Thank you for publishing this I have been trying to find a recepie for the last twenty or so years.