A word that conjures childhood joy.
Hot custard licked from the back of a wooden spoon, cooling custard drips slurped
from whatever else was left. Custard slice made with Arnotts Sao biscuits. You had
to eat the whole tray before the bottoms turned to sludge.
Later on it was brandy custard - any pudding would do. Christmas meant hogging
the custard jug, seriously considering a straw.
Nostalgia custard is made from a box in the pantry, save the fancy eggy stuff for
the posh people who can pronounce it.
I discovered the difference one Christmas, inviting a neighbour-chef for lunch,
who brought a jug of something for the pudding.
"Great," I said. "I'll add it to mine," pouring his 12 yolk and cream wonder into a
cauldron of Foster Clark's packet mix.
That was then.
Back in the day when food was anything in a packet. In an immortal youth
where everything snacked/sipped/snorted/ transformed to bird song and the
glow of collagen over night.
Good-bye custard, hello quinoa.
Those little chocolate covered, malty sticks turned out not to be super foods. Who
knew a wheat/dairy/red meat free diet would not only be fun, but I feel better.
I even ate vegan cheese. They nailed the smelly sock aroma and the texture,
but just don't imagine it's cheese.
Move over custard, we're breaking up.
The Queen of Quinoa says this is "ice cream sundae" is dairy free and gluten free,
and the pistachio and cranberry cake will take pride on the table while the
Foster Clark packet of fake yellow powder sulks in the cupboard.
So while I venture bravely into the land of wheat and dairy free life, stocking my pantry with packets of weird white stuff, it's still a mystery to pronounce.
Custard is much easier.