You can find these things at British Import Shops and, for some reason, Bulk Barn. I’d never eaten one. Not homemade, not from a can.
“Everything about this sounds good,” I said.
“Wait, what are you doing? You can’t just…no, no. That goes against everything I’ve ever been taught. Parents, friends, books, the aliens that live in my dreams. Come on, let’s just open up the can and nuke it for a few minutes.”
“IF YOU PUT A METAL CAN INTO BOILING WATER IT WILL BLOW THE FUCK UP AND KILL US ALL.”
“No it won’t.”
“YES IT WILL. WHERE DOES ALL THE PRESSURE GO?”
“Look, will you trust me? I’ve made these before.”
“WHY HAVEN’T THESE THINGS KILLED EVERYBODY IN BRITAIN I’M DECLARING THE TERROR LEVEL TO BE BLACKWATCH PLAID.”
“Oh, all right. I guess I can’t fool you. Remember how the English said a thing called ‘The Blitz’ happened during World War II? Yeah, the truth was, it was three years of bad treacle pudding cans. They destroyed a few hundred buildings before they were stopped.”
“I’M GOING TO GO STAND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY NOW.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOOOOOING LET’S JUST TAKE IT OUTSIDE AND HIT IT WITH AN AXE THESE HAVE BEEN THE LONGEST GOD DAMNED THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES OF MY LIFE”
“Can you stop shouting? You really do need to concentrate on this thing while you open it up. Can you grab a plate?”
“NO.”
“I’m not eating that. Why doesn’t it look like it does on the wrapper? Well, I mean, nothing looks like it does on the wrapper, but – ”
“Can you pass me that plate? Thanks. Here…we…go.”
Anyway, with my shameful hysterics over and the pudding actually inverted onto a plate, it did look a lot like the one on the wrapper. And it was good. After we had let it cool down from fresh magma to recently-lit napalm temperature, it was moist and fine-textured and almost creamy, like a not-too-sweet spongecake (from sampling various areas I determined that most of the sweetness comes from the treacle topping) with raisins in it that had disintegrated from the canning process or the fact that it had been boiled in a metal can for over half an hour. Actually, it was awesome. My young man opined that it tasted ‘like England’; I thought it tasted like burnt-up adrenaline and Defcon 2. My verdict is that I would make another one provided someone else can do it and I can stand way across the kitchen with my camera.
HAHAHAHA! Why DO they have that British import section at Bulk Barn? SO WEIRD.
No idea! The one by my house has a confusingly large British section, plus random other things (naan chips, Thai curry paste, several types of Pocky, Dutch chocolates). It’s like the International House of Snacks.