Sherry Trifle

I put my grandparents Good Housekeeping book in the kitchen and opened it out at Sherry Trifle, I poured the caramel coloured Bristol Cream Sherry into a glass and put it to my nose. The ancient smell of the sherry hit me.

In my mind I saw grandad H, wearing a knitted waistcoat and smart trousers, shuffling around his musty home, making sherry trifle, which would sit on his pristine white table cloth. It would be decorated with gooey glace cherries. You could see the layers of sponge, fruit, custard and cream through the clear glass bowl and feel the mixture of layers in your mouth when you ate it. The sweetness of the yellow custard against the grown up alcohol soaked into the sweet trifle sponges, the fruit drunk on the sherry swelled to twice its size. I would sit next to the trifle bowl which was on the table between me and the adults in my life as a child and I was always told, never put jelly in trifle.

Last Friday I made desserts for a Christmas meal with my friends. I knew I would make sherry Trifle. I stood in my kitchen, in pink Crocs, whacking the sherry onto trifle sponges stuffed with Jam, this is the way I cook, throw it in. Then I put in the custard and realised that it wasn't going to set enough for the jelly, that I wanted to put in because who says you can't have jelly in custard? So, I had to leave it out, this time. Instead, I put the cream on the custard and then decorated it with glace cherries, hundreds and thousands and silver balls and took it to the party. Even though I followed an old recipe, the trifle was as flambuoyant as possible and it still tasted like it use to.