Early adopters of the new platinum jubilee pudding – a competition-winning lemon swiss roll and amaretti trifle – were quick to point out what an enormous arse-ache it was. The recipe calls for 11 eggs and more than a litre of whipped cream. It requires you to make your own amaretti biscuits and lemon curd from scratch. Basically, if you fancied making this mega-trifle for a jubilee-weekend party, it’s too late – you should have started already.
But the recipe’s author, Jemma Melvin, insisted from the beginning that certain shortcuts were perfectly acceptable. You didn’t have to make St Clement’s jelly from gelatine leaves; you could substitute a packet of lemon jelly. In a pinch, shop-bought lemon curd would serve. So how quickly can you slap this pudding together in an emergency? I decided to find out.
Melvin’s abbreviated version requires you to make just two things from scratch: the swiss roll and a mandarin orange coulis. Everything else is shopping. But this proves difficult in itself. I struggled to locate arrowroot and the supermarket was out of lemon jelly, so I got lime. I had to go to two places to find ready-made custard, suggesting I’m not the only person out there trying to make this trifle in a hurry.
Once home, I prioritise tasks, although my first priority should have been reading the recipe all the way through. I start by making the swiss roll, something I’ve never done. The batter looks thin and unpromising. While it’s in the oven, I begin reducing some tinned mandarin oranges with sugar. In hindsight I should have started with the jelly.
I’m not practiced at rolling cake: you’re supposed to pre-roll it while it’s warm, and then unroll it for filling. But on the second roll the sponge cracks, and the lemon curd oozes out of the sides. I have to remind myself it doesn’t matter what it looks like – it will be at the bottom of a trifle.
I attempt to thicken the coulis, but the recipe includes the bewildering instruction “slake the arrowroot”. I add water to the white powder and wait, thinking: maybe it will slake itself. Did it? I don’t know. Nothing dramatic occurs as a result of its addition. Never mind, I think. It’s assembly time.
Slices of distressed swiss roll form the base. Then comes jelly. Then you are meant to pause for three hours while this layer sets. I don’t have time, so I improvise: an inch-deep barrier seal of whipped double cream, enough to support a lake of custard and a floating tier of amaretti biscuits straight from the bag. After that, the gloopy coulis. More whipped cream follows, but I’ve already used so much that I have to run out and buy more.
I skip the elaborate “jewelled chocolate bark” topping, in favour of some crushed, lightly thrown amaretti biscuits, a handful of mixed peel, followed by a final (and in retrospect, unnecessary and disgusting) sprinkling of white chocolate shards. The result – the work of two hours, and enough to feed 20 – is so heavy I can barely lift it.
But I’ll tell you what: after a couple of hours in the fridge it is absolutely delicious, and the lime jelly is a real innovation. I might have got similar results if I had just thrown my shopping bag down a flight of stairs and then tipped the contents into a bowl, but I doubt the Queen would approve.
