I like sharing food. However, when it comes to Black Pudding, I am selfish – I want to eat all that I want and only share when I have had enough, and that’s not really sharing. I do not know if it is because I like Black Pudding so much or if it can be traced back to my childhood where there never seemed to be enough Black Pudding to go around for the entire household.
My late aunt, Betty, is the one who introduced me to Black Pudding (that woman introduced me to so many local foods). Every Saturday afternoon I’d go to Miss Kathleen’s carrying a bowl with a cover wrapped with a tea towel to collect the Black Pudding my aunt ordered. As you approached Miss Kathleen’s home, the heady, savoury aroma of thyme and basil (married-man pork) greeted you as warmly as the afternoon sunshine that streamed through the kitchen. The kitchen was small but roomy enough that it was not crowded. By the time I got there, things would be at various stages. Some Black Pudding would already be cooked – long, thick, black coils glistening with the oil with which they were rubbed. A large cauldron-like pot would be bubbling away with Black Pudding cooking and then there would be a huge enamel bowl, I’d say a basin, piled high with the seasoned filling to be stuffed into runners; the ruby-red rice-filling dazzling from the sunlight hitting it. I used to enjoy watching Miss Kathleen make Black Pudding.
