Most people do not dislike good food. What they dislike is reaching six o’clock with no plan, several hungry people asking questions and a refrigerator containing half an onion, three sauces and something in a plastic container that has quietly become part of the family.
Christmas party food has a difficult job. It must look inviting, taste wonderful, survive the journey from kitchen to table and remain manageable for guests who are already holding a drink, a napkin and perhaps a paper crown at a slightly unfortunate angle. It should feel festive without requiring the host to spend the entire celebration sealed in the kitchen like a particularly anxious Christmas elf. Sausage rolls, mince pies and cocktail sausages will always have their place, of course. There comes a moment, however, when the festive buffet begins asking for something new.
Fudge appears deceptively simple. Sugar, butter and milk enter a saucepan. Something sweet and magnificent is expected to emerge. Between those two events, however, lies a bubbling world of temperatures, crystallisation, timing and the distinct possibility of producing either glorious confectionery or a substance capable of repairing a garden wall.
A good pudding is already one of life’s more reliable pleasures. Add a splash of rum, a ribbon of Irish cream, a measure of brandy or the sparkle of champagne, however, and the ordinary after-dinner treat becomes something altogether more grown-up. Chocolate develops greater depth, fruit becomes more fragrant and even the humblest sponge can acquire the confidence of a restaurant showpiece.