Tag Archives: dessert

2364.  The proof is in the pudding

Connie and Ricky Popsov had been invited to dinner at the home of Gigi and Neil Gladsbury. All four were looking forward to it because Connie and Neil were having a secret affair, and Gigi and Ricky were having a secret affair.

Connie had phoned Gigi and offered to bring dessert. It was a gesture that Gigi accepted because she was having an unbelievable busy week at work and had worked late every night. “I’ve been so busy that I’m having to get my sister-in-law to cook the main dish.” “You’re not alone in being busy,” said Connie. “Ricky has been busy too and hasn’t been home before ten all week“.

During the delightful pre-dinner drinks Gigi was able to discreetly ask Ricky when he intended to kill off her husband Neil. “You said you were going to poison him,” said Gigi.

“The proof is in the pudding,” whispered Ricky.

But there was no need to wait until pudding. It all happened during the first course. Connie and Neil dropped dead after several mouthfuls of chicken breast. Gigi and Ricky were now free to wed.

“The proof this time,” laughed Lorna of 24 Hillsbury Crescent who had prepared the chicken breasts and was Gigi’s sister-in-law, “is not in the pudding.”

1909. Just dessert

Some would say that Ponavenitula Tavite Taumoepeau was a little unethical. When dining at a restaurant it was always the same: “Would you mind ever so terribly if I started with dessert?”

“Of course not, sir,” came the inevitable reply from slightly bemused waiters. It was not unusual for guests to order only dessert. Perhaps they had eaten earlier and been to the theatre or a movie. But to have dessert before the rest of the meal was a little different.

After dessert, Ponavenitula would order the rest of the meal and while the chef prepared the dishes, Ponavenitula would walk out. Disappear. The city had hundreds of restaurants. It was going to take Ponavenitula ages to get through them all.

He worked a fairly stringent system. Wednesday was when his wife went to her bridge evening. She was away for hours. Ponavenitula would make himself some soup-in-a-cup and toast, hop in the car, and head to the next restaurant on his list for dessert. It was an excellent scheme, and such a saving!

Thus far, Ponavenitula must have devoured a free dessert in maybe forty restaurants. You would think he would get caught at least once.

And then the inevitable happened.

He died.

1566. Cherry clafoutis

Bonnie worked as a chef in a prestigious restaurant in town. Her husband, Alex, was an accountant. Because Bonnie worked all day in a kitchen, Alex did most of the cooking at home unless of course it was a very special occasion, in which case Bonnie would “pull out all stops”.

Because fair is only fair, Bonnie paid for the house finances to be looked after by a professional accountant, and not by Alex himself. It was a happy arrangement.

They had been married for fourteen years. All was right with the world; at least it was until Alex one day got a call from the accountant.

“What is this three week cruise for two in the Caribbean?” Alex had no clue, but with further surreptitious investigation discovered that Bonnie had planned a cruise with the bellboy from the restaurant’s hotel. In short, she was leaving Alex. The day of her departure arrived. How would Bonnie break the news?

Bonnie had announced she would cook. “Let’s make it a special occasion right out of the blue,” she announced. “I shall cook.” Alex wondered if she didn’t have a special ingredient in mind.

At the end of the delectable feast, after gorging on a second helping of cherry clafoutis, Bonnie declared that she had a wonderful announcement. She had planned a special surprise. The two of them were to go on a luxury three week cruise in the Caribbean. “We’ve always wanted to do that, darling. Our dream has come true!”

It was only then that Alex wished he hadn’t laced her cherry clafoutis with weed killer.

1362. Flora’s foul mood

Flora was having a bad day. She lived in a house set on a sharp corner of a busy road. She hadn’t slept a wink. All night, well at least until 3 o’clock, teenage hoons were hooning* with speeding, burnouts, doughnuts, and screeching tyres around the corner next to her house. After that she was so angry she couldn’t sleep.

When she did rise she discovered she was out of toothpaste and cleaned her teeth using salt. She burnt the toast at breakfast, tripped over the cat, and couldn’t find her reading glasses for a good ten minutes.

There was only one thing for it; she would do what she always did when in a foul mood: she would get out her book of recipes from The Australian Women’s Weekly and cook something wonderful that she had never tried before. Flora settled on making an Apricot Sour Cream Pie. She had all the ingredients in the house already, and it looked delicious.

First she made the base with crumbled cookie crumbs and melted butter. While that was cooling in the fridge she prepared the filling – with apricots, sugar, flour, eggs, sour cream and so on. She sprinkled the uncooked masterpiece lightly with nutmeg, and placed it in a moderate oven.

Thirty minutes later she removed the pie and sat it on top of the bench. The smell was glorious! Flora’s foul mood had disappeared.

That was when a hoon’s car left the road, flew through the air, and plunged onto Flora’s front lawn. Taking the pie, Flora scurried out to investigate. It was the most satisfying pie she had ever baked.

* Hoons and hooning are common Australian/New Zealand terms meaning teenage louts with cars!

1294. Offensive food

Marcella was a pretty good cook. She planned her occasions meticulously. Not that she invited guests every day; occasions are for celebrating occasionally!

On this particular occasion, apart from her husband of course, she invited three couples; old friends in the main, although one of the couples was new to Marcella’s street. For dessert, Marcella planned to have a traditional rhubarb pie. Not the sweet-sour syrupy rhubarb pie drowning in sugar and hidden in layers of pastry, but the traditional French rhubarb pie, ever so slightly tart, that took several days to make.

But first, Marcella went online to confirm a recipe she already knew. And there it was:


Marcella surveyed the list. There was very little left to eat. Even green beans were on it. And endives, and cabbage, and mayonnaise, and onions, and… Marcella made her main meal as bland as possible to cater for all palates; and instead of traditional rhubarb pie her guests had insipid fruit salad and ice cream. Marcella hoped it would be as tasteless as possible, so as not to offend.