The Clootie Dumpling

This Christmas we dispensed with the traditional Christmas pudding and had a clootie dumpling.

The clootie dumpling - a dessert so Scottish it practically sings Auld Lang Syne as it steams. Forget the over-hyped, fire hazard that is the Christmas pudding; the clootie dumpling is where it’s at. Wrapped snugly in its cloot (a cloth, for those south of Hadrian’s Wall, also called a 'clout' in the in north of England and in maritime parlance), this sturdy, spiced marvel doesn’t need the drama of a brandy-soaked blaze to make its mark. No, it’s a pudding with grit and gumption, much like the Scots themselves.

Let’s face it, Christmas pudding is the diva of desserts. It swans onto the table all aflame, demanding applause, and then proceeds to sit there like a sugary boulder, daring anyone to attempt a second spoonful. The clootie dumpling, on the other hand, is the working-class hero of the pudding world. It doesn’t need fireworks; it’s too busy getting on with the job of being delicious. Plus, its humble beginnings - boiled in an old bit of cloth, for goodness' sake - make it the culinary equivalent of "built to last."

And talk about practicality! Christmas pudding is a one-hit wonder, trotted out once a year and forgotten faster than last year’s cracker jokes. The clootie dumpling? It’s the pudding that keeps on giving. Serve it hot with custard, cold with butter, or even fried up in a pan for breakfast - it’s the pudding equivalent of a Swiss Army knife. Christmas pudding couldn’t dream of such versatility; it’s probably still sulking in the cupboard, wrapped in foil, wondering why no one loves it in January.

But the real charm of the clootie dumpling is in the making. There’s something wonderfully absurd about tying a lump of fruity, suet-laden batter into a cloth and boiling it for hours. It’s like a culinary trust exercise: you hope and pray the end result will be edible and not some lumpy meteorite. Yet, when you unveil that golden-brown, pudding-shaped masterpiece, you’ll feel like a domestic god or goddess. Christmas pudding? Just unwrap it from its store-bought plastic and try not to yawn.

In the battle of festive desserts, the clootie dumpling wins hands down. It’s heartier, humbler, and frankly, tastier. Plus, there’s no risk of singeing your eyebrows when you serve it. Stick that in your figgy pudding and eat it.