I never met great-grandma Polly, but I knew something of the woman from the trifle that mum whipped up each summer of my childhood. It was a recipe handed down to our family by my great-aunt Edna, who arrived from Old Blighty in the 1970s on a Qantas jumbo jet.
Polly's trifle had a pinch of the Great Depression and an ounce of world war (both one and two). The trifle was layered and solid, with ingredients to weather tough times and food rations. It had day-old pound cake soaked in sherry, jelly made from packet crystals and Bird's Instant Custard, thick enough to coat a spoon. In bleak, post-war England, when fresh ingredients were scarce, she'd pile it high with whipped evaporated milk and a festive sprinkling of red and green glacé cherries.
In mum's hands, Polly's trifle got a reboot that sang of summer. Store-bought jam rolls replaced the sponge, and there were layers of Aeroplane jelly and vanilla custard that was rich enough to cut through the harsh, rakija brandy. Clouds of whipped cream and summer berries finished it off.
Trifle is thought to have evolved from fruit fool, an English dessert made by folding stewed gooseberries into a sweet custard. Records that jelly appeared sometime in the 18th century, with calf bones boiled for the gelatine. The horror.
Begin with jam rolls soaked in booze and jelly. Source: Belinda Luksic
This 'tipsy cake' lives up to its name, where trifling with the ingredients rarely disappoints. Be brazen with the booze. If you've got fresh fruit, sugar and gelatine on hand, it's worth making the jelly from scratch. Once you master the basics, start playing with the flavours.
I've paired Madeira cake and Cointreau, layered fresh passionfruit and mango, and swapped out the cream for lightly sweetened mascarpone. You can also soak brownies in a coffee liqueur, sprinkle this with crushed Maltesers, and top with chocolate custard and sweetened cream.
However, it's Polly’s trifle I look forward to at Christmas for its nostalgic trip down memory lane to childhood summers filled with backyard cricket, TV reruns and days spent rollerskating up and down the street. Those halcyon days rolled into one another until, with a jolt, it was January, and I was once more donning a school uniform and complaining about the starchy collar.
Whisk the custard and bring to the boil until thick and creamy. Source: Belinda Luksic
Tangled in those memories is a scorcher New Year's Eve, memorable for the party my parents threw in the backyard. They must have had a touch of sunstroke. How else to explain why we children were banished to the house?
It's Polly’s trifle I look forward to at Christmas for its nostalgic trip down memory lane to childhood summers filled with backyard cricket, TV reruns and days spent rollerskating up and down the street.
While my dad set up a conga line of tables beneath the grapevines and the guests slowly arrived, my brothers, cousins and I hatched a Lord of the Flies-style heist in protest. The idea was simple enough: as the adults made merry, we'd make off with all the food.
We set off covertly in pairs, stifling giggles at our mission. The French onion dip and Jatz biscuits were quickly spirited to the wardrobe, and laid to rest atop my brother's smelly football boots. The cabanossi and cheese hedgehog found a hidey-hole among the jumpers. Trays of meat and sausages were stacked higgledy-piggledy atop sports bags. Last but not least came Polly's trifle, a striped yellow, pink and white confection, balanced precariously on top of it all like a festive Christmas star.
Flushed with excitement, we didn't hear the backdoor swing open, footsteps in the kitchen or my mum's short sharp cry of surprise. But my parents soon thundered into the bedroom and discovered our uneaten spoils of war.
Chill each layer then top the trifle with whipped cream and summer berries. Source: Belinda Luksic
It was a sorry band of thieves forced to march each dish back to the kitchen. Chief among them was the trifle, which became a forbidden fruit, thanks to the punishment meted out by my parents. Proof, I think, that you can mess with any trifle recipe, but never a trifle my mum has made.
Great-grandma Polly's trifle (rebooted)
Serves 10
This classic English trifle is full of shortcuts for budget-conscious cooks. You will need to begin this recipe at least one day ahead to ensure the jelly and custard are completely set.
Ingredients
- 2 x 250 g pkts mini jam sponge rolls, sliced
- ⅓ cup Sljivovica (or plum brandy)
- 2 x 85 g pkts port wine jelly crystals
- 600 ml thickened cream, to serve
- 1 punnet blueberries, to serve
- 1 punnet strawberries, to serve
Vanilla custard
- 2 eggs, yolks only
- ¼ cup custard powder
- ¼ cup caster sugar (or to taste)
- 2½ cups milk
- 1 tsp vanilla extract
Mehod
- Place slices of jam roll on the bottom and sides of a large glass serving bowl or dish.
- Sprinkle, 1 tbsp at a time, with Slivovica or brandy until the roll is soaked.
- Make the jelly according to the packet instructions and then pour over the cake. Refrigerate overnight or until set.
- To make the custard, whisk together egg yolks and custard powder. Add sugar and gradually add the milk, whisking well after each addition (until smooth and to avoid lumps).
- Bring the custard mixture to a boil and then simmer on low for 2 minutes Take off the heat, cover with plastic wrap and cool to room temperature
- Pour over the jelly and cake mix and refrigerate for a few hours or until set.
- Whip cream until thick and creamy, spoon onto the trifle and top with fresh berries.
Note
• Sjiivovica is a Croatian fruit brandy found at most bottle shops and liquor stores.
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