Is there a sweeter Christmas miracle than the perfect plum pudding?

The scent of it wafting through the house, harmonizing with the pine needles in an unsung carol.

The sight of it arriving at the dining table, aflame.

Your fork sinking through the dense, dark, sticky mass of it...

The sensation of it yielding between your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

The spice of it igniting every taste bud, like fire crackers sparking off into hundreds of shiny-bright Christmas memories.

My family is enormous. I don't directly mean the girth of the individual members, I mean the sum total of people who could rightfully knock on the door on Christmas Day and expect to pull up a chair.

My aunts were all known for one or two dishes that they cooked best. My mother made the best pudding. A publican's daughter, she managed to get a good bottle of brandy either in or on the pudding as well as a glass of Guinness.

Amongst our clan, there is one tattered, old recipe book that is our culinary Rosetta Stone. It is an unassuming collection of recipes gathered by the good women of Maffra, Victoria during the Second World War. The proceeds went to the Red Cross and my grandmother brought a copy with her to the Royal Mail Hotel in Mooroopna in the 1930's.

Four generations later every kitchen either has a handed down copy, hand written adjustments scribbled in the margins and stains of a million meals ringing the pages, or a photo copied version. I have my grandmother's copy. In my family, this is like catching the ball hit into the crowd during the world series final. I will sit down while pots boil away in the kitchen and travel through the spots and stains and imagine who and when she cooked certain dishes and meals.

Mum's pudding recipe is not from this book, but it is handwritten on a blue card and it is safely tucked into the Maffra Cook Book. I had her write it down for me the first year I moved away from home. I was living in London and it was the first time that I had made Christmas Pudding in the climate that it was intended for.

Greedily, I decided to double the recipe, not realizing that my mother had already done that. The bowl kept on filling and filling and by the time that I piled the batter into the cloth, it was the size of a bowling ball.

My fondest memory is that we would all be gathered when mum was making the pudding and would have to stir the bowl and make a wish. The smell of all that spice and fruit, the tackiness of the batter; the inconsequential 7 year old's wish for more Abba records. These are the misty-pudding-scented-memories of my Australian Christmases.

Nowadays, being so far removed from so many folks, I run through everyone in my mind as I stir the bowl and I send out my own wish for them for the New Year. This is probably my favourite part of making the pudding.

I get asked by so many Americans, 'What is it?' The thought that it could be a fruity, spiced custard (pudding) or a candied, reviled fruit cakey thing that has been boiled in cloth and then hung out until it forms a 'skin' sounds suitably repulsive.

Pudding 101:

It is a lot of dried fruit soaked in brandy, and spiced with cinnamon, cloves, ginger and nutmeg. Breadcrumbs, flour, butter and egg are added and the batter is mixed. A piece of unbleached cloth is boiled, layed out flat, floured and then the batter is mounded in the middle. The cloth is gathered and tied. The bundle is lowered into a large pot of boiling water and it simmers away for 3-5 hours. This slow cooking 'steams' the batter into a dense, dark, spicy, moist, cakey mass. The flour on the cloth prevents too much water from getting into the pudding.

It is then hung and the spices gently waft through the house. At some point they dance around with the fresh pine scent from the tree and everyone starts being nicer to each other.

On Christmas Day, the pudding is once more lowered into boiling water and it simmers away for another 3-4 hours. It is turned out onto a platter, doused in hot rum, whisky or brandy, set alight and brought to the table. In years gone by, sterling silver coins and trinkets would have been stirred into the batter and as each person tucked into their portion, they would hope to dig out a forkful of good fortune.

Every year, a few unlucky new cooks remember this tradition and throw some coins into their pudding batter, boil it up, hang everything out to dry and, by the time they re-boil the pudding on Christmas Day, they unsuspectingly poison everyone at the table.

The thing to do is to boil up a few coins to sterilize them and slip them into the portions as you serve.

A little forewarning is required for any pudding virgins at the table as they are liable to choke on a coin or break a few teeth. In this respect, Christmas Pudding is the Blow Fish of the Yuletide menu.

A dessert wrapped in cloth, huh?

This is the easiest part of pudding making to screw up. The cloth has to be boiled, floured and tied tightly unless you want a pouring consistency pudding.

Like most of those Once-a Year traditional recipes, there is ample time between turns to forget exactly what it was that you did last year that made up for the disastrous attempt the year prior.

Luckily you can re-use the pudding cloth from year to year (although I never seem to be able to find mine)

Over time, the fruit stains the cloth all shades of brown...

I know this because I took mine to school one year trying to foist it off at 'show and tell' as the Shroud of Turin.

After the nuns were done with me, I looked rather Turin-ish myself; all covered in mysterious brown, black, blue and purple marks!

In the middle of the mad Christmas mayhem...

...parties, drinks, shopping ...

...it is so nice to have something to slow you down.

The pot goes on with an old saucer in the bottom. The pudding gets lowered into the boiling water and then you are more or less forced to stay home for the next few hours.

This is the time that I pop on some carols, sit down and write my cards.

The spices in the pudding start wafting around the house, the windows steam up and there is the mindless rattle from the saucer in the pot (it stops the pudding from getting a scorched bottom and also reminds you that it's still there and mustn't boil dry)

The Hives and Cyndi Lauper.

'A Christmas Duel'

It's a buck on iTunes.

Enough said.

Traditionally, the pudding is served with hot custard, brandy butter and hard sauce.

For some reason, my family seem to enjoy it with pouring cream and sprinkled sugar.

The leftovers make a particularly delicious breakfast fried up in a little butter.

And be warned, the crumbs at the bottom of the pudding dish are usually boozy enough to get any old Scrooge into the Christmas spirit!

I concocted a crazy cranberry chutney this week and I can't wait to share with you.

(except I seem to be eating it all!)

I've either convinced you that it simply isn't Christmas dinner without a pudding or I've put you off it for life.

But whatever you're going to be serving this Christmas, why not try making a wish whilst you stir it up?

Cheers, Mannix

mannix@thelovebite.com