It’s a pity this Christmas tradition has died out

I was raised by grandparents on a tiny farm where our daily fare was simple. Working-class tucker. Nanna was a crook cook, but to be fair, she had one pièce de résistance.

For your ancient scribe this is the time to think of the (drum roll) Christmas Pudding. AKA the Plum Pud.

Religions of all sorts have traditional food and drink for special occasions. Think the eucharistic mysteries of the wine and wafers at Mass. Think multi-level wedding cakes and Easter eggs. In the Greek Orthodox tradition, baklava is made with 33 layers of dough – referring to the years of Christ’s earthly life. Then there’s Anzac biscuits for that most sacred of occasions, Anzac Day. But for your ancient scribe this is the time to think of the (drum roll) Christmas Pudding. AKA the Plum Pud.

I was raised by grandparents on a tiny farm where our daily fare was simple. Working-class tucker. Corned beef and spuds with the occasional chook freshly decapitated by Grandpa – bringing to life (or death) the term “rushing around like a headless chook”. Nanna was a crook cook, but to be fair, she had one pièce de résistance. Drum roll ... the annual Christmas pudding!!

Pre-cooked Chrissy puds have started appearing in the supermarkets now.

Following a family recipe handed down from generation to generation, going back to the birth of Christ, it was made of mysterious ingredients and dangled from strings over the kitchen door. Shrouded in a pudding cloth – also handed down from generation to generation – it was the size and weight of a medicine ball. There was always a sprig of artificial holly on top. But it was what was inside the pudding that mattered.

No, ’twas not the look, smell or taste (marvellous though they were) that led to the enchantment of my five-year-old self. It was the hope of striking gold – or at least silver. For concealed beneath the pud’s leathery hide were “thruppenny bits” – threepence coins that Nanna had collected and boiled to sterilise. (In this increasingly cashless society, such small change is no more. And it can’t be substituted by Bitcoin or credit card. Presumably similar problems are experienced by ex-diggers wanting to play two-up on Anzac Day.)

Ah, the joys of Christmas dinner, hoping your slice of pud contained some precious coins! And the thrill of seeing the glint of metal, or hearing its clink. I now know that Nanna cooked the books as well as the pud and made sure her grandchild struck it rich.

Similar discoveries were being made all over Melbourne – as was evidenced by the traces of pud seen when buying tickets from the tram conductors – until about the end of January.

Pre-cooked Chrissy puds have started appearing in the supermarkets now. Not mummified in pudding cloths but in plastic tubs, ready to heat and eat. And sadly, they contain no coinage – to prevent sparking and arcing in the new-fangled microwave. What a waste of promotional opportunities! We could have Pud Wars between Coles and Woolies, with each claiming to offer more “cash back” to help with cost-of-living pressures – good PR for the duopoly with its fake discounts. There must be thousands of tonnes of unwanted pre-and post-decimal coins waiting for semi-religious recycling. But they’re probably just used for landfill.

What price tradition? The Royal Mint could make a mint making special threepences for Christmas puds. Plus special pennies just for Anzac Day two-up games. Take note Jim Chalmers and the Reserve Bank.

Happy Christmas. And Happy Pud.