Thankfully this word sprung up on FFF and now I finally understand what custard actually is. As in what exactly is in it. It was never consumed in our house in any way. In fact back in the day my mum bought it once accidentally thinking she was buying buttermilk. We all crowded around it, sniffing it and tasting it and wondering what to do with it. It was universally decided it was not something to be poured over muesli. It stood in the fridge for ages until it went off and was tipped down the sink. It was too sweet for our Slavwog palette. Polewog? These are new. I like both. The latter a bit more athletic.
Anyway. The Polish language does not have a word for custard. The Almighty Google Translate gives us two options: cream or pudding. Both horrendously wrong when describing custard. The only custard experience, apart from Wahooti Fandango (an album I never owned but liked and now wish I had), is that desert I believe to be called truffle*. The look of it always reminds me of vomit. A perplexing thought as to how one can make such ugly yet surprisingly tasty sweet food. Especially when it’s chilled in a glass bowl. Super, super ugly once the first serving is dug out.
Pudding in Poland is equally gross in it’s visual dimension. And, unlike truffle, really, really crap to eat. For some reason this potato starch rubbish food is loved by kids. Bleh. Michal tells me long romantic anecdotes how back in the commie days when the supermarket shelves were bare, pudding was the only form of store bought sweet a kid could regularly get. When drizzled with home-made raspberry syrup it was the bomb. Apparently. Nah uh. My mum would buy me pudding in Oz thinking it was a mad treat and I always hated it. It was like a cop-out fake ice-cream disaster or a warm thick, stagnant semolina slab rip-off, dressed in vanilla flavour. Even when she poured Ribena over it I always knew it was going to taste like crap.
* What I actually meant was ‘trifle’. Thanks to the watchful editorial eye of Suzy, I now know my error. The French are probably disgusted at my plebness.