Trifle and Transport

It may be an understatement

to say I regard myself as no cook.

I will tell you of my mother; glorious

Christmas cakes and sucking her fingers:

several, (many) siblings also latching on.


Their eager faces also leaned with me

over the old iron baby tub as we all

tested the spices in our father’s massive

preparations of Liverwurst.


That’s history: Now Trifle Christmas 2021

and this is me. Trifle, came the requests

as I too grow old and move, stepping aside

from the dressing and glazing of ham;

the stuffing of chicken, roasting of vegetables;

The ubiquitous pea and potato salad

with Dad’s continental salad dressing. Again

I am delegated a salad. I up the plan and choose

lettuce, tomatoes, spring onions and cucumber

laced liberally with prawns; Dad’s continental

dressing in a provisional jug; a lighter indulge.

But anyone can make a salad I concur.


Back to the trifle! “Please make us your trifle Nan.”

This time I would make it their way. They all like

trifle swamped in jelly whereas I took the customary

custard as the binder. Jelly layer number one was red.

And on top of that came green jelly with subversive

dribblings of port wine, marking the bowl as to those

servings. Topped it all with a layer of custard. All

tastes catered for then. Cream and fresh cherries.


We gather at Martin’s house this year. What a

wonderful table he has laid out in the carport. And

as I approach Martin lifts both salad, secure

in a woven carry bag.


and: Trifle: in a supermarket brown paper-bag;

not so secure.


Glass made a wretched sound as it clattered on the

back step. Next year I will make “The Trifle” again.

But I will be much more careful as to it greater transport;

condensation and brown paper-bags.


Benita H. Kape (c) 12.1.2021

Today for “dVerse take a look. we write on food. What could be more enjoyable. Thank you Sarah for the chance to tell of our trifle tragedy at Christmas.