
Standing next to my grandad in his red, green and chrome Formica kitchen, Dennis Jelley, the man that (on a separate occasion) taught me the importance of saving a Yorkshire pudding for after dinner, to dip into golden syrup whilst doing the washing up. 7 year old me, chewing on a crust watching as he flips a soggy jam sandwich in spitting fat, poised for the quick ready steady go of steaming hot custard poured over a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream, begging for the fried sandwich to be plunged into its frothing melting hot cold wonder. There’s something of the fresh fairground doughnut in this historic pudding. Concentrated nostalgia.