Steamed Chocolate Pudding

Steamed chocolate pudding with cinnamon-clove sauce. © Ryan Schierling

For Christmas every year my Grandma Munroe makes a single petite steamed chocolate pudding with an intensely-spiced cinnamon-clove sauce for dessert. It's a tradition. A tradition that goes back a long way. As in, my grandmother will be celebrating her 95th birthday in the new year and this recipe came via her mother, who we think got it from her mother-in-law. It has been a Christmas tradition for all these years – one tenacious little gem in the pantheon of English steamed puddings, uniquely stovetop "baked" cakes which are know to have originated sometime before the mid-1600s.

My first memories of this steamed chocolate pudding are vague, and more of an impression than anything else. I remember always thinking it should be an unconventional flavor combination – the chocolate with the cinnamon – yet tasting the flavorful spices of cinnamon and cloves as they saturated each dense little slice were such a delight! For me it has become a truly special holiday treat.  

My grandmother is the only person I've ever known to prepare this (although I have confirmed that one or two of her siblings have made it, as well). A few years ago, knowing my fascination with this particular dessert, someone in my family gave me a steamed pudding mold for Christmas. It took me a while to try using it, and my first attempt was something of a disaster due to my misinterpretation of the recipe and a failure to research the essential concepts involved when using a steaming mold. I won't go into details, but I have since corrected, and clarified, the essentials for my future self and others who may visit this post. You see, the original recipe is written in that familiar vernacular which assumes the process and nuances are already known to the cook – where the ingredients and instructions are but mere reference notes to self, passed from one cook to another. 

Bake me a cake as fast as you can.

Lavender cupcakes. © Ryan Schierling

Practice, practice, practice. I'm honing my skills for the big day. I have been bestowed the honor of baking the wedding cake for one of my dearest friends this summer and the challenge is turning out to be an education that is even tastier and more gratifying that I could have ever imagined.

I'm justifiably anxious. It's an August wedding, out-of-doors and out-of-town. If I don't have utmost confidence in the methods I've chosen, I'm screwed. I haven't exactly spent years staking my reputation on this particular variety of baked goods. I mean, this is a WEDDING CAKE, and holy mother of all that is pink and glittery… I simply mustn't let this lovely couple down.

So, I have officially baked more cakes in the past two weeks than I have in the past two years combined. I've tested cake recipes and successfully executed my very first (ever) Italian Meringue Buttercream (IMBC), including variations. When the big day arrives, I plan to be cranking out several batches of that fabulously fluffy IMBC with experienced gusto, gosh-darn-it!

There is tremendous satisfaction in the mastery of a new creative endeavor, but thank goodness I didn't have to re-invent the wheel here. There are those who have traveled this path before me, and whether via online video or traditional cookbook, I have found trusted mentors in this venture. As with all baked goods there are principals and nuances and detailed instructions to attend to, but with every new batch I'm having more and more fun. Instead of late-night cookie baking for relaxation, there's a good chance that cupcakes will fall into place as my go-to alternate.