100WC Week 5 - Nice to be Home

Mum struggled over to the gleaming mahogany dining table. She carried a large, embellished bowl billowing with hot, silver smoke. Her only son, Charlie, was home from boarding school for the holidays.
She had missed him so greatly; the house had been so quiet since Charlie's father had passed away. Mum's afternoon had been spent peeling and stewing, kneading and baking. She wanted to make sure Charlie's favourite apple pie would be perfect.
Charlie helped himself to a serving of piping hot, crumbly pie. The pie was superlative and the custard tasted like heaven. Charlie looked at Mum and said,
"It's nice to be home".

100WC Week 5 - Blackberry Picking

The blackberries were a bit sharp but the custard tasted like heaven on a spoon! As she lifted another spoonful to her mouth she remembered the day that they had picked the blackberries. Small, grey clouds on the horizon had signalled the approaching rain, but they had gone anyway. Gramps had taken his old, gnarled walking stick with the large, curled handle so that they could reach deep into the hedges. They had both got soaked when the rain eventually started; but it had been worth it. Now Grandma’s delicious custard was dancing sweetly on her tongue.

“Grandma, can I have some more please?”

100WC Week 5 - Hospital Food

Lumpy, springy bed, aching, tired feet. My fear of hospitals goes to back my childhood, not sure why maybe the thought of the cold, eerie corridors, or maybe all the coughing, spluttering sick people you always associate with them.

As I wait to be discharged I can hear behind the curtain, an elderly lady jabbering away. Moaning about something or other flittering between subjects, and then returning to the TV, something must’ve caught her attention, quiet resumes.

As I collect my bag I hear one final whip from the impatient patient

“Nurse, the custard tasted like wallpaper paste.”

I smiled, I enjoyed mine.

100WC Week 5 - Rancid Eggs

Beads of sweat began to roll down his temples. He tapped the microphone, then jumped as it squealed into life. They studied his hands moving over the bowls and pans until, with a puffed-out, cock-robin chest he held the ladle high and let the thick, yellow custard tumble into the pan. It slopped, splashing up his once-pristine, embroidered whites. He reached for a cloth, his free hand rising to his mouth to hide his embarrassment. His tongue darted out, the custard tasted like rancid eggs.

“Voila!” He said, brightly. Applause erupted in a rattle of bracelets and watches. The WI would eat him alive.

100WC Week 5 - Light & Moist

It was a hot, sweltering afternoon with a jam-packed restaurant waiting impatiently. The Chef of the world famous 'Roules' restaurant was under immense pressure. The meat and the vegetables all had to be simmered to perfection. The main problem was the dessert. Sponge pudding and custard, simple yet effective.

"Make sure the sponge is light and moist!" screamed the chef trying to make himself heard above the clattering of plates and dishes. Quickly he whisked, stirred and prepared the custard. As the first dish was served, silence descended on the restaurant. You could hear a pin drop. The spoon enters the customers mouth and the custard tasted like...

100WC Week 5 - The Elegant Waiter

Looking at the menu, I went straight to the desert page. Then I could answer the question that always stumped me … starter or desert?
We were dining at Roast, above Borough market. It was a rustic, innovative restaurant with modern, British food.
“Madam, could I take your order please?” A tall, elegant waiter interrupted my thoughts. Desert! I ordered slow-roasted free-range pork belly with mashed potatoes and applesauce … and the desert!
After devouring my pork my reward was placed in front of me. Sticky toffee pudding. I loaded up my spoon and took my first bite. The custard tasted like liquid gold.

100WC Week 5 - Super Sunday

"Anyone for dessert?" shouted mum, who was trying to compete with the usual Sunday Sky Sports commentary. Having a break after your main cause is a necessity on roast day, especially after the mammoth feast we had just consumed.
"Yes please!" echoed the responses of us all from the lounge.
"Come and get it, or shall I eat it for you as well!" Like athletes out of their blocks, we leapt to kitchen. The steamy hot sponge with dripping treacle sauce, stared at us all invitingly. After smothering the sweet sensation in an adequate amount of custard, I prepared myself for my first bite. As the sponge touched my lips, the custard tasted like heaven. It tasted like nothing I had ever tasted before.