Something sweetly comical

There were friends we used to visit on Boxing Day morning, from when I was a child, through until sadly they had passed away. They always had an extensive drinks cabinet, whereas in the early days, my parents might have whisky and gin, and a seasonal bottle of sherry, a sweet bottle of martini (how special!) and half a bottle of brandy to pour over Mum’s Christmas pudding and set alight. These friends were the kindest and most generous people; he was my dad’s boss, and their third daughter was my best friend.

They would also make a cheesy snack, made I guess from a recipe handed down through their family. There was some sort of cheesy mixture which would be dropped by the spoonful into boiling oil, whipped out of the pan as soon as they puffed up and drained on a cloth before being whisked through to the waiting guests. They were delicious it’s true, but when I was older, I realised there was something sweetly comical about the reverence in which they were held.

Much later, when I was an adult, I visited as was traditional, and we were standing with our Christmas drinks when it was suddenly remembered that there should have been cheese balls/puffs/gougères/balls etc and there was a panicked rush into the kitchen to make them, recipe had disappeared, argument over what it was, rush to make something which approximated them. despair (there may have been tears) over what was produced – oh disaster! They even appealed to me for ideas, and I (at the time a less experienced cook) dragged up some memories of my mum’s version!

Here is a recipe for something which is probably similar, from 1936:

Cheese aigrettes