|This is a ceramic cupcake. We own it, although I am not sure why.|
A recent after-dinner conversation
Husband (eating a chocolate bar): This chocolate is made entirely of endangered species.
(He was referring to this chocolate bar. YD was unfazed by his provocative statement.)
YD: Speaking of which, what is a spotted dick?
Me (not knowing what a spotted dick is, but letting my imagination get the better of me): If I were you I’d be careful talking about such things in mixed company.
Husband: Of course, there’s the yellow-breasted booby. But you’re not supposed to learn about that until you’re older.
YD (still unfazed): I already know about that – it’s a kind of bird. Who was your first woman?
Husband: Lucille Ball. I watched her on TV every night.
YD: Dad! I mean not on TV or in your dreams but in real life. Who was your first date?
I am not sure how he answered that question, because by then I was bravely googling ‘spotted dick.’ I was hoping it was something as innocent as a kind of African antelope.
|This is a dikdik. It is not spotted.|
It turns out it is a British dessert, a sort of a pudding with dried fruit for the spots. You should trust me on that, because if you google “spotted dick” you will be seeing ads for T-shirts saying “I love spotted dick” every time you get on the internet.
|This is Spotted Dick. Microwaveable.|
Thankfully, I have never seen this in my local grocery store.
One big thing that is wrong with this post is that it does not include pie. Sadly, I have not had the time to make a pie in quite a long time.