The cooler Autumnal weather always generates strong feelings of nostalgia for England. They have been especially strong this year in Melbourne, with the prevalence of numerous large deciduous trees surrounding the residential colleges and university (sound familiar? I can’t help myself when it comes to Autumn leaves. It’s an odd fascination, I know). The varying red-golden hues take me back to my six-month student exchange program nigh on four years ago. As the days drew shorter and the darkness crept in, apple crumble became a mainstay pudding at family ‘Sunday dinners’. Like many other experiences, such as running around like a lunatic, kicking up the crisp leaves in the back yard – something I may or may not still do – Sunday dinners were quite the novelty. It wasn’t lunch, yet at 4pm it wasn’t quite ‘dinner’ yet either. Completely baffling. However, the ensuring pudding of apple crumble (occasionally interchanged with pie or the inherently classic Victoria Sponge) was more than baffling, it was a pure shock. It. Wasn’t. Crumble. Surely castor sugar, flour, a dash of milk and butter did not equate to crumble topping? Turns out that one particular sixteen year old did not know her crumbles as well as she thought she did – there was, would you believe, more than one type. Continue reading
