Black Pudding or a Bloody Mess

The pig is dead, long live the pig.    I had learnt to make black pudding the previous year and this time I was on my own.  I now had two little children, the youngest was just crawling and was happily playing on the kitchen floor.
First I had to peel and chop two kilos of onions which I did under running water. But by the time I had chopped them my face was streaming and the children were howling and rubbing their eyes too.  Then I had to chop up fine two kilos of neck of pork which took quite a while.  I set the pork and onions to stew in a big pan for about an hour and tried to keep the kids happy with my pots and pans.  I don't know why I thought I could do this whilst looking after two children both under the age of two but I had no one to look after them and I did everything with them under my feet.  
 I seasoned the mixture with salt pepper and four spices, cloves nutmeg, allspice and cinnamon then added two litres of defrosted blood.  This I stirred into the meat and onions gently without cooking it as the heat from the meat was just enough to make it thicken slightly to the consistency of a runny porridge.  It was time to make the puddings.  I put everything on the table and slid a casing on the spout of a large funnel.  Holding it in place with my left hand,  I scooped up a jug full of porridge and poured it in.  The stuff flowed beautifully into the casing which expanded like a thin balloon, so I added some more.  Before I realised what was happening, a thick brown stream shot across the table and cascaded like a waterfall onto my little boy's head.  More surprised than harmed, it was warm not hot, he smiled up at me sweetly his head and face dripping with what looked like bloody porridge.  Tasting it and finding it to his liking, he rubbed it all over himself and slapped his hands in the puddle in front of him.   Before I could stop her, my barefooted daughter joined in the fun, stamping up and down, splashing it all over herself and her brother.  Still holding the funnel and the casing, I tried to dam the flow with my arm and pushed the mess back on to the table.
 I didn't see how things could get worse than they already were so I decided to leave the kids to play while I finished the job.  
Somehow I managed to tie a knot in the casing and successfully made one very long pudding.   I lowered it like a coiled up snake into the simmering water and poached it gently for about ten minutes then coiled it on a cloth to cool, very proud of myself. Job done.  


By this time both the children and the kitchen looked like a set for a horror film and to make things worse we had run out of gas. No hot water, so I couldn't just dump them in the bath.   Desperate situations require desperate measures so  I poured the water in which the puddings had cooked into the sink and added some cold water. That would have to do.  I don't recall how long it took me to clean up but when his majesty came home that evening, he had perfectly grilled boudin with mashed potatoes and fried apples. That was the last time I made them.