Josh Barrie’s dishes that can do one: Soggy trifle

Fans of the sitcom Friends will be aware of Rachel’s perverted trifle.

“First, there’s a layer of ladyfingers,” Rachel explains in The One Where Ross Got High.

“Then a layer of jam, then custard… Raspberries, more ladyfingers. Then beef sautéed with peas and onions. Then more custard and then bananas and then I just put some whipped cream on top.”

The predominant issue here is the addition of minced beef. I am not so contrary as to suggest otherwise. But I mention Rachel’s trifle because there is much to admire, too. Namely, her timing. If you watch the episode back, her trifle is ready bang on cue, sitting only for a short while before her pals dive in, spoons akimbo.

It means the trifle — beef, peas and onions aside — would be just and satisfying. Because I really can’t imagine many desserts worse than a soggy trifle: one that has been sitting in the fridge for half a day or more to fall into itself volcanically.

Today, post-Coronation, I should imagine there are a lot of soggy trifles being pulled from fridges. Into bright bowls great dollops will go, a sodden blend of ailing cream and pieces of disintegrating fruit. What an unequivocal mess it must all be.

Consider the sponge fingers. These must be soaked in booze, absolutely, Madeira or sherry or Chambord, but leave them too long and they become a sort of alcoholic sediment meandering towards what is more likely to resemble baby food than anything delicious. The fact is their form is entirely lost with one probe of a serving utensil, and what is trifle without fingers?

We now reluctantly arrive at the jelly. An element I find troubling in any situation. For me, jelly is mostly too wobbly, too unpredictable. I don’t hate jelly, but I surely don’t enjoy it with custard. Together, they are texturally unsound. These days, it seems most trifles feature jelly, and so I find most trifles off-putting from the off, irrespective of time passed. Remove jelly from the equation and I can continue. This is mostly because I would never forego custard, an altogether kingly creation.

Custard is custard and we’ll leave it there. Nothing really happens to it in the fridge or after 24 hours. In fact, I prefer it super cold, preferably out of a tub featuring the words, “Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference”.

Fruit, however, does not fare well in the fridge. It grows soggier by the hour and loses any semblance of virtue as it softens. Both the flavour and structure is quickly compromised at five degrees. A trifle must be cold — but too long in abrasive conditions and suddenly what was a nicely layered bout of Englishness is a crumbling mess of sugar and faux patriotism.

The cream? What can I say? It’s there on the top, unspent. Although I will quickly ask why anybody would serve a trifle without toasted almonds on top. Imagine that. And yet that is what happens almost every day — those diminutive flakes of texture, forgotten. Astonishing.

This is all just another case of carelessness. A dish that has the capacity — sans jelly — to be good is mostly terrible. Like poached eggs or risotto - two other potentially excellent dishes mostly debauched - people believe they are diligent in process and in serving others when in fact they are building budget homes on greenbelt land and soon the rot wil set in. Fences never last, no matter how strong the varnish.

I’m not saying home cooks need to be wholly fastidious in their trifling. This is not the Colosseum. But we might consider ousting soggy numbers from Britain as we enter a new era.

I implore this nation to follow in Rachel’s stead: make the trifle, serve the trifle. Do not let it diminish, else the whole medley is nothing more than disastrous.