The Pudding Whose Name Britain Won't Change (Spotted Dick)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Reverend Goss waits at the oak table, November 12th each year.
Mrs. Patterson in the kitchen, 4:15 PM, steam rising from the basin.
The suet pudding, spotted with currants from the 1849 recipe.
Alexis Soyer wrote it down, four ounces suet, six of flour.
A handful of raisins, dark like ink spots on the page.
She ties the muslin cloth, sets it over the coal fire.
Three hours, the scent fills the parsonage, heavy, faintly meaty.

[Chorus]
Spotted Dick, the name Britain won't change.
Served hot with custard, yellow and glossy from the jug.
Reverend's favorite, once a year, no more.
The basin unmolds it, dense, crumbly inside.
Mrs. Patterson slices it carefully, her knife steady.
We eat in silence, the texture sticking to the roof of the mouth.

[Verse 2]
Isabella Beeton in 1892, her book open on the counter.
Economical pudding for large families, she called it.
Variations with lemon zest, but here it's plain, traditional.
The steaming basin, glazed earthenware, chipped at the rim.
From the larder, the suet block, pale and waxy, cold under fingers.
Currants plump in the mix, spots in the beige dough.
Victorian comfort, she serves it at 80 degrees Celsius.

[Bridge]
The word hangs in the air, but we say it straight.
No renaming like that hospital in Gloucestershire, 2009.
Spotted Richard? No, we keep it as is.
Reverend smiles, takes his portion, custard pooling.

[Verse 3]
The hands that stirred it, unnamed cooks in the records.
Lower-class women, their tweaks lost to time.
But here, Mrs. Patterson's version, every November.
The heat scalds the tongue, then the cool cream soothes.
We gather around the white linen, gas lamps flickering.

[Outro]
Spotted Dick, unchanged, in the dim dining room.
Once a year, that's enough.