The secret history of Christmas puddings, cakes and pies

The sweeter side of Christmas food – cakes, puddings and (mince) pies – rarely gets the same level of attention as the turkey and its trimmings. This might be because these days they are often bought from a supermarket rather than created at home and – apart from that fiddly business with the flaming brandy – require little in the way of special preparation or presentation.

But the history of these three rewards exploration. Although they share many of the same ingredients – notably dried fruit, spices and alcohol – their stories are diverse and ancient.

Christmas cake

Of the trio, this is the one that receives the least attention in the 21st century. But in its prime, the Christmas cake – then known as twelfth cake – was the star of the season. In the first illustrations of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, the fundamental text of the Victorian Christmas, the Spirit of Christmas Present rests a foot triumphantly on a vast twelfth cake, a yard wide and a foot tall.

Such cakes were the centrepiece of the Twelfth Night celebration, a no-holds-barred shindig in which the social gradations of the household were upended and new roles for the evening decided by items buried in the cake. Whoever found a dried pea in their slice would be the Lord of Misrule, in charge of the festivities; the recipient of a dried bean would be their Lady.

A Twelfth Night celebration – Hulton Archive/Getty

It may not sound exciting to us, but this upending of the social order was for many the most precious ritual of Christmas: As Sir Walter Scott put it in Marmion: “A Christmas gambol oft could cheer/The Poor man’s heart through half the year.”

The cake itself was a descendant of the medieval Great Cake, a hefty, yeasted item stuffed with the most luxurious items that local markets had to offer – notably imported dried fruits and spices – enlivened with a slug of booze and, in the Middle Ages, covered with sculpted marchpane (marzipan), later, as this material became cheaper and more commonly available, an additional layer of sugar icing.

Today’s Christmas cake: ‘many people still buy one, but few of them can say why’ – Getty Images

Meanwhile, canny festive merchandisers spotted a gap in the market and came up with tokens and playing cards to represent the household roles, meaning also that people didn’t have to dissect their cake in search of beans and peas.

But as people became busier, Christmas itself contracted from 12 days to three; Twelfth Night lost its status, Twelfth Cake became Christmas Cake but, shorn of its significance, has gradually receded in importance to become the least essential of the festive sweet creations. Many people still buy a Christmas cake, but few of them can say why.

Mince pies

At first glance a mince pie is closely related to ancient currant-filled pastries such as the Eccles Cake. But, in fact, the mince pie descends from medieval meat-based pies in which the pastry served mainly as an often fairly solid container for the spiced minced meat within.

A wartime Christmas party tucks into some mince pies, 1944 – Imperial War Museum

A top-quality mince pie from the Tudor period looked very different from today’s supermarket version. It would be oblong – to represent a manger – and would contain lamb or mutton with sufficient dried fruits and spices to bring the total number of ingredients to 13 representing Jesus and the disciples. The lid would have been decorated with a pastry representation of the infant Jesus.

The “minst” minced pie would have been just one of perhaps half a dozen pies on the Tudor Christmas feasting table. Over time, changes in farming practice led in turn to changes in the meat content of pies, so by the 19th century, lamb had given way to beef, which by the turn of the 20th century dropped out of the recipe altogether, along with many of the “apostle” ingredients as the mince pie became a much sweeter spiced fruit confection.

Fifty years ago, as I recall from childhood Christmases, it was a bit-part player in the festivities, home-made with fruit “mincemeat” from jars bought at village hall sales and church fetes.

But this century has seen a great mince pie revival, as supermarkets seized on the concept of a bite-sized festive snack and gave the recipe (not always successful) twists.

Salted caramel and cranberry mince pie, anyone?

Christmas pudding

Also known as plum pudding and figgy pudding, though contemporary versions rarely contain either, Christmas pudding has come a long way from its rather messy origins to establish a vital role in the Christmas feast, though celebrated as much for the fiery manner of its presentation as for its culinary appeal.

Chef A W Valsler cuts an enormous Christmas pudding, 1958 – Getty Images

It may bear a strong resemblance to the interior of a Christmas cake, but the origins of the pudding are quite different. The roots of the pudding lie not in the dessert course, but as an hors d’oeuvre, a pottage of spiced fruit and wine thickened with breadcrumbs and ground almonds to the consistency of bread sauce or porridge and served before the main course. A more solid version still could be cooked in a skin like a sausage and then sliced to lie under roasting meat, absorbing the savoury juices.

The transition to separate dessert course took place in the 18th century, and the Victorians made the cannonball-like pudding a centrepiece of the Christmas feast, celebrated, of course, by Dickens in his most celebrated seasonal tale: “the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in… ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top”.

A Victorian trade promotion advertising Atmore’s Christmas pudding – Alamy Stock Photo

Which, for all the best efforts of Heston Blumenthal and his Waitrose hidden orange versions, is the image that most comprehensively sums up the ideal Christmas feast today.

Other modern variations include a melting, salted caramel centre, but the inclusion that I remember from my childhood is a variation on the hidden bean and pea from the medieval Christmas cake: my mother would bury a sixpence (this was before decimalisation) in the pudding, and whoever found it in their slice would have good luck for the coming year… unless they broke a tooth on the coin.

Galloping digitalisation and the death of actual coinage no doubt mean that the days of this tradition, too, are numbered.

Cake: A Slice of British Life by Andrew Baker (Mudlark) is out now

Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month, then enjoy 1 year for just $9 with our US-exclusive offer.