Admit it: no-one actually likes Christmas pudding

Now that we’re all officially at that time of year when we’re running into shops screaming, ‘‘Socks for Dad, socks for Dad,’’ it’s time to address the biggest, sparkliest, tinsel-trunked elephant in the room.

And no, that’s not whether it’s socially acceptable to send back food at a Christmas dinner (debatable). Nor to specify on all Christmas party celebrations: ‘‘Adults only, because let’s be honest your children have all the charm of spoiled, irascible parakeets on speed’’ (definitely).

No, the real question is: does anyone actually like Christmas pudding?

Of course, I hear you protest, as you scrape the festering remains of last year’s pudding from the back of the fridge where it has been congealing since Dec 26, 2019. We love it! It’s tradition! It’s what you always have at Christmas!

Now, I know it’s tradition. (So are family punchups and Granny telling drunkenly inappropriate stories about her sex life. But no-one pretends to enjoy those time-honoured rituals.)

What I’m asking is whether you actually enjoy sinking your teeth into the boozy, burnt blubber of a pudding? I can’t be the only person who’s always reminded of trying to eat a sofa cushion: spongy but without flavour, except for the odd jelly bit unexpectedly stuck to the underside.

Actually, I know I’m not the only one who thinks this.

No-one eats the damn thing in our family, nor my partner’s, nor my extended family(s). I’ve also been staking out the mountainous terrains of the Christmas baked goods supermarket stations. And I have repeatedly overheard the exact same conversation: ‘‘We should get one,’’ ‘‘But you hate them ...,’’ ‘‘Yeah but it’s Christmas ...’’

So why, when we could be luxuriating in the cool, custardy caress of a champagne trifle or plunging into pillowy mounds of sugared cream and berries, do we insist on hacking through these shrivelled sponge stumps?

Now, I know there is the odd person who doesn’t mind it. In the same way there’s always someone who’ll eat the lonesome Cherry Ripe in the Favourites box. And OK, if you’re the Cherry Ripe gal, that’s fine. Buy a pudding. But for the rest of us, I think it’s time we owned up to committing the greatest Christmas crime since the birth of commercialism. Namely the ‘‘because it’s Christmas’’ mentality.

The Christmas pudding is an easy, high-profile example of this. It serves as a doughy visual manifestation of the brain-meltingly ridiculous, bum-clenchingly infuriating, unwritten rules for what’s ‘‘supposed to happen’’ at Christmas that we’ve all absorbed. We buy, burn, then bin puddings each year because it’s what you’re supposed to do.

It’s on the mild end of these unwritten festive rules. Along with ‘‘I should buy a litre of Baileys that Iwill never drink!’’ But they also range right up to the questionable (‘‘I should invite miserable, racist, antagonistic Uncle George to dinner because it’s Christmas’’) to the downright ridiculous (‘‘I should exhaust myself running across the country trying to soothe the warring factions of my estranged family on Christmas Day because that’s what you do at Christmas!’’).

So why, in the season of goodwill, do we get like this? Why dowe insist on sacrificing happiness on the obligatory altar of, ‘‘It’s Christmas!’’?

Sure, some of it is pity. You might hate Uncle George, but you hate the idea of him on his own at Christmasmore. (Even if he’s happier on his own.) And yes, humans often choose what they think they should do over what they actually want. And perhaps the addition of all the glittering festive rituals sends this impulse into overdrive.

Admittedly, there are many things people do because they love that they’re expected to do them. Even if it makes them unhappy. I had an aunt who always insisted on cooking big, extended family Christmas dinners. She hated cooking, and everyone hated her food, but she loved having the responsibility for the whole calamitous, stressful spectacle. And it’s easy to get into the martyrish thrill of, ‘‘I need to do this as it’s expected of me!’’

But in all honesty, following these rules because we think we should is as ridiculous as crying over the emotional poignancy of All IWant For Christmas Is You.

The whole point about Christmas is we’re supposed to be having fun, relaxing and celebrating. And yet we make all these decisions that ignore happiness – and then make us feel both put upon and exhausted. It’s nuttier than an obligatory box of scorched almonds.

So if you’re currently holding a pudding and reading this, ask yourself whether you actually enjoy eating a burnt, brandy-soaked boulder. If you do, carry on. If you don’t, put it down and head to the chocolate log. You’re doing everyone a favour.

I can’t be the only person who’s always reminded of trying to eat a sofa cushion ...