It has already been noted on the Hogs Pudding page that the recipe for this Dartmoor delicacy is a secret which has been guarded closer than the Queen on a visit to Afghanistan. But just the other night I was browsing through a book called, ‘Songs of the Dean Bourn’ when I came across a poem called – ‘A New Recipe for Hog’s Pudding’. And so for the very first time I will share with you this age-old secret for the sacred Hog’s Pudding….
|Johnny Cheeseman was a grocer,
He made his pile in town.
And when he’d made it big enough
To Devonshire he came down.
He forgot his Gorgonzola,
Primest Stilton, Parmosan;
Bought a villa close to Totnes, and
Became a gentleman.
He chucked aside his apron
Never heard of “Best Mixed Teas,”
He carried no cheese-taster, for
He was himself “the cheese.”
But Johnny had a failing
Determined to a swell,
An appetite omnivorous
He did himself too well.
At any kind of liquor,
He would take a cheerful pull,
And when it came to victuals, why
He’d eat a basket-full.
He was not at all particular
Whose food he gobbled up
But would drop in, in a friendly way,
To dine or tea, or sup.
His neighbour, farmer Barleycorn,
Full oft a pig would slay,
But Johnny’s nose was faithful
And he always worked that way.
Now one day the little Barleycorns
And their friends were given a treat,
When Johnny turned up smiling
And as usual took his seat.
His capacious mouth it watered
At such a scrumptious sight:
‘Twas Hogs’ puddings like bananas
In a string all black and white.
The dish was thrice replenished
And he took the very last,
And he never broke the silence
Till he’d finished his repast.
Then he cried “I never tasted
Food as succulent and sweet,
I really must beg, dear Madam,
You will give me the receipt’?”
|Now Mrs. B. was in a temper
For her children had to go
A trifle short for Johnny’s sake
So she was short also.
“The secret, Sir is only known”
Says she, “to very few,
But as you are so fond of them
I’ll pass it on to you.
“One day before we kill the pig
We take away his meat,
Then we wash his trough most carefully
And make it clean and sweet.
Then we mix together so much groats,
With onions, sage and rice,
Pearl-barley, parsley, pepper corns,
With nutmegs, cloves and spice.
And then we take that new scrubbed trough
As clean as any pin,
And just before we stick the pig
We put the mixture in.
Which he gobbles up, too ravenous
To be particular,
Then we cut his throat and open him
And there the puddings are !!!
Yes! there they are all smoking hot
We never stay to cook ’em”
“Oh dear!,” cries John, “I’m feeling queer
I wish I’d never took ’em.
If I eat meat that’s underdone
Some mischief will befall-
But these puddings are not underdone
They are not done at all.
I’m much obliged for your ‘receipt’
But I’m really feeling ill;
I think I’d better hurry home,
And take a Cockles pill.
He sent to fetch the doctor
And he lay in bed a week,
He’d a tough of hoggiphobia
You could hear him grunt and squeak.
And though he’s fit and well again
If you want to have some fun,
Just you show him a hogs’ pudding
And I guess you’ll see him run.
Well come on, you didn’t really expect me to break a tradition that lingers way back down the centuries, mind you, it does sound an easy way to make Hog’s Pudding?
Perry-Keene, C. J. 1910 Songs of the Dean Bourn. Plymouth: Bowering & Co.