Proof is in the pudding

The Brits take a lot of jabs for their cooking, a lot of it deservedly. But tonight's dinner convinced Hank and I that there's at least one thing they've conquered - pudding.

We arrived into London today (Hank from the US and me from Dublin) and I drove to Canterbury a few miles from Dover on the eastern coast. We're staying at a B&B called The White House (the owners have so far been unbelievably kind and the rooms are decent sized & comfy). The wife, Elaine, recommended the Old Weaver House for traditional English food, and it was *so* tasty! But the dessert... ooh, man. It was something like "warm treacle sponge pudding" with a custard sauce. The cake was pretty sweet (lighter in shade & texture than sticky toffee pudding) and the custard sauce itself didn't have that much flavor. But when you combine the two... it's like mixing that cool Drano where the ingredients are separate but start bubbling and doin' their thing when you pour them together, and the clog disappears instantly, except in this case it was the pudding that disappeared instantly.