I love Yorkshire pudding. In fact I have said on many occasions that there really is no such thing as a bad Yorkshire pudding. Some are just better than others. Furthermore I KNOW about Yorkshire pudding because my wife makes the worst Yorkshire pudding in the world. Ever since we were married this fine woman has attempted to turn out a crisp, brown, succulent pudding. Time and again she has failed. One week the pudding will look and taste like a pizza crust. The next week it will rise and resemble a bath sponge. On the next try it will come out like a Neolite shoe sole. Each time I eat it without complaint. I figure this way. As long as my wife remains undefeated; as long as she continues to try to create this wonderful putting, I shall continue to eat it. When there is an improvement in the pudding I have to stifle the urge to rally the kids around the table and yell "Let's really hear it for good old mom!" On the next try, however, we're right back where we started. Of this I am sure: before we celebrate our golden wedding anniversary, this little woman will have mastered Yorkshire pudding. Like they say in prizefighting, if you WONT be beaten, you can't be beaten”.
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