JANE FRYER: What is fuelling the unlikely resurgence of the comically calorific trifle?

Once upon a time, back in the 1970s, no big family celebration was complete without a pineapple upside-down cake, a Black Forest gateau and, ta-da! the pièce de résistance – a gigantic, heart attack-inducing trifle. Layers of sherry-soaked, shop-bought sponge fingers, fruit, pink jelly and custard, all topped with at least a kilo of whipped cream and garnished to taste with shaved chocolate, slivered almonds (back before we were all allergic), angelica, or maybe just a bit more cream, for good measure. Ideally, served in a high-sided glass bowl so we can admire all the effort that's gone in. Everyone had their favourite version. Some so boozy you shouldn't risk driving afterwards – though it was the 1970s, so everyone did. Others topped with crunchy silver balls and hundreds and thousands that wept into the cream. Some used Madeira cake, or jam Swiss roll in place of sponge fingers. Some used frozen fruit, or tinned pears, or just a big dollop of raspberry jam.  The odd one popped up with a rogue layer of pink blancmange. But most had the dreaded jelly, often set so solidly that the whole thing squelched as you spooned it out. So, given all that, along with the health risks of so much cream and custard, our national obsession with losing weight and the fact that quite a few of us (including food historian Annie Gray, who describes it as 'soggy cake, the ear wax of Beelzebub'), seemed to loathe this creamy delight, it would be no great surprise if trifle had gone off to the great pudding trolley in the sky, along with Angel Delight, tapioca and semolina. But no! It turns out we've all gone trifle mad again – because it's everywhere! Not just on dinner tables across the land. But back on the menus of some of our poshest restaurants. The Connaught, in Mayfair, has a trifle of sherry jelly, vanilla Chantilly cream and strawberry sorbet which costs £22, Simpson's in the Strand has a £13.75 version, and John Williams's signature vanilla trifle at The Ritz will set you back £25.25 but is enduringly popular with diners. Trifles are back on the menu at restaurants and supermarkets across the country (File image)  According to head chef Williams, the beauty of the trifle lies in its simplicity: 'Fresh raspberry consommé brings vibrancy, the vanilla custard adds richness, and the sponge absorbs the raspberry jelly to create layers of flavour and texture,' he says. (Though having seen his recipe, in which he makes not just the raspberry consommé from scratch, but also the jelly, vanilla custard, sponge and vanilla Chantilly cream, it doesn't sound so simple to me.) And it's different everywhere. Because in our renewed love for trifle, top chefs are coming up with their own twist – watermelon and fennel, anyone? Bitter chocolate with cognac?  Or perhaps peach panna cotta, or apple crumble, or a nice bowl of lemon Swiss roll and amaretti trifle – the trifle created for the late Queen by Jemma Melvin from Southport in a competition organised by Fortnum & Mason which became the official Platinum Jubilee pudding in 2022. Some restaurants, such as Rosi at the Beaumont in Mayfair, even have seasonal variations. In winter it's fig trifle, in summer, a strawberry and pistachio version and blackberries and plums beckon in autumn. Trifle sales are also up in supermarkets. Waitrose's £3.95, 600g strawberry trifle is up double on this time last year. Chocolate trifles are up nearly 40 per cent. And sponge fingers not only still exist, but sales have rocketed. Online searches for trifle recipes have gone bananas – but please, never, ever, put banana in a trifle. Meanwhile, social media is awash with endless creamy concoctions on TikTok and Instagram using Battenberg cake and amaretti, or Cadbury's chocolate mini roll and Baileys Irish Cream and coconut and Malibu. So what's going on – why is trifle suddenly so trendy again? According to Mail food expert Tom Parker Bowles, it's all about nostalgia and simplicity – which appeals in times of turmoil. 'What's not to love about it! It's spoon food. It reminds us of childhood and good times. It's sweet and rich and delicious. It could be served up at a state banquet, at the Ritz or at Granny's.' But, most importantly, he says, anyone can make it. 'It's not French and fancy. It doesn't require pastry skills or ice-cold butter.' Just an awful lot of cream and custard. And yes, he insists very firmly, jelly. 'There are always endless debates about whether trifles should have jelly in, but of course jelly has a place in it! It goes back hundreds of years. Jelly is a vital component.' - Pack of supermarket sponge fingers – or pretty much any cake you fancy. - Packet of instant jelly mix, or substitute with blancmange. - A few handfuls of berries – fresh, tinned or frozen – or any soft fruit. - Big slug of sherry, sweet wine, marsala, a favourite liqueur. - 450-500ml fresh or tinned custard. Line the bottom of the bowl with sponge. Add fruit and booze. Pour jelly/blancmange mix over fruit. Chill until set. Add a layer of custard. Whip cream and spread on top. Decorate to taste and chill. Enjoy with a glass of sweet wine. He's right. The first recorded mention of 'Triffel', which means 'nothing', was just a flavoured cream, courtesy of Thomas Dawson in The Good Huswifes Jewell in 1585. But 60 years later, alcohol and sponge fingers were added, and the wobble came soon after.  In 1760, to be precise, when Hannah Glasse's The Compleat Confectioner was published. It included her showstopper recipe A Grand Trifle, which required a thick layer of gelatine jelly – made by boiling calves' feet, then clarifying the rich stock with egg whites and flavouring it with wine, sugar and citrus. Then, before it set, sticking broken biscuits and macaroons into the jelly, covering the lot with a layer of 'thick sweet cream' and decorating it with bits of calves'-foot jelly, raspberry jam, currant jelly and macaroons. The Scots have a similar dish, called the Tipsy Laird, made with Drambuie or whisky. 'Zuppa Inglese' in Italy – sponge cake fingers dipped in booze and layered with egg custard and lemon zest – is probably based on a trifle. According to Annie Gray, the late 19th century was a 'heyday' for trifles. But by the late 1980s trifle was beginning to disappear off all but the most traditional pudding trolleys. Never quite vanishing, but out of favour: too creamy, too old fashioned, too rich – and replaced with Banoffee pies and New York cheesecakes. Until 2002, that is, when Nigella Lawson included a recipe in her book Nigella Summer, for an Anglo-Italian trifle which she dubbed 'the trifle to end all trifles' and snapped us all back onto trifle red alert. This beauty was a heady mash-up of traditional and more continental flavours. Yes, good old sponge, but also of limoncello liqueur, mascarpone, blackberries and strictly no jelly. According to Mail food expert Tom Parker Bowles, the sudden popularity of trifles is all about nostalgia and simplicity – which appeals in times of turmoil Delia wasn't a fan of the jelly, either. In her Christmas trifle, she skips it and adds two bananas. (Oh no!) Same in the summer, without the bananas (Phew).  Which shocked a few people but, as Parker Bowles points out, that's the beauty of the trifle. 'Dress it up or down, but do it your way,' he says. The point is you make it to your taste. You like jelly, you put it in. (The King clearly does – his Coronation Trifle, created by Adam Handling in 2023, was made with parkin, ginger custard and, yes, strawberry jelly.) The question is: are there any limits when it comes to trifle? Victoria Moore, author of The Wine Dine Dictionary, and one of the best cooks I know, still cannot veer from her late granny's trifle recipe, which is not for the faint-hearted. Shop-bought sponge, (not Tesco apparently) a good slosh of rich cream sherry, jam (raspberry), a layer of pink blancmange, Bird's Custard and piped cream. Victoria assures me that while it sounds – and looks (I've seen a picture) – revolting, it is addictive. So long as you've been heavy-handed with the sherry. The one thing everyone seems to agree on is that the more booze is added, the better a trifle tastes. 'Dairy and sherry – cream sherry or amontillado or oloroso – are a match made in heaven; soft creamy folds with a kick of booze – just a very lovely combination,' says Victoria. So, whatever your taste, give it a go. And as you whip and layer and douse it all in alcohol, remember Tom Parker Bowles's wise words.  'There is absolutely nothing trifling about a trifle,' he insists. 'It is classless, for everyone and is utterly English in the best possible way.'