This Side of the Pond

My column this week is a cry for help. I've spent more than a decade trying to make one of my favorite dishes work this far above sea level and I've finally run out of ideas.

I've come to know that this community boasts a few world class bakers, so now I'm hoping for a miracle.

In exchange for your assistance, I humbly offer a recipe that is widely regarded to be the best thing Britain has ever invented: the Yorkshire pudding.

Of course, to use this recipe, you'll need to first be able to tell me what's wrong with it.

To clarify before we get started, Brits really like the word "pudding". To us, it's a synonym for dessert, but is also used to describe encased foods such as black pudding and haggis, and various baked, steamed or boiled items.

The one thing we do not use it to describe is...well...pudding. What you use the word for is generally known to us as blancmange, custard or by its brand name, Angel Delight.

So, a Yorkshire pudding is not generally a dessert, even though it's made from essentially the same batter that we use to make pancakes, which are also not the same as the pancakes you know but rather are what you would call a crepe.

Confused yet? Welcome to the last decade of my life.

A Yorkshire pudding is what happens when you bake crepe batter at high temperatures. It rises, turns crispy and reinvents itself into the part of a roast dinner that can cause a fist fight between even the closest of relatives if you fail to make enough.

It's most commonly served alongside roast beef, but there are plenty of other ways to enjoy one. As they are taller at the sides and can serve as a "bowl", for example, you can fill them with soup or stew.

They are also used in a dish called "toad in the hole" (one of our more whimsical names, I agree, but I couldn't tell you who came up with it), which is the same as the recipe below but with the batter poured over sausages.

My dad will tell you that a spoonful of jam on a Yorkshire pud is a treat without compare, while other serving suggestions include using them as a pizza base or a serving dish for a full English breakfast.

So popular is this culinary delight that a restaurant can make its fortune in Britain purely through word of mouth that they serve the best Yorkshire puds in the area.

Apparently there's a name for them here but, as I've never heard anyone mention it, I'm not sure it will mean anything to you. Still, on the off-chance: the internet informs me that you call them "popovers".

The trouble I'm having is that my Yorkshire puddings will no longer rise. No matter what variations I try, they still come out looking like a crispy pancake. I know it's to do with the elevation, but none of the usual methods for sky-high baking seem to do the trick.

So here I am, pleading for your help. Surely someone out there must know the baking secret that will bring my beloved puddings back into my life?

The husband says they're fine as they are, but the poor soul doesn't know any different. It's not as though I've ever been able to make him a proper one.

Mind you, he also commented that he won't complain if I want to do some extra testing, so this might just be his way of getting more pudding.

Here's the recipe, in its basic form. I must warn you that – unless what's going wrong with my recipe is entirely down to its maker – this probably will not rise.

Combine 1 ¼ cups of all-purpose flour, four large eggs, a cup and a half of milk and half a teaspoon of salt and stir until the batter is smooth. Pour into a jug and allow to rest in the fridge for half an hour before use.

In a 12-slot muffin tray, place a teaspoon of vegetable shortening (or the drippings from a roast joint, if you happen to have any) into each section and place in the oven at 425 degrees F until the fat is so hot it's almost smoking.

Once that happens, pull the tray out and place it on the oven door (you want it to retain as much heat as possible), then pour in the batter so each section is roughly three quarters full. If there's plenty of sizzling as this happens, you're doing well.

Immediately place it back in the oven, close the door and do not open that thing again for 20 minutes – not even to peek. Your Yorkshire pud is shy, and will retreat back into itself if anyone witnesses its bloom from the cocoon.

If you resist the temptation to open that door, your puddings should be golden brown and at least an inch above the rim of the tray when you remove them from the oven. If you give in to the urge, they will be just as flat as mine but you won't have floor height as an excuse.

If you would prefer a large version of this recipe, by the by, you can simply follow the same method but utilize a nine- or 12-inch glassware dish instead (and enough fat to cover the base of the dish).

This is how I've made many a Yorkshire pudding back in the homeland and, while I was never in danger of getting batter on the ceiling, I always managed a decent elevation.

Over here, though, they come out no taller than they were when they went in. I've tried baking powder, extra flour, extra milk and extra egg but all to no avail.

What am I doing wrong? Bakers of Crook County, I need your help!