I have the best possible memory of this simple pudding on a rather chilly day in May in an old Cumbrian longhouse owned by food historian Ivan Day. The apples were baked in an authentic wood-fired stove and filled the house with that comforting scent apples can give to a breeze in the air. They came out of the oven, black as if they’d been to hell and back, and were eaten for pudding after a most memorable meal and