Christmas trifle - that glorious glass bowl of chaos masquerading as dessert. Layers of sponge, jelly, custard, cream and whatever liqueur Aunt Cheryl ‘accidentally poured half a bottle of. It’s the edible equivalent of a family argument: messy, loud and somehow always resurrected each year.
Nobody really knows who made it first, but everyone has an opinion on whether jelly belongs. By the time it hits the table, it’s sloshing like a boozy geological formation - custard tectonics at work. Yet, one spoonful in and you remember: Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without this wobbly monument to excess.
Here are five recipes not to be trifled with:
Strawberry baklava yoghurt trifle is a flirtation of flavours layered in luxury. Ruby strawberries glisten against silky yoghurt, their sweetness wrapped in the honeyed crunch of golden baklava shards. Each spoonful is a collision of creamy and crisp, tart and syrupy - a playful, Middle Eastern wink at the traditional trifle’s prim composure.
Irish coffee trifle is indulgence layered with mischief - clouds of whipped cream over velvety coffee-soaked sponge, kissed with whisky’s warming glow. Beneath the sweetness lurks a bold espresso bite, rich and aromatic. Each spoonful hums like an after-dinner secret: smooth, spirited and just dangerous enough to love completely.
Golden fruit trifle gleams like Summer in a bowl - layers of sunlit nectarines and mangoes bathed in shimmering mango syrup. Passionfruit seeds sparkle through the folds of lush mascarpone cream, tang meeting silk in every spoonful. It’s bright, tropical decadence - dessert that tastes like golden hour captured and served.
Inside-out trifle is rebellion in a dessert glass - rich chocolate sponge cradling scoops of melting ice cream, streaked with glossy Nutella sauce. Juicy raspberries cut through the sweetness, their tart burst igniting the chocolate’s decadence. It’s playful, messy and gloriously excessive - the trifle that forgot its manners and tastes better for it.
Bombe Alaska trifle is pure theatrical indulgence - layers of sponge, ice cream and fruit cloaked beneath toasted meringue peaks. Each spoonful melts from cool to caramelised, sweet to sharp, like a dessert caught mid-explosion. It’s nostalgia set aflame, a trifle that refuses to whisper when it can dazzle instead.
