The smell of pudding, that rich combination of fruit and sugars, pervades the house. I am home again, watching my mother becoming increasingly frustrated attempting to cover the pudding with greaseproof paper and tinfoil. The string with not go right, will not tie tight enough. My first Christmas in Turkey in 2001, my first away from home, my first as a married woman, I cooked rice pudding. My husband regarded the sticky mass with barely disguised wonder, comparing it to Click for more