The Pudding That Wouldn’t Fit

“That pudding is bigger than my throne,” said King Martin.

Cecily, the young royal cook, stood beside him in the banquet hall. Between them sat a pudding so enormous that it covered the king’s tiny table from edge to edge. A baked plum rested on top like a round red hat.

“I meant it to be grand,” Cecily said. “You asked for a pudding fit for a king.”

“I did,” said Martin. “But I was thinking of a king, not a pudding with its own kingdom.”

Cecily pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Martin was a very small king. His crown fit snugly over his ears, and his chair had a cushion so he could see over the table. He liked to eat at his own little table, even when the whole kingdom came to dinner.

“I can make it smaller,” Cecily said.

She fetched a serving spoon from the kitchen. The spoon looked like a shovel beside Martin’s plate. Cecily slid it under the pudding.

The pudding gave a wobble.

Martin leaned away. “Is it supposed to wave at me?”

“It’s a little jiggly,” Cecily admitted.

“A king should wave first,” he said. “That’s the rule.”

Cecily chuckled and tried again. But the pudding was so wide that the spoon could not reach the middle. She circled the table, looking for a place to begin.

The banquet hall was ready for the evening meal. Long tables stood in neat rows, and little cups waited beside every plate. The guests were still in the kitchen, where the cooks were arranging bread and soup. Only Martin and Cecily had come ahead to inspect the pudding.

“I want you to enjoy it right here,” Cecily said. “At your own table.”

Martin looked at the pudding, then at his tiny plate. “I would enjoy seeing my plate again.”

Cecily studied the great wobbly dessert. She had baked it in the biggest bowl in the kingdom. Now it seemed the bowl had been too small a plan, not too large.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” she said. “A cook can always find a way.”

The pudding wobbled once more, as if it were listening.

Cecily hurried back to the kitchen and returned with a narrow cake server. Martin watched as she tried to lift a slice from the pudding’s side.

The server slid in. The pudding slid out.

Cecily caught it against the rim of the bowl. Martin caught the bowl with both hands. The great pudding shivered, and the plum on top rolled down the side and stopped against his crown.

“Your Majesty,” Cecily said, “you have a fruit hat.”

Martin plucked off the plum. “It’s a little heavy for a crown.”

Cecily set the plum aside and tried to steady the bowl. But a silky cloth covered Martin’s table, and its smooth surface slipped beneath the bowl. Whenever she nudged the pudding, the bowl scooted away from her.

“Hold the cloth,” she asked.

Martin gripped one corner. Cecily gripped another. The cloth tightened, the bowl stopped, and the pudding leaned toward the king.

“Perhaps,” Martin said, “we should not wrestle our supper.”

Cecily let go. The bowl stayed put at last, but her cheeks felt warm. She had wanted to make something splendid for Martin, and now it was too big to serve and too slippery to manage.

Martin set the plum beside his plate. “Cecily, I would be happier with a crown-sized portion than a grand serving.”

“A crown-sized portion?” she asked.

He tapped the little crown on his head. “A pudding no bigger than this. Maybe a bit smaller, so I can see over it.”

Cecily looked at the plum, then at the tiny tasting cups waiting for the guests. An idea popped into her mind.

“I can shape a small pudding for your table,” she said. “And turn the rest into little tastes for everyone.”

“Will the little cups fit?”

“Every one of them.”

Cecily fetched a wooden spoon and a bowl. This time, she did not try to lift the whole pudding. She scooped out a small portion, pressed it gently into the bowl, and turned it onto Martin’s plate. It made a neat, round pudding, just the right size beside his crown.

Then she filled the tasting cups with spoonfuls from the big bowl. Martin held the slippery cloth steady while Cecily lined up the cups on a tray.

The grand pudding had become a little pudding for the king and a whole tray of tiny treats for the banquet.

Cecily carried the tray into the banquet hall, with Martin walking beside her. He held the plum in both hands, as carefully as if it were a royal jewel.

The guests came in from the kitchen, talking about soup, bread, and the smell of warm pudding. When they saw the tray of tiny cups, they leaned closer.

“Is this the whole pudding?” asked one guest.

“It is the whole pudding,” said Cecily. “Just in many little places.”

Martin climbed onto his cushion and settled at his own table. His small pudding sat on his plate, round and tidy. The plum rested on top again, though it looked less like a hat and more like a button.

Cecily placed a tasting cup beside every guest’s plate. No one had to wrestle the bowl. No one had to pull the cloth. The slippery cloth stayed flat, and Martin’s little table showed plenty of room for his plate, his spoon, and his cup of water.

He took a small bite.

Cecily waited. “Is it fit for a king?”

Martin tasted again. “It’s fit for this king. I can reach every bit without climbing.”

A guest tried a spoonful from a tiny cup. “Mine is fit for a guest,” she said.

Soon the hall filled with quiet clinks of spoons and pleased little murmurs. The pudding had tasted of apples, cinnamon, and the plums Cecily had stirred through it. Martin’s crown stayed on his head, and his pudding stayed on his plate.

After a while, the talk softened. The cooks stacked the empty cups, and the guests leaned back in their chairs. Martin looked around the cozy hall. The candles stood steady in their holders, and the great pudding bowl sat empty on the kitchen cart.

Cecily came to collect his plate. Martin saved one last bite, no bigger than a berry.

“For the king?” she asked.

“For the king,” he said, and ate it with a tiny smile.

The banquet grew quiet and cozy. Martin rested his hands beside his empty plate while Cecily carried the dishes away, and the little kingdom settled into the peaceful hush of bedtime.