Once upon a Sunday, no roast dinner was complete without a crumble. Apple. Rhubarb. Blackberry. It didn’t really matter what went in, as long as there was fruit bubbling underneath and a blanket of buttery crumbs on top. It was the pudding of our grandmothers, the saviour of wartime cooks, and the comfort of school dinners (though opinions vary on whether that custard was friend or foe).
And yet, somewhere between the period of ration books and the age of Instagram, the crumble has quietly slipped into semi-retirement. Peek at today’s dessert menus and you will find glossy chocolate domes, miniature cheesecakes, and panna cotta wobbling in delicate glassware. The poor crumble, meanwhile, often lurks at the bottom of the list – if it makes the cut at all.
The problem, perhaps, is looks. A crumble fresh out of the oven smells divine, tastes even better, but let’s be honest: it is not the most photogenic of desserts. Next to a rainbow macaron stack or a mirror-glaze cake, it’s the culinary equivalent of turning up to a cocktail party in slippers. Delicious, yes. Instagrammable, no.
Convenience doesn’t help either. Crumbles are tied to the rhythm of peeling, chopping, and baking. They require a little patience and a willingness to get your hands floury. Hardly the stuff of TikTok dreams. It’s no wonder younger eaters gravitate towards cookie-dough frying pans or freak shakes instead.
According to English Heritage, only 2% of households enjoy a hot pudding every day. And only 17 per cent of under twenty-fives choose a hot pudding, such as crumble, compared with 45 per cent of the over fifty-fives. In addition, more than a quarter of 18-24-year-olds said no one has ever made them hot puddings.
Still, the crumble isn’t gone for good. Chefs are tinkering with it – throwing in cardamom, scattering pistachios, and serving it in cute little ramekins. Vegan versions abound, gluten-free toppings are a thing, and yes, there are even “deconstructed crumbles” appearing in hip restaurants. But it’s not quite the same as the steaming dish plonked in the middle of a family table.
Maybe that’s the point. Crumble was never about glamour. It was about thrift, comfort, and the simple combo of fruit, sugar, and flour. In a world of instant desserts, perhaps the best way to keep it alive is simply to make one, serve it with custard (or cream, if you insist), and eat it warm around the table.
Last week found me in Kent, the Garden of England, and guess what, I bagged me some serious cooking apples, fresh off the trees, and now I am doing something I haven’t done in many moons – making an apple crumble! Yeah!
So, the next time you are tempted by a salted-caramel tart or a neon-pink cupcake, spare a thought for the crumble. It may be old-fashioned, but it knows exactly what it’s doing. And if desserts had personalities? The crumble would be the friend who turns up at your door with a casserole when you are ill –unfussy, comforting, and exactly what you needed all along.
The Humble Crumble – the unglamorous dessert that refuses to quit, even if no one is posting it on TikTok.
