I am a big fan of Christmas pudding. It's the dried-fruit bliss-neutronium of the dessert universe. Served submerged in a deep ocean of brandy sauce, it's a bathyspheric pud of choice. Grab a spoon, blow the ballast, and prepare to dive, dive, dive.
The problem, generally, is that by the time I've stuffed myself with the starters and main course, my stomach has lit the 'no vacancies' sign. As a normally no-dessert person, I'm rarely prepared to navigate any third course.
Which means our Christmas pud is still in the cupboard.
I am of the view that all the modern Christmas Pudding variants (no nuts! gluten free! alcohol-free! etc.) should be banned and the makers hunted with dogs. Suet, fruit, the output of a small distillery. It should flambé à la Deepwater Horizon, like it's been sponsored by BP.