Trifle is, more or less, an Anglo-Irish dessert, and it's said that its origins came about as a way to use sponge cake that was getting a bit stale. It was a major feature of my childhood, and well into adulthood as well. My mother made it a great deal, especially for holiday dinners, but also very often for my birthday; many times, I requested it for my birthday, and as it was relatively easy to make (and didn't require oven-work), the requests were honoured. The thing about it is, it's wonderful when it's just been made, and it's even *better* after an overnight in the fridge, when the sherry has soaked into the cake, and there's a lovely muck of custard and jam at the bottom of the bowl. (Oh, and it makes a SINFULLY indulgent breakfast the next morning.)

For the very first time, I saw this item, which turned up in a FB page related to Old Saybrook (my home town). And therein lies a story. My mother (an Irish immigrant and fabulous cook) brought the recipe over with her -- in her head, yet -- and introduced it into town after the family moved there ca. 1965 (just before I was born). The recipe caught on like wildfire, and whistled throughout town. My mother was bemused, one day, to be approached by someone who said, more or less: "Have you heard about this recipe for a wonderful dessert called trifle?" Hence, I think, the jocular line at the bottom of this sheet.

In any event, I know at least two people ( Walt46 and  chrismukkah) who are kitchen-mavens, and would probably get a kick out of this recipe. I will tell you, folks: it's wonderful. I cheerfully confess there's a lot of nostalgia involved. What madelines are to Proust, raspberry trifle is to me.