THIS week, a rarity for me, as I’m making a boozy pudding, something I’m not normally a fan of.

Don’t get me wrong, I like puddings, and I definitely like alcohol, but for me the two never seem to get along so well, especially as, many times, the alcohol tastes quite raw and harsh against the sweetness of the pudding.

Where alcohol is used well, it has usually had some of the harshness removed by reducing, flaming or macerating.

Soaking big fat raisins for a couple of weeks in lovely golden Barbados rum is the perfect way to start a rum and raisin ice-cream, or adding to cakes or muffins, perhaps.

Simmering wine with spices and sugar makes excellent drizzling sauces and bases for sorbets, far more palatable for having that harsh kick removed by gentle heating.

The classic ‘guéridon’ desserts, traditionally prepared tableside, like Crepes Suzette or Bananas Foster, involve the heavy flambéing and reducing of the admittedly vast quantities of booze required in order to take the harsh edge off and make the dish more cohesive.

However, there are some recipes where the unmistakable ‘pop’ of pure alcohol is advisable, if not essential; my mum’s lovely sherry trifle, for one, would be far less delicious were it not for the warmth of a heavy splash of cream sherry over the sliced Swiss roll that forms the base, and a proper Tiramisù should come with a clearly detectable hit of rum and/or Marsala.

One other such recipe is this week’s dessert, which features raw, unadulterated alcohol in the form of good Cognac.

This is definitely not the recipe to use grandma’s bottle of old Spanish cooking brandy, folks – we’re talking properly-made, top-quality Cognac. Splash out on something a little special here.

The occasional glass of Brandy sipped thoughtfully, quietly and gently is one of life’s real pleasures.

The roundness and warmth from Cognac is like no other – a vague hint of spice, billowing scents of sugar and vanilla, the whiff of old oak. It’s nice to have a bottle around for cosy winter evenings, and for the occasional foray into the kitchen.

The dessert we’re tackling today is one that first came to light in this country thanks to the great cookery writer Elizabeth David, in her classic book ‘French Country Cooking’ (if you haven’t got a copy of this…why?) and combines the seductive flavour of Cognac with almond-y macaroons and the deepest, darkest rich chocolate.

Called the St. Emilion au Chocolat, it is still a brasserie dessert staple, and its simplicity belies its bewitching powers.

A small list of ingredients combine to make a dish so much greater than its constituent parts – everything clicks together to make a slice of intensely chocolate-y heaven you’ll want to keep eating forever.

Information about the dessert is thin on the ground but as far as I can make out, the St Emilion of the recipe refers to the macaroons, whose recipe comes from a patisserie in Paris in a square of the same name, and there’s no link to the famous wine-producing town east of Bordeaux.

The recipe works fine with bought macaroons, but as they’re so easy to make, as is the whole recipe, I thought we’d do things properly and start from scratch.

Just remember to choose a good Cognac and the best chocolate you can afford; it’s worth the expense on this occasion. Aprons on!