tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84216739540771254952024-03-14T05:56:15.373-07:00Urban CakesBaking adventures in West LondonUrban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-55237311864963426592013-09-19T12:20:00.001-07:002013-09-20T04:04:56.196-07:00Back to Black.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrJpOgc1uwnDPFZ_2XkrNWCpUEtsKBuN0sY6TghlwYFaDz67zXlKaGWHpgyb79QV14sOMxmf4wwxAAto_0y15lr0V48XLFjzfzUFnFeaYIPUi4_F9rH4MFsSs0QqVavlLJDk_TPsPNxY/s1600/20130818_132019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrJpOgc1uwnDPFZ_2XkrNWCpUEtsKBuN0sY6TghlwYFaDz67zXlKaGWHpgyb79QV14sOMxmf4wwxAAto_0y15lr0V48XLFjzfzUFnFeaYIPUi4_F9rH4MFsSs0QqVavlLJDk_TPsPNxY/s320/20130818_132019.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Not that I expect you've noticed, but I've been keeping a low profile of late. I admit it. I have had <i>Baker's Fatigue</i>. My baking mojo detached itself, folded itself away and hid in the airing cupboard. Luscious photographs of cakes and cookies, staring out at me lustfully from weekend newspapers, raised little more than a sleepy eyebrow. Some sexy new piece of kit, purchased online, which would usually have had me hiding behind the front door waiting for the postman, languished at the post office for days until I could summon enough enthusiasm to go and collect it.<br />
<br />
I mean, I've<i> been</i> baking. A lot, actually. There were hot cross buns at Easter, a rye loaf and custard tarts for Mark's birthday, two bosom cakes (I know), a riot of maple-syrup based concoctions for Canada Day, more chocolate cakes, lemon drizzles, brownies and muffins than I can reasonably keep track of. And a shed-load of Tahini flapjacks.<br />
<br />
But I cannot deny that I have been experiencing something of a<i> malaise</i>. There are two significant factors, I think. Firstly, I am still grappling with my new oven. Despite a fair bit of experimentation with tray-height, temperatures, putting the cakes in to the left or the right, and spinning them around mid-way through, I really haven't nailed it, and some of my creations have suffered as a consequence. It seems to be especially resistant to loaf cakes, which is a big problem and the cause of much anxiety. Only yesterday, a banana bread seeped over the side of the tin, creating a weird sheet of banana-flavoured cake which looked rather like a map of the British Isles. A shame that That's Life isn't still on, as I could have sent it in to Esther Rantzen. I also think the weather has had a lot to do with my apathy; Don't get me wrong, having a proper English summer was an absolute joy. But being stuck in a hot kitchen, while London sweltered in 30 degrees, was far from joyful. On a few occasions, I was up at dawn in order to beat the onset of sunshine. And let's face it - the desire to eat cake when it's humid and sticky is as resistible as having to make them.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHFwrfAwiNChbJP5drQmeM5QqZVAsSCuih1txQqHx_cH2MvOamNRc2K1-te0ry2zIr-SaNFwPKa-qNUkGimGEDqsdkRNRJUMjqfwbJuKXKSUJwGPplpcJnfBRWwQ1wDhsWTp3xkVRJzk/s1600/20130918_195756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHFwrfAwiNChbJP5drQmeM5QqZVAsSCuih1txQqHx_cH2MvOamNRc2K1-te0ry2zIr-SaNFwPKa-qNUkGimGEDqsdkRNRJUMjqfwbJuKXKSUJwGPplpcJnfBRWwQ1wDhsWTp3xkVRJzk/s200/20130918_195756.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple and blackberry oat crumble</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On one especially sultry day, I was selling on a stall at a local community event, and had to watch helplessly as the top layer of my chocolate cake slid - in slow-motion- off the bottom layer, while the gorgeous summer fruits that had adorned it so prettily plopped onto the table. It was just like that scene in Titanic, only I wasn't playing the violin.<br />
<br />
And when the baking becomes a bit of a chore, writing about it does as well.<br />
<br />
I was kind of wondering if it was going to become a chronic condition or whether the first glimpses of Autumn might brighten my mood, and send me back to the hand-mixer with renewed vigor. But what actually did it in the end was a massive pile of freshly-picked, juicy blackberries.<br />
<br />
Mark was in south Wales last weekend, and foraged a huge quantity of this most heavenly of berries from his mum's garden, delivering them to me in a giant plastic container. They were already ripe, and I needed to use them quickly before they went too <i>meh</i>.<br />
<br />
So yesterday afternoon I set to work, and in much the same way as those posh chefs always insist on cooking a piece of pork or whatever '3 ways', I decided that it would be churlish to employ the fruit in only one dish. I settled on a yummy apple, blackberry frangipane tart, topped with shaved almonds, and a simple apple and blackberry crumble, replacing half the flour with oats in the topping, adding some cinnamon and liberally sprinkling the fruit with lots of soft brown sugar so that it would go all caramel-y.<br />
<br />
The 'third' option was some really moorish blackberry friands with star anise (I actually made these a few weeks ago for a family 'do', but I'm warming to the three-ways theme, so forgive me for the slight poetic license). It was an Ottolenghi recipe from absolutely ages ago, and mainly came about because I had a ton of frozen egg-whites and was trawling the internet looking for ideas on how I could put them to good use. The recipe requires 10, which would have created a lot of redundant yolks. The little treats were delicious - very light and moist - and the spike of star anise really bought something to the party. It also gave me a good excuse to use my new mini-loaf tin, and although I may not have been literally <i>cancelling appointments</i> in order not to miss the delivery, I was nonetheless very happy to receive it. The friands are pictured at the top of this post.<br />
<br />
I've reprinted the recipe below, because having un-earthed it, it would be mean not to share the love.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgcgMEnDMRcrWgh4GoBkeKDNhWhqZa21-b6qDlB1qH2025aBDfdVGnD1-jJ0oFKTDOmAXYF4Si_pNLGuyiE71uKDJLNd9yzRjHqWVnwhSSU2XCOJxcoWrYjyR4ujuW-hRl0VKRhZElMo/s1600/20130918_181158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgcgMEnDMRcrWgh4GoBkeKDNhWhqZa21-b6qDlB1qH2025aBDfdVGnD1-jJ0oFKTDOmAXYF4Si_pNLGuyiE71uKDJLNd9yzRjHqWVnwhSSU2XCOJxcoWrYjyR4ujuW-hRl0VKRhZElMo/s200/20130918_181158.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple blackberry frangipane tart</td></tr>
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<h3>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="blackberry-and-star-anise-friands">Blackberry and star anise friands</a></h3>
<b>340g egg whites (10 egg whites)</b><br />
<b>100g plain flour</b><br />
<b>300g icing sugar</b><br />
<b>180g ground almonds</b><br />
<b>2 tsp star anise, finely ground</b><br />
<b>⅓ tsp salt</b><br />
<b>Grated zest of ½ lemon</b><br />
<b>220g unsalted butter, melted and left to cool, plus extra for greasing </b><br />
<b>150g blackberries</b><br />
For the icing (optional)<br />
<b>70g blackberries, plus 10 extra, to garnish</b><br />
<b>2 tbsp water</b><br />
<b>300g icing sugar, plus extra to dust</b><br />
<br />
Heat
the oven to 170C/335F/gas mark 3. Use melted butter to brush the
bottoms and sides of 10 mini loaf tins (4.5cm high x 9.5cm long x 6.5cm
wide), or similar small <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/baking" title="More from guardian.co.uk on Baking">baking</a>
tins, and chill. Put the egg whites in a large bowl and whisk to froth
them up a bit; don't whip them completely. Sift the flour, icing sugar,
ground almonds, star anise and salt, add to the egg whites and stir
until incorporated. Add the lemon zest and melted butter, and mix just
until the batter is smooth and uniform.<br />
Pour into the baking tins,
filling them two-thirds of the way up. Halve the blackberries and drop
into the batter. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until a skewer comes out
clean. Remove from the oven, leave to cool a little, take out of the
tins and leave until completely cool.<br />
To ice the cakes, put the berries and water in a small bowl and use a fork to smash the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/fruit" title="More from guardian.co.uk on Fruit">fruit</a>
in the water. Pass through a fine sieve, pressing the pulp against the
sides. Pour three-quarters of the purple juice over the icing sugar and
whisk vigorously to a uniformly light-purple, runny paste. It should be
just thick enough to allow you to brush it over the tops of the cakes,
and will set as a thin, almost see-through coating on top with some
icing dripping down the sides. (If not, add more juice.) Place a
blackberry on each friand and dust with icing sugar.<br />
<br />
So high-five for blackberries. They really are a divine and underrated little fruit, and have made a tremendous contribution to my mojo bursting open the airing cupboard door and announcing to the world that I'm Back! And after all...you've got to have friands*.<br />
<br />
*Sorry. Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-42741815826867413302013-01-20T13:27:00.001-08:002013-01-22T11:42:11.565-08:00My baking resolutions.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFwO0LG0xPD9wOqrzCfCXvrKwQvAHx7_jp2JBA49T2da1J5p2qAieiREOhAcCBAMQgO26wv1HfNDOibtwx5xGuaEYgXUxFe-c0XXn3ilzX7kHwbHb1X-S-Jn4tOslZ5lSFB3fiepe3sM/s1600/243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFwO0LG0xPD9wOqrzCfCXvrKwQvAHx7_jp2JBA49T2da1J5p2qAieiREOhAcCBAMQgO26wv1HfNDOibtwx5xGuaEYgXUxFe-c0XXn3ilzX7kHwbHb1X-S-Jn4tOslZ5lSFB3fiepe3sM/s320/243.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Well, that was a somewhat mad, manic and unexpectedly busy end to 2012.<br />
<br />
Several Sundays spent shivering on Portobello Road, attempting to flog 'Christmas' flapjacks to tourists (they had orange peel and treacle in them, so I felt justified in labelling them accordingly); making mounds of cupcakes (yes I know, but in business one cannot afford to allow ones own personal preferences - or prejudices for that matter - cloud ones judgement); preparing nine Victoria sponges for a wedding, including one massive four-tiered job (for which I made my own strawberry jam - a first); and then finally, as the festive season hit its peak, I sold mince pies and delicious spicy butterscotch brownies to very merry revellers at the Guilty Pleasures screening of Bad Santa at the gorgeous Troxi Cinema in east London. Sharing the love with various elves, Christmas trees and glitter-strewn fairies was a privilege indeed. <br />
<br />
But now it's 2013, which seems a little weird and implausible and I need to really focus on what baking challenges lie ahead. The problem with making loads of cakes to sell, is that it necessitates being much more sensible about managing one,s time, and hours spent just arsing about in the kitchen experimenting and becoming half-hysterical at terrible mishaps, pretty much cease. I feel quite nostalgic for whole mornings spent on soggy macaroons or ill-risen hot-cross buns. Toiling over a tray of delicate little praline pastries, when most of them refuse to be shoe-horned from their tin and are therefore rendered useless, is a luxury I simply can't afford. So really, truly my <i>MAIN</i> resolution for 2013 is to start having fun again.<br />
<br />
But there are other issues that require urgent attention:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGA0Qp087RVNQWnhU8Dwz7RVjC_WEyrf-CTRa0neRpbfkES7mWfr0qRLxcZUEqLN4wR6s_yK3wcyMGfhVnzjTXrOcOsFINqAxvTyDnMSW3sThncnMTLr-7DVp4TLtdslkxstkYli0cyMw/s1600/248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGA0Qp087RVNQWnhU8Dwz7RVjC_WEyrf-CTRa0neRpbfkES7mWfr0qRLxcZUEqLN4wR6s_yK3wcyMGfhVnzjTXrOcOsFINqAxvTyDnMSW3sThncnMTLr-7DVp4TLtdslkxstkYli0cyMw/s320/248.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Granola tart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>Piping skills - we are not talking here about that particular talent for mixing icing to a precise consistency and filling a plastic bag, but shop-bought Writing Icing - the sort that comes in little user-friendly tubes, that can be handed to small children in order to decorate fairy cakes. I'm envious of the efforts of the least accomplished home-baker, who can make a passable attempt at writing someone's name atop a cake. God knows I'm not comparing myself to the professional patisserie chefs, spending hours in the kitchens of Konditer and Cook, or Maison Blanc, inscribing the monikers of lucky recipients to decorous perfection. I've always made out that I sort of<i> intend </i>it to look a little bit amateurish - a touch of Keith Haring, a dash of urban graffiti...but the truth is, I don't WANT Jackson Pollock adorning my cakes! How many chocolate cakes have I ruined at the 11th hour with childish scribble? It's the nerves. </li>
<li>Right now, dear readers, I view this blog as a kind of confession booth, where I'm sitting in the half-light facing the shadowy figure of Dan Lepard or Mary Berry, revealing with excruciating candour my darkest secrets - the stuff that stops me from sleeping at night. So my second resolution is to take the 'oops' out of my pastry. I mean, it's improved, there is no doubt about that. I have more or less settled on a ratio of flour, butter, icing sugar and egg that is pretty much foolproof. But just before Christmas, I was making some mince pies, and rolled out the pastry only for it to virtually disintegrate beneath the pin. It had the consistency of a face pack. I finally managed to create vaguely pie-shaped receptacles out of it, employing a method last used whilst making a play-doh dinner service 40 years ago. But they were ridiculously over- flaky once finished, and full of holes through which the mince escaped. This is basic stuff that shouldn't happen anymore. I must sort it out.</li>
<li>I need to stop being stubborn about lining cake tins. I have so far snubbed the pre-bought cake liner, in favour of the laborious and time-consuming act of cutting the baking paper to size and sliding it in place with lashings of melted butter. It's more of an aesthetic thing, really - I <i>like</i> the appearance of golden crumbs of banana bread stuck to a big greaseproof rectangle, rather than those symmetrical little ridges. But in fairness, I can't really explain my resistance to using silicone baking utensils. I guess I just don't trust them. However, I have succumbed to using a plastic sheet for my biscuits, which I suppose is some kind of progress. I know we're not exactly talking the industrial revolution here, but it's a start.</li>
<li>I must use shortcuts less guiltily. Although Delia took the concept way too far: tinned stewed beef? Eugh. But for me, other than the aforementioned lazy Writing Icing option, I will always take the long road; stewing fruit from scratch, garrotting nuts with a half-blunt knife, melting butter in a pan rather than the microwave, grinding spices in the heaviest mortar ever - nothing to do with the quality of results really, but it makes me feel better having toiled, laboured and possibly chopped half a finger off in the process. And it doesn't matter how many times Nigella or her kind tell me that shop-bought puff pastry is completely passable, I will <i>never</i> go there. And I doubt if I will ever invest in a sexy free-standing mixer either, preferring the more labour intensive hand-held variety. This, despite developing a rather worrying vibrating arm in recent weeks. I wonder if I could sue Kenwood?</li>
</ul>
So back to having fun. At the beginning of the month, the kids, Mark and I spent a Sunday with our friends Lou and Wol, and were charged with providing the pudding. Weary from my December labours, I considered nipping to M&S to purchase, but then decided to put one of several Panettone's acquired over the festivities to good use. So with a quick glance at what I had lying around the kitchen, I set about cutting it into fat strips, making some creamy vanilla custard into which I plopped the slices until they were sodden, then pushing them carelessly into an oven dish, dousing the whole thing in rum, scattering plump raisins over the top of it and shoving it in the oven. It was like a slightly devilish eggy-bread (it's pictured at the top of this post). Free-styling like this was a truly joyful experience, and so was eating it. A few days later I made a milk tart topped with homemade granola, which Eli had been nagging me to bake again for months. It was a Dan Lepard recipe from ages ago, and we ate it - just the four of us - for breakfast and dessert for a good few days, adding a generous dollop of squirty cream if we wanted it to be a bit more fancy.<br />
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/oct/16/granola-milk-tart-recipe-lepard.<br />
<br />
Mmmm, just for the hell of it.<br />
<br />
<ul>
</ul>
Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-87367689420295128962012-11-09T14:55:00.000-08:002012-11-10T10:29:36.560-08:00Loafing about.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PE5P-qG_toK0tRkITNl-W6bn-T6dVi2gbXacdZHLPegYLErCO50SSrvx3vcS76H6QAb2T0AjYbIH9ZywTwHvbst49ADH8EMsDl_l5WVb3xA09PB1nZBBHuP-DSy-e76RFo7VauRnfhE/s1600/072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PE5P-qG_toK0tRkITNl-W6bn-T6dVi2gbXacdZHLPegYLErCO50SSrvx3vcS76H6QAb2T0AjYbIH9ZywTwHvbst49ADH8EMsDl_l5WVb3xA09PB1nZBBHuP-DSy-e76RFo7VauRnfhE/s400/072.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Season of mists and mellow fruit. I bloody <i>love</i> the autumn, I do! I love the way the sunshine turns from that hazy, humid summer heat to being bright and crisp and, I know it's a cliche, but really; crunching russet-coloured leaves underfoot is as wondrous today as it was in childhood.<br />
<br />
For me, nothing is more appropriate for the autumn than a loaf cake. It is the very embodiment of this season, if that makes any sense at all, somehow being both comforting and curiously exciting in equal measure. Sometimes its ingredients remain a mystery until bitten. The nuts and fruit are often undetectable at first glance, only revealing themselves once the first slice is cut. And of course, autumnal apples, pears and plums are superb in them. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXUB7upDJt-pd_A3GSltFvJ-k-4RG9cVQ8kDhG_TGHI-VqLah6i-okbKFPlIupz_KN8sNYmWEuaztdm_3BHZ-oCGuIBPE-gJglsYUEh6rE_5MDh6obXw9LNXtJs8Jbu6vkZL5B0fnUTs/s1600/Urban+cakes+sept%2712+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXUB7upDJt-pd_A3GSltFvJ-k-4RG9cVQ8kDhG_TGHI-VqLah6i-okbKFPlIupz_KN8sNYmWEuaztdm_3BHZ-oCGuIBPE-gJglsYUEh6rE_5MDh6obXw9LNXtJs8Jbu6vkZL5B0fnUTs/s200/Urban+cakes+sept%2712+021.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
In nearly all cases, I will choose a loaf cake over almost anything else - both to make and eat. If I'm treating myself in a coffee shop, my loaf cake radar will be quivering dangerously over the counter. My lemon drizzle is always loaf-shaped - I just can't imagine making a round one. The joy of a loaf cake is its innate simplicity. To dress it up or disguise it with frosting, is somehow apologising for its very existence. I was once rightly reprimanded by an admirer of my banana bread, for spreading a layer of cream cheese and honey icing over the top of it. It was a moment of weakness that I don't intend to repeat. The cake is just fine by itself - groaning with walnuts and plump sultanas and reeking of overripe banana.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb6dCypXPIqKH5GevCDQ_ScPdY6zP5tY4lKwXWUXjEAvBTRcGpUqTosfvzSQN_3af3LMkIKOc8K5yFBFjxjA-Ku0GeVIVR0sAbnE0RjmSQA1qaGRus0ttjel9DWWdDZ-4IQOfrrtMVjEk/s1600/29jan2011+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb6dCypXPIqKH5GevCDQ_ScPdY6zP5tY4lKwXWUXjEAvBTRcGpUqTosfvzSQN_3af3LMkIKOc8K5yFBFjxjA-Ku0GeVIVR0sAbnE0RjmSQA1qaGRus0ttjel9DWWdDZ-4IQOfrrtMVjEk/s200/29jan2011+029.jpg" width="200" /></a>Now that I am so frequently baking to order, recreational cake-making is a rare event - it's a sad state of affairs really, as I have about a million exciting recipes that I'm dying to try, printed off the internet, torn out of papers and magazines, or hand-written on the backs of envelopes. They are kept in a scruffy folder in the dreaded 'kitchen drawer', and whenever I open it, it scowls at me mockingly, peeping up between the scraggy bits of string, Ikea tape measures, felt pens that ran out of ink in 1992 and broken remote controls, their batteries long since removed in order to power some other electronic device. But when this recipe for an orange walnut loaf cake (pictured at the top of this post) appeared in the paper the other day, how could I possibly resist?<cite> </cite><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/series/howtobake">www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/series/howtobak<cite><b>e</b></cite></a><cite></cite> So yes - I made it and ate it, pretty much by myself, slice by slice over the course of a week, each time with a steaming mug of tea and The Archers. And that's another really wonderful thing about loaf cakes: wrap them well, shove them in a sealed container and they will improve beautifully with age.<br />
<br />
A little like those crisp autumn leaves. <br />
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<br />Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-61694956561234492382012-07-16T07:20:00.040-07:002012-07-17T14:18:49.740-07:00Quit stalling<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtD1xPuNHQMEVp5zLWjeT1GehqLXohQSCRB0BCsFMPxlT4uV62nZT2wtbVDkdJgQIRwqi0iqpSe5Uh_gSKOE_VsJ-kfhFkvouU0MG0pyhoSL-NhADbfrUVJkfVmVv7Xpw8BKcIG1_VY0c/s1600/159.jpg"><span><span></span></span></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsZSlwWL6Ez3CwYQzEh9KOX4Rs3CEyEQW-3uSq2SzVeXa4P5wrq0KuUEv3XQxOFiFzsvy5ke7pG45UK5acQhi2KG_tz67zRFtS9ATZ6bSzLLCZJCy7H7pnMuby9KqiaLYy9x88sdfVL8/s1600/148.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 498px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsZSlwWL6Ez3CwYQzEh9KOX4Rs3CEyEQW-3uSq2SzVeXa4P5wrq0KuUEv3XQxOFiFzsvy5ke7pG45UK5acQhi2KG_tz67zRFtS9ATZ6bSzLLCZJCy7H7pnMuby9KqiaLYy9x88sdfVL8/s320/148.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5765772457981497330" border="0" /></a><br />A few weeks ago, I took part in a London-wide scheme called Love Your Local Market, in which new businesses were offered market pitches at a reduced rate to promote their wares and get some useful experience and feedback. As I do indeed love my local market, which happens to be the one on Portobello Road, I applied and therefore found myself selling cakes along this hallow'd stretch, and then on Golborne Rd around the corner, a couple of days later.<br /><br />This was a massively big deal for me because my association with this particular neighbourhood goes back a long way and has provided some of my most evocative memories, and enduring influences; I first discovered it aged about fourteen, when me and my best friend Abigail had become mildly obsessed with the 1950's (a standard teenage thing, I think. Were there ever more glamorous corpses than those of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean?) Brick Lane was fantastic for kitsch homeware - Flying Ducks and vases adorned with Miro-esque abstract patterns were in abundance. But nowhere beat Portobello's covered market under the Westway for Hawaiian shirts, dresses with cinched waists and huge skirts, and mad gold stillettos - not 'vintage' back then, merely second-hand. But the biggest lure was Mr Waxy's record stall - a mecca for anyone who, like me, loved Doo-wop, Phil Spector and vocal groups such as The Platters and Smoky Robinson and The Miracles. I got my original 7" copy of The Wanderers by Dion and The Belmonts there, together with many less illustrious (and cheaper) discs. A visit to Portobello always ended with a trip to Ceres (now the Grain Store) for a slice of wholewheat pizza sold off a stall on the street in front of the shop. Mr Waxy is of course long gone, but the place still has a strong pull on me, and the idea of trading there myself made me feel quite misty-eyed.<br /><br />With little time to prepare (I was only given my dates a week or so before-hand), I needed to get myself organised. I frantically ordered brown paper bags and cake boxes off the internet, and much to my tremendous delight, became the proud owner of an Urban Cakes stamp. Anyone of my generation will remember the unique joy of the toy post office set: I think this is where my love of stamping things probably started. My sister Joanna reminded me recently that we also created our own library at home, putting cards in the front of all our book<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXziOTZGs8Qgapj3SVruI-VcxMtG_cvht6REPSLysaNdN0vZRVVZNe6WvBiMCWo7gRPtXG4yefbPIbvnT5k5o0mFbqTeFIsg_SvCrc6VMDpdVzmbkojpJ-_Ojo1U2f_kNrlTl6O7ypJwo/s1600/147.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 112px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXziOTZGs8Qgapj3SVruI-VcxMtG_cvht6REPSLysaNdN0vZRVVZNe6WvBiMCWo7gRPtXG4yefbPIbvnT5k5o0mFbqTeFIsg_SvCrc6VMDpdVzmbkojpJ-_Ojo1U2f_kNrlTl6O7ypJwo/s200/147.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5766118241978766914" border="0" /></a>s and <span style="font-style: italic;">stamping</span> the date on them when they were returned (presumably by us, to us!) Miniature shop sets were also a joy - tiny plastic replicas of Heinz baked beans and Birds custard, with the authentic packaging. It seems that it was perfectly acceptable in those childhood days, to have no loftier a career plan than to be a shop-keeper, bus conductor, or someone who worked in a post office.<br /><br />I'm not proud to admit that I became somewhat territorial with my Urban Cakes stamp, bristling with irritation when the kids asked for a turn, and snapping that they had applied too much pressure, or not enough. '<span style="font-style: italic;">I want it grainy, I want it grainy!</span>'. I was clearly the only person who could achieve the required inky perfection.<br /><br />So having got my stationery sorted, I turned my thoughts to the cakes themselves. It would have been churlish not to include a lemon drizzle, or Tahini flapjacks. Due to their popularity in various cafe's, these seem to have become my signature products, along with banana bread. However, I fancied making that droolsome squash cake with honey and orange syrup instead of the banana bread (I've overdosed on them lately), and added to these staples my new favourite brownies - made with nearly-burnt butter and cocoa, a chocolate cake adorned with summer fruit, some gluten-free walnut cookies, a cherry and polenta tart (I've eulogised about this in previous entries, I'm sure), a batch of buttery blueberry crumble muffins, and some savoury ones, in case anyone happened to be passing by around lunchtime. Best of all, a small but perfectly formed tray of white chocolate raspberry tarts (pictured above). This array necessitated many hours standing in the kitchen, stooping over bowls and peering into ovens, and my back and neck really felt it. No wonder chefs are so grumpy.<br /><br />The whole thing was an invaluable lesson, I have to say. The weather was hideous (don't even get me started on this so-called summer), and as someone who has managed to avoid camping for most of their life, attempting to cover my stall, single-handedly, with a hired tarpaulin under the rueful gaze of several other not-terribly-helpful market traders, was not a high point. The endless rain meant that there weren't many people out just wandering around. And I've honestly given up trying to second-guess what customers are actually going to buy, as there has been very little consistency with any of the events where I've sold cakes. But I can more or less guarantee that I'll be out of chocolate cake by the end of the day wherever I happen to be, which proves something I guess about the allure of it. And I had pretty much sold out of everything by the end of the second day, though I have to admit that my sales were enhanced by the generosity of various friends and family who came down to show their support (and were good-humoured about my refusal to provide a discount.) I was struck by how polite tourists are (several came back in order to tell me how much they had enjoyed their purchases) and how cake, in all its spongy, sugary, moist glory, can herald the most interesting of conversations. Well, to me anyway.<br /><br />Quite a few north Kensington locals seemed to approve, and inquired about the likelihood of Urban Cakes becoming a permanent fixture. I'm hoping so, because a bit like giving birth, when you insist (using many expletives) that you will <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> EVER put yourself through such an ordeal again, moments later you are idly wondering when you can repeat the experience because it really wasn't <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> bad, was it?Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-32925863745426726912012-04-20T08:22:00.026-07:002012-05-07T03:56:35.163-07:00Savouring the savouries<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SdXrUJ8pe9I58Ny7Bl-9fWR0G8UuYwaZ17w4I0GUsWxlOWk0Euzh2v66cbUxaPpku1DEaMPAYqmg_bscdUHRl437hlbOfm0qO09fEAygopgj_F8GIsv-QK12e-u0X64E5zeoZQ1Lpp8/s1600/Gruyere+tart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SdXrUJ8pe9I58Ny7Bl-9fWR0G8UuYwaZ17w4I0GUsWxlOWk0Euzh2v66cbUxaPpku1DEaMPAYqmg_bscdUHRl437hlbOfm0qO09fEAygopgj_F8GIsv-QK12e-u0X64E5zeoZQ1Lpp8/s400/Gruyere+tart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5738704510359053394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Before I commence with this post - which is concerned with my new-found passion for savoury bakes - I must add a brief addendum to my last blog entry; I seem to remember discussing with great confidence my macaroon adventure at Leith's Cookery School. I even posted a photo of several healthy-looking pastel-hued meringue discs laid neatly upon a tray to illustrate it. I might have been ever so slightly smug about it.<br /><br />Well, to the right here you will see what happened when I attempted to make them at home. A catastrophe. So much went wrong that it is barely worth raking over the details. And thankfully, enough time has elapsed now for me to no longer reach for the Prozac at the memory of it. Suffice to say though: <span style="font-style: italic;"> Never</span> try and judge the temperature of a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8owh8gNANZtpiBdv5-b3dnz5KI-HpGtTuxtSL-LIikNDIGpqwJBnsXnMwhBhtX_blsy9Z2lldFv0cgNQdhiZO132rUW8F_1twFw7rKdQXZODvOCXu5_jt2NBq2R8EH8xlKcIegmq0-U/s1600/19022012421.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8owh8gNANZtpiBdv5-b3dnz5KI-HpGtTuxtSL-LIikNDIGpqwJBnsXnMwhBhtX_blsy9Z2lldFv0cgNQdhiZO132rUW8F_1twFw7rKdQXZODvOCXu5_jt2NBq2R8EH8xlKcIegmq0-U/s200/19022012421.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5738704397249863682" border="0" /></a>sugar syrup for use in an Italian meringue by staring at it and waving your hand over the pan to see how hot it feels - you need the necessary equipment; <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> mix the almond and egg-white for around half the allotted time that you were CATEGORICALLY told it would take to get it right. And <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> try and squeeze the macaroon mixture out onto the tray through a piping bag with a nozzle that an emaciated ant would struggle to crawl through.<br /><br />There is a lesson in here somewhere, though. Learned the hard way, but learned nonetheless: Stick to what you're good at. Know your style, and be true to yourself. If not in life, at the very least when you're making cakes.<br /><br />Which brings me back - with a huge sigh of relief - to muffins and tarts.<br /><br />The words Savoury and Cake, when fused together, produce something of an oxymoron in my mind. I've experimented with the concept quite often with varying results; Ottolenghi's Gruyere and Rosemary loaf cake was delicious, though I'd almost put it in the bread category, as it worked best with a dollop of butter. I tried a few savoury muffins from my go-to muffin recipe book for the Christmas Oakstock market in Harlesden that I sell at once a month. They sounded great on paper - Brie, red onion and fig, and pear, date and Stilton, but were less successful than expected, and a bit stodgy. In theory, muffin batter is a great enabler for most fillings and toppings, but getting the balance right is still a challenge. I can state here and now that I will <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> be labouring over a smoked mackerel, courgette, tomato, olive and basil muffin as recommended in one recipe book. Uh-uh. No way.<br /><br />And as for savoury cakes. One of my favourite people in the world, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall devoted a whole Guardian column a few months back, to the joy of them, but I remain unconvinced. There is something not quite right about a 20cm round cake with bits of pepper and tomato in it. For me, you see something shaped like a cake and you expect to eat something that tastes like a cake as well . I'm all for a bit of experimentation, and regularly use butternut squash, beetroot and various other root veg in my baking, but that is much more a textural thing, plus the obvious advantage of reducing the calorie count. I just don't like any kind of food that talks in riddles. (The whole concept of molecular cooking is revolting to me. I would rather eat an apple, than a green shiny orb that has been conjured up in some kind of kitchen laboratory to taste like an apple. What in God's name is the point of that?)<br /><br />Last month I was selling at a private view for an art show in Willesden <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.harlesdengallery.co.uk">(www.harlesdengallery.co.uk)</a>. Gabriel, who runs the gallery, suggested that as most of the attendees would be arriving straight from work, it might be worth having something more supper-like on offer to satiate their early evening hunger. So with this in mind, I pulled out a few ideas that I thought would fit the bill - carrot, spinach and cumin muffins, a Gruyere and onion tart with a caraway seed crust (pictured above) and some courgette and Mozzarella frittata-style muffins (all in addition to the usual chocolate cakes, brownies etc. I'm not <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> fickle)<br /><br />They were great fun to make, though the endless peeling, chopping and sauteing of various vegetables was more like preparing dinner for the kids and was quite knackering. But the smells emanating from the oven were glorious, and the results were absolutely yummy. The response was great too - lots to think about when I finally get around to getting my regular pitch organised. I would add to this burgeoning repertoire the spicy blackened corn and polenta muffins that I make quite often - an Ottolenghi recipe again, and really special.<br /><br />It's a weird one, this. I'm not a confident cook, and have always made a rather mercenary point of ensuring that I share my home with someone who would feed me well - be it boyfriends, roomies or lodgers (one of them probably over-stayed his welcome by about a year, due to his astonishingly good spaghetti vongole). So when I venture out of my comfort zone, I pay slavish attention to whichever recipe I'm using having little confidence in my own ability to judge the balance of flavours by instinct. But somehow incorporating main-course ingredients into my baking doesn't make it seem nearly so scary, and frankly I'm feeling rather inspired. I'm perving over as many interesting meat and veg combo's these days, as I am nuts and chocolate.<br /><br />So easy too. Here's those carrot, spinach and cumin muffins:<br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jun/05/savoury-muffin-recipes-fearnley-whittingstall"><cite></cite></a><a>http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jun/05/savoury-muffin-recipes-fearnley-whittingstall</a><br /><br />It's probably just a phase though, because licking the bowl is nowhere near the rewarding experience that it is when there's butter, sugar and vanilla involved...Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-41989528013580734792012-02-01T06:09:00.000-08:002012-02-09T09:30:13.685-08:00Get A Macaroon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3icpO1hinOi6KqZsFks9HCVLRIXtYJAXWBXrGzX9zqskcYmq6mKHz0sLQ_pTaAfrSsBayhsA4cnGX4c_PGqTIiHP6E0biV-3DnJsbTj34boYv5ZQ1hDGHhgZfczOMa3ICJVDP3An4c1Q/s1600/169.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3icpO1hinOi6KqZsFks9HCVLRIXtYJAXWBXrGzX9zqskcYmq6mKHz0sLQ_pTaAfrSsBayhsA4cnGX4c_PGqTIiHP6E0biV-3DnJsbTj34boYv5ZQ1hDGHhgZfczOMa3ICJVDP3An4c1Q/s320/169.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704170615047194594" border="0" /></a>A few weeks ago I went on another cookery course, this time at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Leiths</span> and once again a present from my lovely friends.<br /><br />I eschewed the classes that might have been more obvious for me; opportunities to practice some great classic cake recipes or further hone my pastry skills (though I'm still feeling slightly smug about my mince pie marathon over Christmas), and went instead for a masterclass in the fine - and frankly terrifying - art of Macaroons and Meringues. I had a pretty good idea that the steady hand, faultless judgement and overall finesse required to produce the dainty little circles would be extremely challenging for me, and force me, kicking and screaming, out of my comfort zone.<br /><br />Now I should point out that I don't especially like those French macaroons - I admit that they're aesthetically pleasing, but they're somewhere up there with cupcakes in my pantheon of baked goods that represent something sinister and disingenuous. For me, a proper macaroon is one of those lovely, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">almondy</span> cracked biscuits with a flimsy sliver of rice paper glued to their underside, and a single glazed almond pushed into their centre. My grandmother used to get them for us when we were kids, and they had the dubious distinction of being one of the few biscuits, other than <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Jaffa</span> Cakes, that my sister would give a passing thought too (although she always ditched the nut).<br /><br />But piled high in the window of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Laduree</span> on London's Burlington Arcade, in their candy shades of pink, green and yellow, I concede is an awesome sight.<br /><br />I was concerned that this course might attract the kind of home baker who I have little in common with: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Stepford</span>-style mummies, who have been speed-balling on cupcake frosting for the last couple of years and are ready to move onto the hard stuff. Those competitive types, the scourge of the school cake-sale, who theme their kids' parties and probably spend hour upon hour piping Happy Birthday on to scraps of parchment (teeth clenched with the stress of it all) in various rainbow hues, to perfect their craft. In other words, women who make me feel hopelessly inadequate, especially in the icing department.<br /><br />But I was pleasantly surprised that this wasn't the case, and to find myself partnered with a French guy called Herve, who turned out to be a very good person to work with, mainly because he was totally <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">unflustered</span>, very tidy and extremely magnanimous in sharing the glory of his perfect macaroons with me!<br /><br />The day started with a demonstration from our tutor for the day - a reassuringly rotund patisserie chef, whose name I can't quite remember though it sounded like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Wasabi</span>. Now I love a good demo, and this one was great - I spent the whole time excitedly scribbling notes to myself like HUGE METAL SPOON! SMALLER BEATERS? DON'T <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">OVERMIX</span>!! Etc. Of course, reading it back later in the comparative calm of my own kitchen, it sounded more like the lyrics to a Joni Mitchell song, but I managed to remember most of the salient points.<br /><br />For the macaroons, we were taught to use the Italian meringue method, which involves adding a boiling sugar syrup to the egg whites - this apparently helps the meringue to hold its shape, and keep longer before baking. This sturdy mixture is then folded into the almond paste and is ready for any personal touches that you might fancy; colouring (ours were yellow and raspberry pink), and a dab of flavour, such as rose water or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">framboise</span>, or much more up my street - some coffee, chocolate or pistachio.<br /><br />This is the point at which one is required to neatly pipe small circles of the mixture onto a prepared baking sheet - preferably marked in pencil to ensure perfect unity. Whilst Herve deftly filled his icing bag, I found myself having a full-scale battle with bag, spatula, scissors and icing nib. I issued so many <span style="font-style: italic;">very bad</span> expletives during this exercise, that I thought I might be sent out of the room. And when I had finally regained some control and composure, I managed to pipe them all too closely therefore creating great long necklaces of pink meringue goo. The second tray was more successful and the finished result was actually pretty good for an early attempt.<br /><br />We sandwiched our macaroons together with either raspberry <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">buttercream</span> or a really yummy passion-fruit curd, and I was delighted to bring mine home and show them off to family and friends. I even admitted humbly that Herve's were the more perfect yellow ones. Mine were - um - a little more rustic in appearance.<br /><br />When I have another go at them - and I'm planning on it, soon - I'm going to try the ones in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Ottolenghi</span> book, as the flavours sound so great, and they're not as poncey as some of their counterparts. But the recipe below is Lorraine Pascale's, as it was apparently a slightly altered version of this one that we did on the course. Good luck. You'll need it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/macaroons_04669">www.bbc.co,uk/food/recipes/macaroons_04669</a>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-87945362845460767962011-12-14T07:02:00.000-08:002011-12-22T08:44:10.506-08:00A sight for sore mince pies.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOMBwerROkw-mFnbEYwolfVeoxQDrrF-AflgpqMk4_-1Y4MDU1c0lx4KXj-3_VdjOt8m40ZhWHC_4UFSv6LLgJORYMR-3s4JzY62XeMYmm5-ZQ_rTB7EtWFY9JTcnU6G_YlEDEFZOmF4/s1600/09122011301.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOMBwerROkw-mFnbEYwolfVeoxQDrrF-AflgpqMk4_-1Y4MDU1c0lx4KXj-3_VdjOt8m40ZhWHC_4UFSv6LLgJORYMR-3s4JzY62XeMYmm5-ZQ_rTB7EtWFY9JTcnU6G_YlEDEFZOmF4/s400/09122011301.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686021302194866706" border="0" /></a><br />For the last few weeks, I've been providing cakes to a little cafe which resides in a lovely shop called <a href="http://www.blogger.com/nomadbooks.co.uk">Nomad Books</a> in Fulham. This came about because my friend Jan - a great ambassador for Urban Cakes - was in there one day enjoying a very good cup of coffee, but with a pretty manky slice of carrot cake. She told them about me, so to cut a long story short (no bookshop pun intended), I've been shooting up there once a week laden with muffins, banana breads and flapjacks, and so far it seems to be going quite well.<br /><br />The other day, they asked me if I could supply them with mince pies to give out at a book signing that they were hosting. Without hesitation I said I would, despite the fact that I've never actually made one in my life. Mince pies occupy the same space in my baking arsenal as cheesecakes; I make a decent cheesecake, but concede happily that there are plenty who do them better, not least the Jewish delis who are unsurpassed as far as I'm concerned. And if I'm really honest, a stodgy Mr Kipling mince pie - washed down with a little snifter of Baileys - is something of a guilty pleasure on Christmas Eve.<br /><br />But I'm always up for a challenge, and wasn't about to let 50 of the buggers get the better of me. So after giving it some thought, I did what any self-respecting west Londoner would do faced with a similar dilemma: I called Eugene Manzi.<br /><br />Eugene is the Godfather of the mince pie. He starts assembling the ingredients for the filling around July, and prepares the mince so early that it's positively humming by the time its unveiled in December. But the recipe is a closely guarded Manzi family secret and, despite years of cunning attempts to extract it , I have never succeeded in breaking him. Believe me, this mincemeat is sensational and worth the effort. Last Christmas, Eugene gave me a big jar of it, assuming that I'd put it to good use in various seasonal offerings, and of course I<span style="font-style: italic;"> intended</span> to do this. But in truth - and I'm not proud of this - I stood at the kitchen counter late one night (probably having blubbed through It's a Wonderful Life or some such) and shoved most of it in my gob using a very lady-like teaspoon, which somehow made it seem slightly less gluttonous. It's what generally happens when there's Ben & Jerry's in the house as well; I'll meander by the open freezer door, and delicately spoon little shards of the cold ice-cream into my mouth until there is none left. Which is why it is banned from my life forever. But enough of my sordid confessions.<br /><br />Generously, and after after some very undignified begging on my part, Eugene agreed to give me a couple of jars as he felt that he <span style="font-style: italic;">just</span> had time to prepare some more before the festivities commence. So with a new-found confidence, realising at the very least that the filling would be really good, I set about finding a recipe that would lend itself to the volume that I had to prepare.<br /><br />I ended up resorting to my all-purpose pastry recipe - which only uses a tablespoon of icing sugar - as I feel that the filling is rich and sweet enough, and I made little stars of the lids. As you'll see from the snap, they really do look rather pretty. And it was actually a very useful exercise in pastry- making as I had to do several rounds, and found that the dough was better, more rollable and consistent with every batch (regular readers will know that pastry is my nemesis.)<br /><br />As it turned out, there was way more mincemeat than was necessary, so I'm going to do a whole lot more of the little beauties for Eli's birthday party this weekend. I've sort of got the hang of it now, and am really looking forward to cranking up the mince pie conveyor belt again.<br /><br />But no recipe to share this time, I'm afraid. Because if I gave it to you, I would have to kill you.Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-7785212024611577622011-10-11T12:35:00.000-07:002011-10-27T13:19:42.267-07:00Mmmmm.....moist.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA75l_4ymFb6xGZ3ad_dSiA9Mhh3uqnVkGJPyGpq33HSDtg_nvoVjj3vr6QXjSGEPqtzvFuRkmhVgXgJXwg_tC9s-SnVx2uOuac-cgCEx12BUoiUjujuUqnktw1vUtBU_PxtiLmC0rl0U/s1600/328.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA75l_4ymFb6xGZ3ad_dSiA9Mhh3uqnVkGJPyGpq33HSDtg_nvoVjj3vr6QXjSGEPqtzvFuRkmhVgXgJXwg_tC9s-SnVx2uOuac-cgCEx12BUoiUjujuUqnktw1vUtBU_PxtiLmC0rl0U/s320/328.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662326789629059122" border="0" /></a><br />One Christmas, when I was about 11, my fabulously eccentric German grandmother gave me a present which I'll never forget. For all the wrong reasons. It was Bill Maynard's autobiography, Yus my Dear (his catchphrase apparently.) To this day, I'm perplexed as to why she thought that I'd appreciate it, but I kept it of course, and every now and then would spot it on the bookshelf and experience once again, that same sense of wonder. Of all the books in all the world, why had she bought me the memoir of a third-rate comedian, whose minor TV shows I had never actually seen?<br /><br />I experience a similar feeling these days, when I taste a chocolate cake with a dry sponge. I just don't understand it. I fail to see how a recipe wasn't tweaked, the balance of ingredients altered, the batter experimented with, until moistness was achieved. There really is no excuse for it.<br /><br />In the last few weeks, I've made tons of chocolate cakes. One to sell at the Portobello Film Festival, another for the Oakstock Market, one for my neighbour for painting a wall, a birthday cake for the gorgeous and hugely appreciative 4-year- old Arthur, and several more besides. This was my light chocolate cake, the one that never fails to rise, the one that I can knock out in an hour or two and which always garners the highest praise. The one that is unfailingly MOIST. So by the time my nephew Stefan's big day came around, I was a little bored of it, and fancied a change. I've lost enthusiasm for the square cake that I talked about in my last post. Even though, with its liberal girth, it's fantastically practical for decorating purposes, flavour-wise it doesn't knock my socks off. So once again, it was Dan Lepard who provided the divine inspiration with his sour cream chocolate cake. For starters, those two words Sour and Cream will always make me a little misty-eyed. I love the stuff - I've used it copiously in cheesecakes and icing, and soaked poppy seeds in it overnight to use as the basis for a coffee cake. I love that it tastes delicate, slightly off-kilter and yet its as indulgent as the double variety. When I saw the recipe in the Guardian a few weeks ago, there was no possibility of<span style="font-style: italic;"> not</span> giving it a go.<br /><br />It was a joy to bake as well, everything mixing together just so. And the glossy ganache-like icing was - well, the icing on the cake I guess. It's pictured at the top of this page, and in all its moist glory on the right here. Despite the fact that many of the posher recipe books recommend 70%- and- over cocoa solids in <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIWH_rhN3HEzQTufAez4EpHvTWjKGPVZJ9Q-_YH7bIHSazyYpPV0RlLZZFfR2q2Yqa5YjtLnHsk-8b0QKGk_lqNp01y9fzxRshAwRpYOoUUFN9ade6zijQCGn9NuNMf069l1tYqsTdKc/s1600/332.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIWH_rhN3HEzQTufAez4EpHvTWjKGPVZJ9Q-_YH7bIHSazyYpPV0RlLZZFfR2q2Yqa5YjtLnHsk-8b0QKGk_lqNp01y9fzxRshAwRpYOoUUFN9ade6zijQCGn9NuNMf069l1tYqsTdKc/s320/332.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664924374400399618" border="0" /></a>the chocolate used, I dispute this. I prefer Sainsbury's own- brand fairtrade variety, which is around 52% and does the job just as well, if not better - I nearly always use it in my brownies and chocolate frosting, and may only concede that a higher cocoa volume be necessary if I'm making a torte, where the sheer amount of chocolate required makes the finished result more susceptible to the scrutiny of one's taste-buds.<br /><br />My cousin Xanthe made a sensational cake last weekend for her son's birthday. Apart from the fact that it was shaped like a number 9, and she had somehow managed to weld it on to the surface of one of his footie shirts (genius), it tasted great, and was wonderfully moist. She had used an American cupcake recipe and was extolling the considerable virtue of buttermilk as an ingredient in chocolate cake. I absolutely concur with her here - it appears in both my favourite recipes, and makes a massive difference to the texture, as well as diluting any surfeit of sweetness.<br /><br />I'm not a great one for short cuts; I usually prefer to take the more labour intensive route with virtually everything I do, if only to moan about it afterwards (yes, it's my Jewish genes rearing up once again). And nothing horrifies me more than when a TV 'chef' rolls out some shop-bought puff pastry with the cheeky assertion that it 'tastes just as good as if you do it yourself'. Pah to that! But I do admit that melting chocolate and butter in the pan really is a perfectly acceptable alternative to putting them in a bowl over barely boiling water. Unless it's white chocolate, in which case don't even go there: the bowl and steam routine has to occur for that (something to do with the added sugar, I'm guessing, but I'll leave the science bit to someone else who knows or cares.)<br /><br />So if you can feel a chocolate cake coming on, I'd absolutely give this one a whirl. Delicious. And delightfully moist. Or tell me it's your birthday, and I'll rustle one up for you myself.<br /><cite>www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/.../<b>sour</b>-<b>cream</b>-<b>chocolate</b>-cake-recip...</cite>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-33189488615884835682011-08-14T11:50:00.000-07:002011-08-21T11:43:52.194-07:00Let the bread rule your head<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHMSpOdMRicKMKvc-nS77_o2FUFclaBBw3g5z-CipN7NVQvlbf3Ppm0U7jMWVZxMv4b15XF_GBGGPrFQHknT798JxbW7ExjCie1TcsUKUh_dlFNOr3cUdlVjiaoWH109GHv2nudUUiDU/s1600/cakes+and+Mike%2527s+party%252711+008.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHMSpOdMRicKMKvc-nS77_o2FUFclaBBw3g5z-CipN7NVQvlbf3Ppm0U7jMWVZxMv4b15XF_GBGGPrFQHknT798JxbW7ExjCie1TcsUKUh_dlFNOr3cUdlVjiaoWH109GHv2nudUUiDU/s320/cakes+and+Mike%2527s+party%252711+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640788191222548706" border="0" /></a>
<br />I've had a very busy baking month, in which I have (amongst other things): sold cakes and cookies at a community event in Harlesden; made a commissioned birthday cake on which I had to replicate a Picasso-esque illustration of a man with two heads, using a sheet of marzipan and some writing icing; baked the most perfect carrot cake I've ever tasted, let alone had a hand in myself; upgraded my kitchen to include a new shiny stainless steel work surface, and a whole array of spice jar- sized shelves (thanks to Wyn); found a new, very evil chocolate cake recipe which I've been fine-tuning, and attended my second course, this time on bread making.
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<br />Once again, the tutor for the morning was Ghalid Assyb, my baking mentor. I admit that I sauntered into the demo kitchen rather over-confidently and had to stop myself from high-fiving Ghalid, or worse - air kissing him on both cheeks. But I wanted the other students to be under no doubt that I was his star-pupil - an artisan pastry-maker - and someone who had remained in contact with him on a regular basis by email and text. Yes, that's right. The poor man has been politely answering my endless questions, responding appropriately to random photographs of brownie batter that I've sent him and in a slightly desperate tone - acknowledging a picture of a semolina tart - exclaimed, 'Yes, that looks great, but <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm in Morocco</span>!' Rock stars get knickers thrown at them. Ghalid gets fuzzy cake pictures.
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<br />So back to the course. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRn92wye7m-Pjh9rKvwA9RoiWsGiDByQoHzYmgLtqVXSH6BrkLFMeEiPt_T5Zt-dE_EqmpYtKMMh6oPWgrirp6vVNKVQS6QogyTpQf5EFdee7_5FeLhK4IrTbitNzXEo68r73Vqi8FsRA/s1600/29jan2011+060.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRn92wye7m-Pjh9rKvwA9RoiWsGiDByQoHzYmgLtqVXSH6BrkLFMeEiPt_T5Zt-dE_EqmpYtKMMh6oPWgrirp6vVNKVQS6QogyTpQf5EFdee7_5FeLhK4IrTbitNzXEo68r73Vqi8FsRA/s200/29jan2011+060.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641201744879728242" border="0" /></a>It was wonderful, again. Light bulbs were flickering above my head every few minutes, as yet another revelatory tip was imparted; using dried yeast and not the quick sachet variety, keeping the mixture wet and sticky until the later stages of kneading, and my favourite - putting the dough in a barely warm oven - around 40C - to rise. Brilliantly effective. We were given the choice of making a classic granary loaf, cinnamon buns, foccacia or a chollah. I of course went for the last option, deciding that <span>not</span> to play the ethnic card would be churlish. And anyway, I LOVE chollah. The loaf that was made in class was perfection - big glossy knots of chewy, slightly sweet white bread.
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<br />We were given our barely risen dough to take home to finish, and it was here that I managed to bugger it up. Losing focus and rushing the process are no-no's, and I did both. I blame University Challenge. <span style="font-style: italic;">You</span> try plaiting strips of wet dough, while attempting to identify portraits of late 18th century philosophers (just say Kant repeatedly, and eventually you'll be right.) As a Facebook pal pointed out, it looked more like a loofah than a chollah (it's pictured above - bless). I also managed to ruin the cinnamon buns that I tried out a few days later - multi-tasking doesn't really work with yeast-based products. I got up at the crack of dawn, measured out the ingredients with eyes barely open, shoved the wet ingredients into the dry ones far too quickly, kneaded the sloppy mixture which covered my hands in a gloopy grey mush, and slapped a load more flour into it in an attempt to dry it out a little. I of course realised it wouldn't work but covered it and put it in the oven to rise anyway, then left the house for a morning run, hoping that when I returned the power <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GKS7GR0iaAsthxqrE45Yrrl4eeOZEg2xaAy_DlMvwfZwbwI_1a1wJvEY34ct4_d3e9UQX9rcvjH3Ex3Fgn_ACrhVpz_UeA5fjYH9ZHuYNuTkN68ulE4iOLpJiaYlAUNMQ7atpxr8N_I/s1600/29jan2011+076.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GKS7GR0iaAsthxqrE45Yrrl4eeOZEg2xaAy_DlMvwfZwbwI_1a1wJvEY34ct4_d3e9UQX9rcvjH3Ex3Fgn_ACrhVpz_UeA5fjYH9ZHuYNuTkN68ulE4iOLpJiaYlAUNMQ7atpxr8N_I/s200/29jan2011+076.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641202045728956178" border="0" /></a>of positive thought would have helped to transform it into something quite presentable. It hadn't. I doggedly continued though, fashioning the little buns and finishing with a slick of cream cheese and caster sugar brushed on whilst hot, as suggested by Ghalid. I actually thought they tasted quite nice, though there wasn't anything terribly bun-like about them. They were more like little tea cakes, as you will see in the snap. Oddly enough, considering how I usually chastise myself for baking failures, I didn't really mind too much on either of these occasions. The reason for my lack of success was obvious and will be easily remedied: more time, less hurry. It's when I can't quite figure out the problem that I become vexed.
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<br />My other significant baking event this month was adding a new chocolate cake to my repertoire. In order to pull off the Picasso moment, I needed something with a nice wide flat surface, and an icing that wasn't too fancy. So I scoured the internet and came up with this one. It is almost embarrassingly simple.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Very naughty square chocolate cake</span>
<br />For the cake - 250g self-raising flour, 250g soft brown sugar, 50g cocoa, 250g plain chocolate, 250g butter, 4 medium eggs.
<br />For the icing: 400g plain chocolate, 284ml single cream, 25g butter, 150g Icing sugar.
<br /><ol><li>Line the base and sides of a 20cm x 20cm square baking tin with parchment. Heat oven to 160c.</li><li>Mix the flour, sugar and cocoa in a bowl (I added another half teaspoon of baking powder)</li><li>Melt the chocolate and butter with 200ml of water in a pan, cool slightly before chucking it into the dry ingredients.</li><li>Add the eggs one at a time and beat it all up till there are no lumps.</li><li>Pour it into the tin and bake for about an hour, but check at regular intervals after about 50 mins to make sure it doesn't overcook. A skewer should come out pretty much clean though. Leave in the tin to cool.
<br /></li><li>To make the icing, melt the chocolate, cream and butter until smooth then cool to a spreadable consistency. Beat in the icing sugar to stiffen.</li><li>Cut the cake in half and spread the icing generously over the bottom half before sandwiching together and dolloping over the top and sides. Cool in the fridge until the icing's as firm as you want it. Dredge with cocoa powder before serving, or top with fresh summer fruit and a strainer-full of icing sugar as<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSpry_e4w7eu5lDiuyBHQ58paWhk7u_Dldwiecv4WDL60L6gj0jUUdlAPkxFkvzKFkXZZpA587XoZnoMigZENdRQsLecTfAzBDNsPwnvyT2De-FLJWvZeqk_JD7snF1726gMrhn-Vc4c/s1600/29jan2011+069.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSpry_e4w7eu5lDiuyBHQ58paWhk7u_Dldwiecv4WDL60L6gj0jUUdlAPkxFkvzKFkXZZpA587XoZnoMigZENdRQsLecTfAzBDNsPwnvyT2De-FLJWvZeqk_JD7snF1726gMrhn-Vc4c/s200/29jan2011+069.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641528107652648050" border="0" /></a> I did for my friend Simper's birthday (as seen here).</li></ol>Oh yeah...you might be wondering why there's a photo of a brownie at the top of this post. Well, just look at it. I rest my case.
<br />Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-2992999768054379482011-07-07T04:57:00.000-07:002011-07-20T05:35:55.220-07:00Back to school<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj7xpi5Ec4Q3EHzdLqvUN1HMLhRLHfKayOubzZvnytsad1K_scmIdn5m2IsVzs67L9_9PK4PhbRwdcb_FmUorUqi9B-izaJVQX41uA6gH_Nx9axW0Jd_6hjo15xfnIn5brlhyphenhyphenPX7ss_oE/s1600/29jan2011+038.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnG7MOyO-xR_2m5Kz9XmcVncsp99H0c_BWsHRgeL1n2A0h7_rDTWeUu-PKBbgDzn1SUfOAR6yIUxIDkdKEjVkWOM2b9eBKWLcKf7yP3AjyI4FZwFXVtYzFIJw7LSxfyQp6z7Y9osyVfWw/s1600/29jan2011+037.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheN1mOwdgQSIm9n8OTSD-4EzteY4Bao6eXIYeKyWVyKBXxtdlNCoCod1axjAF7nUy8uxwf_p2Oje8TGVxq8Uldtd3WwUyxr7s7DKn9ZK5BicOL0uA92yR39ha6D-DUNa63m3KU_KSLRjM/s1600/29jan2011+049.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheN1mOwdgQSIm9n8OTSD-4EzteY4Bao6eXIYeKyWVyKBXxtdlNCoCod1axjAF7nUy8uxwf_p2Oje8TGVxq8Uldtd3WwUyxr7s7DKn9ZK5BicOL0uA92yR39ha6D-DUNa63m3KU_KSLRjM/s320/29jan2011+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630716355712490466" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I've just attended a pastry course at the Cookery School in the West End. I have, on other posts, alluded to my fear of pastry. Despite several attempts - and some have been quite successful (those heavenly little lemon and poppy seed tartlets for example) - there is something worrying about a process that relies so heavily on the elements surrounding it; the heat of the palms of one's hands, the temperature of the water, the quantity of flour to put down on the surface to stop the dough from sticking (too much and it will impair the flavour.) I could go on and on. And yet, my appreciation of a perfectly turned-out pastry case has propelled me to try it again and again.<br /><br />So when my friend Rachelle bought me a voucher for a couple of courses as an incredibly thoughtful gift, my choices were immediate: pastry and bread - my two nemeses. When I arrived and clocked our teacher for the evening, I started feeling a wee bit giddy. I noticed that his name - displayed on a badge on his chefs' whites - was Ghalid, and I immediately thought of Ottolenghi and his renowned pastry chef...Ghalid Assyb. A man who actually has a <em>chocolate and chestnut</em> <em>bar named after him</em>. For me, this was like signing up for guitar lessons and discovering that your tutor is Jimi Hendrix. Yes, it's THAT BIG.<br /><br />At first Ghalid seemed genuinely chuffed at having such an admiring student on his course that evening. However, when I started excitedly reciting his recipe's back to him verbatim I could have sworn that I saw him backing away ever so slightly, and what could conceivably be described as a look of fear passed across his features. Still, I was enjoying being the nerdiest girl in the class - shooting my hand up at every available opportunity and relishing the moment when he instructed the other students to observe my rolling technique. Frankly, with my academic record this was an entirely new experience. In my youth, I was more often to be found behind the toilets puffing on a No.6, while trying unsuccessfully to pluck the eyebrows of my best friend Abigail with my spare hand, than sitting in class trying to impress the teachers.<br /></div><br /><div></div>And the course didn't disappoint either. We all got a fantastic amount of one-to-one supervision (OK, there were only three of us) and a front-row view of Ghalid and his quite astonishing pastry skills. Hell, he just made it look so easy: choux paste was effortlessly beaten, puff was rolled into perfect buttery rectangles, shortcrust was draped delicately over pie dishes and pinched daintily atop the most heavenly looking Cornish pasties. And we all had a go, and were amazed by the positive results.<br /><br />I left with a box containing some of the wares I helped produce, including an apple pie which me and the kids ate the following evening with lashings of whipped cream.<br /><br />We also each had a sizeable square of our own unused puff to take home. So a few days later, I had a go at my own cheese straws - made with Gruyere and caraway seeds - and lovely, delicate palmiers. I also wanted to make something else with sweet pastry, so chose another one of Ghalid's masterpieces from the Ottolenghi book - a raspberry and semolina tart. All of these are pictured.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICe98VbD8_PdzX_gGXb2P7C_oxmDDxFVI7DGqaIZ-Emnz4wQC_RaqCUKxHh1PGiQ_cEYY69kuuD76yZCLttPzWc4tmAYKuKuyvBaZUpcE4-tooNYKUkWpishL7nuLhjkVTZdWA_0Pe7c/s1600/29jan2011+038.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICe98VbD8_PdzX_gGXb2P7C_oxmDDxFVI7DGqaIZ-Emnz4wQC_RaqCUKxHh1PGiQ_cEYY69kuuD76yZCLttPzWc4tmAYKuKuyvBaZUpcE4-tooNYKUkWpishL7nuLhjkVTZdWA_0Pe7c/s200/29jan2011+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630720862856051986" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>While working, I realised - slightly depressingly - how the shortcomings in my kitchen affect the outcome of my pastry attempts. The slippery stainless steel surfaces at the Cookery School aided the process and made it so much more effortless. It was positively enjoyable to roll out the dough, unlike the laborious task that befalls me at home, where toasters, kettles, bread bins and a whole array of other kitchen detritus impair the activity unless they're removed - which is hardly practical. And wooden worktops - though high on rustic charm - are pretty rubbish for anything other than chopping vegetables. I may well have to do something about this.<br /><br />So I've got the bread course next week and once again, I believe that it's with my baking mentor. Be afraid, Ghalid. Be very afraid....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnG7MOyO-xR_2m5Kz9XmcVncsp99H0c_BWsHRgeL1n2A0h7_rDTWeUu-PKBbgDzn1SUfOAR6yIUxIDkdKEjVkWOM2b9eBKWLcKf7yP3AjyI4FZwFXVtYzFIJw7LSxfyQp6z7Y9osyVfWw/s1600/29jan2011+037.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnG7MOyO-xR_2m5Kz9XmcVncsp99H0c_BWsHRgeL1n2A0h7_rDTWeUu-PKBbgDzn1SUfOAR6yIUxIDkdKEjVkWOM2b9eBKWLcKf7yP3AjyI4FZwFXVtYzFIJw7LSxfyQp6z7Y9osyVfWw/s320/29jan2011+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630716366159967986" border="0" /></a>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-71923466850836745242011-06-09T06:15:00.000-07:002011-06-10T10:53:59.984-07:00It's NOT a gas.<div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616208142789505026" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 180px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5h7R5oV8CN0wXvOKH2BL8h1fnlivxP8y40IhvDEG4Fnm_qhc-L6NSzWdImdinL7bAkKCQTWhQe_fhl41MkYdFi1NnH5hvgvREi8vUtCHlCzKOGRrtS4UZNYOvhQ3gxusASp6firVU2bU/s320/Apple+and+berry+tart.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /></div>I've just come back from Thorpeness. Regular readers of this blog may recall that this is an annual and eagerly anticipated family holiday, and a great excuse to bake copiously for the fourteen people who attend each year. As usual I spent more time planning my baking schedule than packing, and upon arriving at the new house (where we haven't stayed before) headed for the kitchen to check out the facilities.<br /><br />I was buoyed by the presence of a massive double oven, and imagined getting two or maybe three things on the go at once. How was I to know of the wiping of sweat and wringing of hands that would ensue?....<br /><div><br /><em>Saturday: Poppyseed coffee cake.</em></div>This was a recipe from the Guardian magazine a few weeks ago. I apologise for my naked bias towards that publications food columnists, but there is no doubt that I am singing from the same culinary hymn sheet as messrs Hugh, Yotam and Dan.<br /><div><br />So the prep began with soaking the <em>whole</em> bag of poppy seeds in sour cream overnight, which for some intangible reason, thrilled me to my core. The recipe also required a hefty shot of double- espresso, which I proceeded to imbibe at regular intervals throughout the rest of the day causing a minor caffeine psychosis. Perhaps then, it was the eye-bulging, nail-biting, teeth-grinding effect of the coffee which contributed to my first diva-esque tantrum of the week; the cake didn't rise properly. It tasted nice enough, though oddly not as strongly of coffee as I'd have liked or expected. But the dense poppy seed mix gave the cake a lovely texture, and the assembled masses gave it a thumbs up. I wasn't happy though. Something wasn't right. 6/10</div><br /><em>Sunday: Rye hazelnut brownies</em>.<br />I've banged on enough about these brownies in previous posts, and feel no need to mention again how great they are, how utterly foolproof and, because they are prepared entirely in the pan, how they keep the washing up to a minimum too. The plan was to have them for pudding with some vanilla icecream and summer fruit salad. I've made them a million times, and was therefore horrified when I checked on them after the usual 20-odd minutes to find them overdone. No gooey centre (essential for a decent brownie), but a crumbly cakey texture.<br /><br />It was when my friend Louise checked on the roast chickens a little later to find that the one on the left side of the oven was basting nicely, but the bird on the right looked like it had only just left the abattoir, that things starting shifting into place...we had a gas problem. Lunch was subsequently 3 and a half hours late, by which time no one really gave a toss whether the brownies had a perfect finish or not. And they did go brilliantly with the icecream and berries. But I wasn't happy. 5/10<br /><br /><em>Tuesday: Sour cherry and beetroot cake.</em><br />I've made this once before - for my friend Rachelle's birthday. It's a madly eccentric cake - topped with crumble and held together with a thick layer of cream whipped up with cherry jam. It shouldn't really work but it truly does. Or <em>did</em>. Having boiled the beetroot (I will always do things the hard way), grated it, prepared the crumble and put the two halves of vividly pink batter in their tins in the oven, I was dismayed to then discover that the one on the right had not risen. Not even a teeny bit. But it had cooked, so I was stuck with a bottom layer that resembled some sort of carmine tortilla. Or a raspberry naan bread. I did my best to repair the damage by adding a little cosmetic improvement, but as soon as it was sliced, the whole thing more or less fell apart.<br /><br />The critics, however, were undeterred and raved about its flavour. One of them even went so far as to declare it one of their favourites ever. But by now my confidence was plummeting - this was not the perfect result that I'm accustomed to, and I was about to get extremely stroppy. 4/10.<br /><br /><em>Wednesday: Honey treacle loaf cake.</em><br />This was a recipe that appeared in Dan Lepard's column quite recently, and <em>not</em> making it was simply not an option. Rye flour, lemon icing and packed with a whole raft of spices? Bring it on. I have to say this was a joy to prepare - everything just smelt so damn good - and again, a lot of it involved merely melting the ingredients in a saucepan. So this time, I put the cake on the hotter left side of the oven, and hoped for the best.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzw1ipNgDtbIB2iGn9DQGFcKal1hUTBc0ajSQLYeHYCmhAOibQuoYQiwMz1OlNboCPXBUNVIDu3amUltNE9v3tBRWRMhkekFrU1U4QTk-Al8gQiXoWIbgz2_FVtpmG8OghXKnfuzSHhw/s1600/Julia+baking%5B1%5D.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616208537295595234" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzw1ipNgDtbIB2iGn9DQGFcKal1hUTBc0ajSQLYeHYCmhAOibQuoYQiwMz1OlNboCPXBUNVIDu3amUltNE9v3tBRWRMhkekFrU1U4QTk-Al8gQiXoWIbgz2_FVtpmG8OghXKnfuzSHhw/s320/Julia+baking%255B1%255D.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And at last, something went right. It was a truly yummy cake, with a real kick. But it was overdone - the edges were distinctly crusty, but I was relieved that it at least resembled a loaf, and the middle bit was a spicy, treacly delight. 7/10.<br /><br /><em>Thursday: Apple berry almond tart.</em><br />So this was my swan song for the week. And in the spirit of facing my demons all at once, I decided to attempt some shortcrust pastry. Rolling dough, dicky oven...what could possibly go wrong? But actually, five days in and I think I had at at last got the hang of the oven's strange idiosyncrasies. The tart - which is pretty much a bakewell, only nicer - came out really well. You can see it at the top of the page. I added some fresh blueberries to the base to give it an extra fruity dimension, and you can spot them straining for freedom through the frangipane. 8/10.<br /><div><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/nov/07/apple-berry-almond-tart-dan-lepard">http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/nov/07/apple-berry-almond-tart-dan-lepard</a></div><br />Contrary to appearances, I did - from time to time - escape the kitchen in order to wander down to the beach, stand at the very edge of the sea, which on that particular bit of coastline remains cold and grey even when the sun is shining, and daydream about my childhood, with my parents, and Paul and Joanna and our friends. And consider how lucky I am, despite everything.<br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-26114944258233891102011-03-08T07:14:00.000-08:002011-03-11T08:34:28.398-08:00Cakes for Paul<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XEA5GFl3vXl13eG4Gs85-SBYAU-NLuWw-fIdkv-jJmWINqO33Cc8Tv023lAjJLVzJxPSCrLOPejikGXXXmXZyr8xAkbmitrsYxLuv-awxSnzX3EU5jZg4j3l5qBmILVTawvzW6LVOuo/s1600/29jan2011+012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582116396374244402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XEA5GFl3vXl13eG4Gs85-SBYAU-NLuWw-fIdkv-jJmWINqO33Cc8Tv023lAjJLVzJxPSCrLOPejikGXXXmXZyr8xAkbmitrsYxLuv-awxSnzX3EU5jZg4j3l5qBmILVTawvzW6LVOuo/s400/29jan2011+012.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>On February 13th, my older brother Paul died after battling cancer for 3 years. I'm not keen on words like 'battling' - there is very little option but to fight under those circumstances - and I have always objected to the expectation that anyone with a terminal illness is judged by how 'brave', 'courageous' and 'positive' they happen to be about the whole wretched business. If ever there were a justified reason for despair and self-pity it is surely this. But Paul was indeed all those affirmative things and more, and I miss him terribly.</div><br />As anyone who has experience of cancer will know, the illness itself and the toxic treatment used to control it, can have a horrible effect on digestion, appetite and the patients overall approach to food. Chemotherapy induces dreadful nausea and sickness, and mouth sores are common, making the simple act of eating an arduous and unpleasant chore.<br /><br /><div>This was especially harsh with my brother, because he absolutely loved food - the eating, the mealtime rituals, the need to recover afterwards! In fact, this applies to my whole family - not in a 'foodie' sense - occasions when we'd all get together were never spent discussing ingredients and comparing recipes (God forbid!) - I'm talking about something a lot less pretentious than that; Seaside fish & chips, Chinese takeaways, Christmas dinner, or even the unique pleasure of a bowl of salty tortillas and jumbo bags of Haribo's shared out whilst watching the Eurovision Song Contest!</div><br />Paul also loved my cakes. He was always the first to head to the kitchen at one of my kids birthday parties to see what I'd come up with, and would praise loudly if there was something that particularly impressed him.<br /><br /><div>It was therefore a lucky coincidence that the one thing that he was able to enjoy for longer than most other food, was cake. He could stomach sweet, stodgy puddings and buns and even craved them. I therefore became mildly obsessed with baking him different muffins and cookies every time I went to see him. I wanted to make stuff that he could manage but which would also provide some vaguely nutritious benefits too; so I would replace white flour with wholemeal, rye or buckwheat, add nuts and seeds wherever possible, use oil instead of butter and pack as much fruit in as was humanly possible.</div><br />You don't need to be a shrink to recognise that baking for Paul took on a greater, more symbolic significance for me than merely providing something for tea. Watching him become weaker, and feeling powerless to really do anything useful to help, I employed one of the only skills that I was capable of. And of course, being Jewish, the habit of throwing vast quantities of comfort food at a problem is both common and often pretty effective (our cousin Xanthe was tipping up with vats of chicken soup on a weekly basis). His ability to eat, and more importantly, his enjoyment, became a wider barometer for how he was feeling. He (and I) would be hugely buoyed if a muffin were wolfed down. I'd often give him half of one, and if the other half were requested, this was a considerable triumph. Conversely, it was heartbreaking if he were unable to get it down, even if he wanted to.<br /><br /><div>Two recent recipes that hit the spot were some deceptively virtuous blueberry bran muffins and a truly delicious wholemeal orange and apple cake from an old Nigel Slater book. He also loved some raspberry, white chocolate and cinammon blondie's made with rice flour and butternut squash, lifted from the same tome from which my favourite chocolate cake originated - incredibly moist and moreish. I remember him grumpily batting away his wife Vivi's hand when she tried to nick a bit off his plate - the last time I saw him do this I think.</div><br />The weekend after he died, I saw a recipe for a hemp and ginger cake with cinnamon icing (top photo). He would have loved it, so I made it anyway for Vivi and their girls and it was magnificent. An edible tribute.<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">White chocolate, cinnamon and raspberry blondies</span><br /><br />Ingredients: 3 medium eggs, 120g unrefined caster sugar, 250g butternut squash - finely grated,<br />50g rice flour, 100g ground almonds, 1 tsp cinnamon, 2 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp salt, 150g fresh raspberries, 100g white chocolate, chopped, 30g flaked almonds, a little icing sugar for dusting.<br />Method:<br /><br /><ol><br /><li>preheat the oven to 200c/gas mark 6. Line the base and sides of a 20-23cm square tin with baking parchment. Brush with a little oil.</li><br /><li>Beat the eggs and sugar in a large bowl until pale and fluffy. Add the squash and beat again before adding the flour, ground almonds, cinnamon, baking powder and salt. Beat it all together.</li><br /><li>Pour half the mixture into the tin and scatter over the raspberries and white chocolate before covering with the remaining mixture.</li><br /><li>Sprinkle over the flaked almonds and bake in the top of the oven for 25 minutes.</li><br /><li>Cool the blondie in the tin for 20 mins, then sieve a little icing sugar over the top before cutting into 9 squares.<br /></li></ol>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-9279737030483676122011-01-05T02:26:00.000-08:002011-01-06T14:33:24.630-08:00Sugar and spice.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWFrVFV26tAFhBHP4NJ40C23qFINGgH9RUlOVsifMHA-0EWDPxoBfb1HXkxlP47j9e1rRo-_Gy1Qotke1Y09-HUwB2ZFoUihyphenhyphenR07GpgFevmE5ICKcaBijnWR7wk5-qisCJXMJGZ4DSKQ/s1600/12122010062.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558745046876182466" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; cursor: pointer; height: 180px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibWFrVFV26tAFhBHP4NJ40C23qFINGgH9RUlOVsifMHA-0EWDPxoBfb1HXkxlP47j9e1rRo-_Gy1Qotke1Y09-HUwB2ZFoUihyphenhyphenR07GpgFevmE5ICKcaBijnWR7wk5-qisCJXMJGZ4DSKQ/s320/12122010062.jpg" border="0" /></a>So Christmas came and went in a haze of icing sugar, dried fruit and mixed spices. It's an odd one, that. Are we all pre-conditioned to start craving strange seasonal anomaly's the moment the clock strikes midnight on December 1st? Is our sudden desire to add handfuls of cloves and grated ginger to everything some primal response to the certain knowledge that at some point in the ensuing weeks we will catch a cold? Or is it merely a sinister marketing ploy by the likes of Starbucks to ensure that our custom remains constant as long as the aroma of a gingerbread latte wafts forth every time we pass their door?<br />Whatever the reason, I embrace the inclusion of festive ingredients very happily indeed.<br /><br />So I began my countdown - unremarkably - with a Christmas cake (pictured above). This was another wonderful Dan Lepard recipe which distinguished itself by using as its base a creamy caramel, and was, as you'd expect, packed with tons of fruit and nuts (though I actually forgot to add the walnuts due to a sudden violent eruption between my sons in the room next door which required immediate attention. This despite the fact that the nuts were sitting , weighed and chopped, blinking at me on the kitchen counter.) I iced the cake with a cardamom infused lemon drizzle, and decorated it with leftover glacier cherries and those discarded walnuts. It was really good, though also the heaviest cake I've ever made - it must've weighed half a stone. My arm literally ached from carrying it!<br /><a href="http://www.danlepard.com/front-carousel/2010/11/3017/caramel-christmas-cake/">http://www.danlepard.com/front-carousel/2010/11/3017/caramel-christmas-cake/</a><br /><br />The build-up to Christmas is universally stressful, but my month was further complicated by Eli's 9th birthday and his insistence that we have a family tea party to celebrate it (this is something that I've always managed to swerve, based on its proximity to December 25th). So I gamely set about concocting a menu which would honour the occasion but with a seasonal twist. Thus, little stem ginger macaroons spiked with almonds and dusted with icing sugar were produced, as well as those marzipan, cinnamon and plum muffins which I tried last year (but worked much better this time around), and also from Otto<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsDm9Ly7SmdVQfC1ALJqy4sM8gczBUGniriwt9wwtmjl0Fcxidjw3gdA_3ToCQjMvWgbHEPZeejnKQ1V93Ed3QWJWUBhMkBA4DG28Exbm849KIlbNP-Zds6HNJzi5eRQfdM9wEY0cv7A/s1600/19122010078.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558745925684698866" style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px; cursor: pointer; height: 112px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsDm9Ly7SmdVQfC1ALJqy4sM8gczBUGniriwt9wwtmjl0Fcxidjw3gdA_3ToCQjMvWgbHEPZeejnKQ1V93Ed3QWJWUBhMkBA4DG28Exbm849KIlbNP-Zds6HNJzi5eRQfdM9wEY0cv7A/s200/19122010078.jpg" border="0" /></a>lenghi the most decadent chocolate fig bars ever which elevated the simple tray bake to a new and exciting level (pictured on the right). I also knocked out that seminal apple loaf again (any excuse) as well as a birthday cake (obviously).<br /><br />At some point, I had the bright idea of making a Stollen. I personally love Stollen, but acknowledge that in some households its right up there with bread sauce, brussel sprouts and Christmas pudding as something which is tolerated rather than enjoyed. It is also a cake which can often be found, half eaten, at the back of a cupboard sometime in April.<br /><br />Making the Stollen was really good fun - like baking bread but without all the tedious hanging about. And rolling out the marzipan to create that perfect almondy circle at its epicentre was a challenge. The final stage was dredging it (I love that word!) with tons and tons of melted butter, brandy and icing sugar before wrapping it tightly and leaving it for the best part of a week. That last bit was torture. I'm far too greedy and impatient to bear such a lengthy period of 'resting', and couldn't resist prodding the thing every time I wandered into the kitchen. It was finally unveiled on Christmas day, and although everyone were suffering the groaning pains of over-indulgence , several generous slices were force fed at tea time.<br /><br />The Stollen subsequently accompanied me on every visit to family and friends for the remainder of the holidays, a bit like a needy pet that couldn't be left alone, shrinking slightly every time.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u6NPyNH07YCzmBupe5Hbg9064jaAj5sScCeGCfgF1fAYHdXMmdgB-SscNe9cWpgkoyn46sf6T8FsSWSYWGCRwUXuiX8MjTLr2QGHVslioTg8RhncsrmEt5IgIu8ivTmmfmfHUQp0oSg/s1600/25122010107.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558745469775385170" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 200px; cursor: pointer; height: 112px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9u6NPyNH07YCzmBupe5Hbg9064jaAj5sScCeGCfgF1fAYHdXMmdgB-SscNe9cWpgkoyn46sf6T8FsSWSYWGCRwUXuiX8MjTLr2QGHVslioTg8RhncsrmEt5IgIu8ivTmmfmfHUQp0oSg/s200/25122010107.jpg" border="0" /></a>I polished off the final dregs a few days later, accompanied by an indecently huge glass of Baileys. The main course of this last supper had been a stack of stilton, cranberry sauce, ham and cold red cabbage tottering precariously between two fat bits of bread. Heaven. But thank God Christmas only comes around once a year.Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-22271841153420175412010-10-15T03:12:00.000-07:002010-11-16T07:41:35.814-08:00My Top Five<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q2HG1ORyie13ElMrzJ5kBZ4dSiKfToFuwzCOPIz0-nzZOKKWZMhWjpQoBsjrMkgMXAVRT5HhyR1LWriatlgmjAaIDDKztBiUG4FCbhPUgOr_oo5F6XFoimiH5sZlT_txCLnlWfxGJh0/s1600/Cherry+and+polenta+tart.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528213939743686162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q2HG1ORyie13ElMrzJ5kBZ4dSiKfToFuwzCOPIz0-nzZOKKWZMhWjpQoBsjrMkgMXAVRT5HhyR1LWriatlgmjAaIDDKztBiUG4FCbhPUgOr_oo5F6XFoimiH5sZlT_txCLnlWfxGJh0/s320/Cherry+and+polenta+tart.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>My family love making lists. Nothing is considered too obscure or mundane to fashion into a Top 10, given half the chance. Hours have been spent ruminating over our collective favourite comedy films, the 50 greatest singles from the 60's, Beatles love songs, iconic soap characters...Rainy afternoons are enlivened by intense debates about who would make it into our Ultimate Spurs <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Vl</span>, and recently my sister and I were delighted to receive an email from our brother which took each of our family cats through the ages, and gave them a pop star alter-ego (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">eg</span> Rusty - Captain Sensible, Tinker - Diana Ross. You get the drift). </div><br /><div>So it seems only fitting to apply this slightly fanatical and undeniably nerdy principle to my baking. In time-honoured tradition, I've been mulling over this list for several days, so here it is: My Top 5 ingredients! </div><br /><p>1 Cinnamon</p><p>My favourite spice by a mile! There is barely a cake in my repertoire that doesn't benefit from a teaspoon of cinnamon, and it is the perfect companion for oranges, pears, sultanas, dates, honey...I could seriously go on and on. Its presence in banana bread and malt loaf is mandatory, and I should add that it's my preferred accompaniment for porridge as well. If a recipe includes cinnamon, I will almost certainly try it. It's a kite-mark for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">yumminess</span>.</p><p>2 Figs</p><p>I know I've mentioned them before, but I'm passionate about figs. Fresh or dried, their sticky, natural sweetness can't help but thrill. And I know that some people struggle with their texture, but I absolutely adore it. Also, unlike other fruits, they are rarely seasonally inappropriate; they can work as happily in a tart for a picnic on a summer's day, as they do a traditional Christmas pudding. I will always consider purchasing anything with the word <em>fig</em> in it: lipsticks, sweaters, body lotion, candles - if it's the colour of fig, or mimics the smell I'll wear it, sniff it or slather it.</p><p>3 Almonds</p><p>Of course, I laboured over this decision as I'm mad about nuts en <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">masse</span>. So I included almonds based on their extraordinary multi-tasking skills, and cunning ability to create lightness and moisture once ground and stirred into the batter. My healthy chocolate cake would not be half as nice without 80 grams of them mixed in with the rice flour and butternut squash. Shards of toasted almond flakes always look gorgeous scattered over the top of a cake and though adding a delicate flavour, never overpower. The cherry and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">polenta</span> tart pictured above illustrates this rather well, I feel. And of course, almonds provide the basis for marzipan and this can only be a very good thing indeed.</p><p>4 Apples</p><p>Or pears or plums. Which I know is cheating, but it's hard to pick just one orchard fruit in preference to another. But apples just get the edge based on their unsurpassed greatness in a classic <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">tatin</span> or crumble. And they feature heavily in two of my all-time favourites - both to bake and eat, the rye apple cake and apple and olive oil cake - both of which I've eulogised over on these pages before. An apple in a recipe always provides comfort and a promise that all will probably go well. They are the friendly family GP of the fruit world. </p><p>5 Dark chocolate</p><p>There is surely nothing more uproariously enjoyable than stirring some decent dark chocolate in a pan and marveling as it begins to melt and take on that velvety sheen. Shove in some butter or cream, and it's enough to make you swoon. My wonderful, seminal rye brownies and heavenly ginger and treacle biscuits use tons of the stuff - chopped roughly in the latter. Not to mention countless muffins, layer cakes, cookies and most things which say <em>fudg</em>e. And occasionally I experience what I can only describe as a proper craving for one singular square of Green & Blacks 70% on the bus home.</p><p>So here is a recipe which features #1, #2 and #4 on my all-time list. They're not pretty, they're not clever, but quick and delicious. </p><p><strong>Apple, brazil nut and fig muffins.</strong></p><p>Ingredients:</p><p>250g plain flour, 11/2 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">tsps</span> baking powder, 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon, 50g brazil nuts (chopped), 175g unrefined caster sugar, 1 medium egg, 300ml buttermilk, 50g unsalted butter (melted), 1 medium apple (cored and diced), 75g dried figs (organic ones taste nicer).</p><br /><p>Method:</p><br /><ol><li>Sift the flour, baking powder and cinnamon into a bowl and stir in the brazil nuts and sugar.</li><br /><li>Beat together the egg, buttermilk and melted butter until blended, then stir into the dry ingredients to make a smooth batter.</li><br /><li>Fold in the apple and figs and spoon the mixture into 8 paper cases. Bake for 25 - 30 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">mins</span> at 200C, gas mark 6 until risen and golden.</li><br /><li>Leave to cool, but serve on the same day as they went a bit <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">gloopy</span> once left.</li></ol><p>Just the job if you're feeling a bit listless. (Sorry).</p><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-87616953758285716182010-09-22T03:06:00.000-07:002010-09-24T12:08:35.512-07:00Chill?<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_3ErwHj-plFmWv544ZMV17jCQcVeeajIis51bs9pheWfwTRHCk1HfXLueg3FF2eGRTALK-IoV_e96RS0jNis9K4DlglBVI5_bROnle4YFM-hOJi5CpA0AObY2DvVyV0fjgkRY421vpo/s1600/Lemon+tarts.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520107955883228226" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_3ErwHj-plFmWv544ZMV17jCQcVeeajIis51bs9pheWfwTRHCk1HfXLueg3FF2eGRTALK-IoV_e96RS0jNis9K4DlglBVI5_bROnle4YFM-hOJi5CpA0AObY2DvVyV0fjgkRY421vpo/s320/Lemon+tarts.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />This post is little more than a thinly disguised cry for help to fellow bakers. Those perhaps who, unlike me, paid attention to the 'science bit' during their cookery classes, and are therefore much more knowledgeable on why certain extraordinary things occur when you bake a cake.<br /><div><br />Happily, things rarely go wrong in the kitchen these days, but it always feels like its more by luck than judgment. I guess it's just an instinct thing; I feel my way around the process with a kind of bakers braille, relying on my senses to know when something needs to come out of the oven, or when enough mixing has taken place. However, why kneading dough in a particular way, or folding ingredients into a bowl rather than stirring them, or the ratio of baking powder to soda should affect the outcome remains a mystery to me. And as at school, if somebody starts to patiently explain the facts to me, my eyes glaze, I start to fidget and my brain effectively shuts down.<br /><br />Ditto with cookery shows on TV. I'm rapt by the drama of a souffle sinking or a pudding failing to rise, but the minute an explanation is proffered, I drift away.<br /><br /><div>Generally, it's not a problem. I almost feel inclined to celebrate my ignorance and just enjoy Not Knowing The Answers, and not caring to know. Whilst knowledge and information are so easily accessed, it's kind of liberating to wallow in one's own daftness. I feel the same way about this as I do about faith and spirituality; As somebody wiser than me once said on the subject: 'All we know for certain about the existence of God and the afterlife is that we'll never know, and we should glory in that' (or something.).</div><br />Which segues perfectly into whether or not to put a finished cake in the fridge! For this is my dilemma. I have noticed recently - especially while I've been baking so very many cakes - that some can sit quite happily in the fridge for a day or two, and as long as they're allowed to rest at room temperature for an hour or so before cutting, they lose none of their texture or flavour. My healthy chocolate cake with mascarpone icing for example, can be made way ahead of time and might even be improved by its fridge gestation. Ottolenghi actually advocates chilling his apple cake wrapped in cling film for a couple of days before icing it, and Omari at work, who has commissioned two such cakes, reported back that he left his in the fridge and ate a slice a night for the best part of a week!<br /><br />But the Coffee and ginger cake with pistachio icing was a disaster once chilled - it completely hardened, and never recovered. It actually tasted stale. When I made it again, I avoided the fridge completely and the difference was immense.<br /><br /><div>I've never put a banana bread in the fridge, or come to think of it, any of my loaf cakes. I was concerned that the Pear and cardamom loaf which was jammed full of very ripe fruit from my brother's pear tree, would suffer from being left for several days, wrapped in greaseproof paper in an airtight container. I imagined that the pears would all ferment, and that it would taste strangely medicinal, but it was delicious - better, in fact. Equally flapjacks and brownies benefit from a day or two of idleness before being scoffed.</div><br />Even I can surmise from the ingredients in these various offerings, that a certain theme emerges; Neither the chocolate or apple cakes contain butter, and I guess its the butter which is likely to harden up again in the fridge. But the chocolate custard muffins, and the little lemon tarts (pictured) - both crammed full of fat - survived in the cold without a hitch. So bang goes that theory.<br /><br /><div>So any hard and fast facts on the subject will be welcomed. Though I can't promise to stay awake whilst I try to disseminate the information.</div><br />And on the subject of instinct, I made a vegan cake last week (below), replacing some of the ingredients which I felt would make it taste too hippy-like, and deploying an icing recipe from another source entirely - it involved crushing fresh blackberries through a sieve and mixing the juice with icing sugar. I then spread the pulp over the top of the cake with a few whole fruits, gave it a dusting of sugar and it was glorious! This was something of an epiphany for me: not following a recipe slavishly and being satisfied with the results. Maybe it will signal the dawn of a new baking era - one where I am more maverick and carefree in my approach. Chilled out perhaps.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdoCbiH-ipA1XMpsBngIUqNsxEZAVVFWWpxNwFiNUD4fNdQP9yhII5AXwPsIAugM_sA-656xQQm1cgcpFyyu3z_rrhG09zaEj8yPwZ6PUB8lv79W3u6QHOamLvHdFWy6N8kZ_EkIloz0/s1600/Vegan+passion+cake.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520411425932118978" style="width: 180px; height: 139px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHdoCbiH-ipA1XMpsBngIUqNsxEZAVVFWWpxNwFiNUD4fNdQP9yhII5AXwPsIAugM_sA-656xQQm1cgcpFyyu3z_rrhG09zaEj8yPwZ6PUB8lv79W3u6QHOamLvHdFWy6N8kZ_EkIloz0/s200/Vegan+passion+cake.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-19340822262339455002010-09-09T02:50:00.000-07:002010-09-10T14:03:28.059-07:00I'm still (cake) standing.<div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514849528331093682" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCcNSumQ3gP44xTEGefCN_yzivZhO7P8SorNfvvFffBeyArSIKXQMGu3Bhx4N5qSZlTwaUvJyY2tc2_ClP1ZF3RWxVNtUvjclevPZQbHwP_rFq1p2vCYdwLIB0Gy8WtkHwtTkkIJ2EKA/s320/Urban+cakes+cake+stall+011.jpg" border="0" /><br />I liken my first experience of bona-fide cake-selling, to giving birth. At the time it felt like an endless, and very stressful, labour. But with a few days passed since I sold the last slice of apple cake on Saturday afternoon, I reflect on it all with misty affection and quite fancy doing it again!<br /><br />Of course, the whole thing would have been a lot less arduous if it had been possible to suspend my other parental and day-job duties and just stay home and bake till it was all done. As it was, and with the inevitable intervention of the Rest Of My Life, I found myself icing chocolate cakes and slicing brownies at 3am for several nights on the trot, and was so sleep-deprived that I actually burst into tears during the baton-twirling task in Ultimate Big Brother. And it wasn't all about the baking; I also had to get my head around other perplexing issues, such as how to provide enough napkins, paper plates and forks without actually buying them. (I was virtually chased out of Wholefoods Market by a security guard after wandering back onto the high street with 50 serviettes stuffed into my bra), and how on earth I was going to transport everything in the boot of my car without it all hurling sideways. Oh, the perils of trying to set up a little cottage industry!<br /><br />But nonetheless it happened, somewhat haphazardly, and it was good fun and also, as I had hoped, an incredibly useful exercise in what works, what doesn't and who buys cakes when they're wandering around a film festival getting sloshed on cheap red wine.<br /><br /><div>For the record, the Tahini flapjacks, Rye brownies and Honey and orange syrup cake all went quickly, as did the two lots of cookies (the Dark chocolate and sour cherry variety are pictured below). The cupcakes, which I included rather grudgingly, were ignored by the adults at the evening event, but sold out during the kids' screening (though I did discover that one little girl of about three, who returned to the stall several times, was systematically dropping them on the floor and stamping on them! I had to fight the urge to march into the cinema and demand that she sit on the naughty step until an apology had come forth. I think I'll have to seriously de-sensitise if I want to carry on with this selling lark). I also learnt the hard way that toiling over an admittedly lovely, but quite complex Blueberry and creme fraiche cupcake recipe is not a good use of time, as 3-year olds are unlikely to notice the difference.<br /></div><br /><div>The Light chocolate cake (pictured) went well, and was a great talking point due to its virtuous ingredients. And the Apple cake with maple icing was a slow-burning, word-of-mouth triumph - people were coming up to me asking for a slice long after I had sold out, having seen other satisfied punters roaming around with enraptured expressions on their faces. As I've said before, I take no credit for this. It's a wonderful recipe which really has the wow factor.</div><br />I'm doing it all again next weekend, and have already started to plan what I'm going to include for Round 2. Being a glutton for punishment, I don't intend to repeat anything! After all, where's the fun in that? So I'm going to make some little lemon and poppy-seed tarts that I've never tried before, and having trawled through my scruffy old recipe folder, have decided to revisit one of my absolute perennial favourites - a Cherry and polenta cake. Yum. I'm excited already.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2007/jun/30/foodanddrink.recipes13">http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2007/jun/30/foodanddrink.recipes13</a><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaFLefWliJOYocm4UM7DytqnM0qAwNosYpf7BvW5NSE0AgZ9wxDn2jQxGq4a5oQ6T-Y20GPtgMNa2XvSC_mp3sapzpOPOWsaCebNyXqvVpMoKfOCZIaQfiOQOqv9mH8W9wOsTVrq5kzs/s1600/Urban+cakes+cake+stall+032.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514850158268419826" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 150px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaFLefWliJOYocm4UM7DytqnM0qAwNosYpf7BvW5NSE0AgZ9wxDn2jQxGq4a5oQ6T-Y20GPtgMNa2XvSC_mp3sapzpOPOWsaCebNyXqvVpMoKfOCZIaQfiOQOqv9mH8W9wOsTVrq5kzs/s200/Urban+cakes+cake+stall+032.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-64659954093950458482010-08-06T05:56:00.000-07:002010-08-07T03:24:13.568-07:00Window shopping.<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOQf5y1FNsvRN4h9OYaypsYOkk2UiGH8AMJDX5hyphenhyphentNdFLTmG0LXTGh4OHC0zL-p-gX6VSQ4DqNOGTzxQc_o-zhBitwmmOeURcnNCXa8KHxTvmVdUjSGSW3fhx6ANrMOOLfz7X7niZSaw/s1600/myhands.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502280373871137410" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 249px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOQf5y1FNsvRN4h9OYaypsYOkk2UiGH8AMJDX5hyphenhyphentNdFLTmG0LXTGh4OHC0zL-p-gX6VSQ4DqNOGTzxQc_o-zhBitwmmOeURcnNCXa8KHxTvmVdUjSGSW3fhx6ANrMOOLfz7X7niZSaw/s320/myhands.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div>I'm bricking it. After months of blathering on about my intention to make a business of my cake obsession, I'm finally being forced to do something about it.</div><br /><div> </div>Encouraged by my friend Jan, and emboldened by the consistently favourable response to my last few offerings, I contacted the Portobello Film Festival <a href="http://www.portobellofilmfestival.com/">http://www.portobellofilmfestival.com</a> to see if it would be possible to set up a stall at their launch party in September. The festival director's enthusiastic and unhesitating "er..OK then", has made it necessary for me to consider all the practicalities of baking on a grander scale than I've ever attempted before, not to mention the vexing question of what and when to prepare it. I am also having to turn my thoughts to the acquisition of a trestle table and enough stands, trays and other motley paraphernalia required to make it all look half presentable.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>I'm sure it will be a worthwhile experiment though. I've long been intending to test my capacity beyond the usual tea parties. And they can be stressful enough.</div><br /><div> </div>So on my way to the office this morning, I pressed my nose up against the shop window of Ottolenghi in Kensington. In fact, this is a daily ritual and the staff tend to regard me as they would a rather tiresome stray cat who hovers meaningfully around the door in the hope that some scraps might be thrown their way. But the manner in which they present their patisserie is beautiful, and a good (if not somewhat lofty) yardstick as to what works visually.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>I'm thinking that a reasonable amount of chocolaty treats should be on offer; some brownies, and my light chocolate cake smothered in raspberries. And something slicked in gooey pale icing - the apple and olive oil cake perhaps, carrot cake or that wonderful coffee and mascarpone cream delight that I used to do a lot. Some cookies - easy to consume on the go, and as it's my current obsession, I won't be able to allow the event to pass without some crowd-pleasing muffins. Bursts of vivid colour are essential to a mouth-watering display, most effectively provided by arrangements of summer fruit sitting atop the cakes, or perhaps constrained by caramel on an upside down tart.<br /><br />I adamantly refuse to acknowledge the cupcake craze. I hate those little buggers, and no amount of sickly Krazy-color frosting will persuade me otherwise. The same can be said for macaroons and whoopie pies; A baked good is no place for a fashion fad, it's just not dignified. Sarah Jessica Parker endorsing the Krispy Kreme donut was enough to ensure that I would never allow one to pass my lips.</div><br /><div> </div>But I digress. I might be tempted to include some of the more esoteric recipes that I've tried lately - the Tahini flapjacks that I made last weekend were yummy, as was the date cake with a tamarind drizzle. The coffee, ginger and pistachio cake pictured above was no slouch either. I'm guessing that the festival patrons will be a reasonably discerning bunch, and will expect something more sophisticated than a few iced yum-yums. And if not, they'll be too drunk to notice, anyway.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>I also made some cookies on Monday for my God-daughter Claudia who has just given birth to her second baby. Based on the certain fact that for the foreseeable future she will only have the use of one arm (due to the permanent carrying and feeding duty of the other), I scoured the net for a recipe that would provide something vaguely nutritious in a low-maintenance bite-sized format. I was not remotely surprised that the winning formula was found on Dan Lepards site (I know I know, but he's the gift that keeps on giving) - his one-a-day cookies, which appeared in the Guardian a few years ago, were little nuggets of goodness, packed with wholemeal flour, seeds and grated apple (and butter and sugar, of course - how could it call itself a cookie otherwise?), and they fulfilled the job nicely. <a href="http://www.danlepard.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=11784&sid=32dbeeda625aca05cae6bb80c92f44dc">http://www.danlepard.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=11784&sid=32dbeeda625aca05cae6bb80c92f44dc</a> In the recipe Dan mentions that he got 12-14 biscuits out of the dough, but I managed around 20 - reducing the calorific value considerably!</div><br /><div> </div>So I'm off on holiday next week, and no more baking till I'm back. I'm approximately five days away from wearing a bikini and it's keeping me awake at night. But upon my return, I'll be planning my first commercial spread, and may even have to treat myself to an Ottolenghi purchase instead of just gazing at it. For research purposes, obviously.<br /><br /><div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-20996381668942336582010-07-17T13:19:00.000-07:002010-08-04T03:11:03.699-07:00Muffins are top!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgk08xUEXe2lXFc4IL0pHTNvrtkpoLdTeSiw9c1nasWOsoXZnGmKNvMjv1y1Yibsa-mX7g4IEZ9sbbFWdDyTijC5QWzlf60XiUKlBj1WuejAg_Bo7u-v75xizPsQmIzXgleuXvcKdui0/s1600/DSC01791.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495261916282449250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgk08xUEXe2lXFc4IL0pHTNvrtkpoLdTeSiw9c1nasWOsoXZnGmKNvMjv1y1Yibsa-mX7g4IEZ9sbbFWdDyTijC5QWzlf60XiUKlBj1WuejAg_Bo7u-v75xizPsQmIzXgleuXvcKdui0/s400/DSC01791.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2c9ECYQYwG5dY6ohk9_eIGKnS-eUWRwQ4eZzLyGL0S-Vi47bHz_Y1uFwsmpBa8oPICDyXnTwvAnWjtEAWkBn-JR5S_PxLranFijwbscFy5ScuC07vz6HKMYLh_OICMMzDsx5vq0DXZs/s1600/DSC01791.JPG"><br /></a>The last couple of weeks have been all about muffins.<br /><br />As previously mentioned, I'm preoccupied with the creation of the Perfect Muffin, and consider a successful batch to be something worth bragging about.<br /><br />The recipe's that I've been experimenting with lately have all been from a book entitled Mad About Muffins - a dreadful, forcibly jolly title, entirely lacking in aspiration, that I don't approve of at all. For some reason that I can't explain it makes me think of Prozac. But I must concede that its author - one Diana Bonaparte - definitely knows a thing or two about the subject.<br /><br />Over the years, there are various techniques that I have learnt are essential where muffins are concerned; the batter must not be over-mixed, the use of an electric mixer is probably not a good idea and the butter (if it's being used, sunflower oil will often suffice) is usually better off melted. A light, airy sponge is actually not desirable as a good muffin should be a little heavier and even somewhat lumpy.<br /><br />So the first recipe that I used from the book was Peanut butter, banana and chocolate - these were just OK - I thought the dollop of smooth peanut butter in the middle would be inspired, but actually it just meant that the roof of one's mouth became coated with it, overwhelming the palate and making the identity of the more subtle flavours hard to fathom. I was hoping that they would provide some much-needed comfort following England's humiliating exit from the World Cup, but they didn't quite live up to this mammoth task (in fairness, no cake would). Having said that, I very much approved of the addition of 20grams of wholemeal flour (many of the recipes suggest this).<br /><br />I then moved onto Blackberry and white chocolate, and these were a triumph. As I'm writing, I am relieving the sensuous pleasure of pulling one apart and observing the fruit exploding ghoulishly. Were it not for the school summer fete looming large on the horizon, I would have personally eaten about a dozen of them, instead of offering them up for the cake stall (I did however, resist buying them back as I did with the rye brownies at Christmas!)<br /><br />And earlier this week, I interrupted a birthday cake commission to knock out two of the recipes: Golden syrup and oat (don't be fooled by the oat thing - yes, they were in there, but this was effectively a syrup sponge in muffin form. Not that I have a problem with this) and Cinnamon, sugar and banana. Both of these had some nice little added nuances - the former was brushed with warmed golden syrup once they came out the oven, which produced a sweet, sticky glaze (pictured), and the latter was topped with a sort of crumble of unrefined sugar, butter and Cinnamon which added a pleasing, unexpected crunch once bitten.<br /><br />A word about bananas: I hadn't realised until quite recently how important it is to use very ripe, or even over-ripe bananas in one's baking. For this weeks muffin extravaganza, the skin of the fruit I used was literally black, and the flavour was just great. If perky yellow bananas are used, be prepared to taste the potassium - good to know that such a life-enriching mineral is present in one's creations, but being able to identify it is not so fabulous.<br /><br />Overall, most of these recipes worked really well, and there are many more on my To Do list. I think I'll try the Orange and almond to take to friends in Hove next weekend (it was Karen who gave me the book, so it seems only fair). They have made up for some disappointing muffin excursions in recent months, the most notable of these being the Plum and marzipan from Ottolenghi's book. They sounded so exciting, but just didn't quite live up to their promise. Though I don't think that any have quite rivalled his Carrot, apple and pecan that I made for Caleb's birthday. They continue to provide the benchmark by which all subsequent muffins should be measured.<br /><br />So anyway, here's one of the recipe's. Enjoy. I took the last one of these to the cinema with me yesterday and ate it with a coffee shop cappuccino in preference to a bag of popcorn!<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Golden syrup and oatmeal</span><br /><br />Makes 10 muffins.<br /><br />For the batter:<br />285g plain flour<br />125g light muscovado sugar<br />2 tsp baking powder<br />1/4 tsp salt<br />50g porridge oats<br />6 oz milk<br />2 medium eggs<br />100g salted butter<br />75g golden syrup<br /><br />For the filling:<br />10 tsp golden syrup<br /><br />For the topping:<br />20g porridge (or jumbo) oats<br />20g demerara sugar<br /><br />For brushing:<br />60g warmed golden syrup<br /><br /><ol><li>Preheat oven to 200c/gas mark 6, and line 10 sections in a muffin tray.</li><li>Sift the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt into a large bowl, pushing the light muscovado sugar through the sieve with the back of a spoon. Stir in the oats.</li><li>Combine the milk and eggs in another smaller bowl and mix thoroughly with a fork.</li><li>Melt the butter in a microwave or small saucepan, then stir in 75g of the golden syrup and mix well.</li><li>Add all the wet ingredients to the dry and fold the mixture together until just moistened.</li><li>Spoon in enough of the batter to half fill each prepared muffin tin section. Place a scant teaspoon of golden syrup into the centre of each and then cover with the remaining batter.</li><li>Sprinkle the oats evenly over the muffins, then the sugar.</li><li>bake for 20-22 minutes until the muffins are well risen and golden.</li><li>Transfer to a wire rack and brush with the warmed golden syrup.</li></ol>My batch lasted for 4 days in an airtight container.Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-55779860368718561362010-06-11T06:59:00.000-07:002010-08-03T12:11:19.216-07:00Sea cake & eat it.<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJuHv5c4kcu1BMMGUjCmvgdquBcG7GDrtX8jNb5fi1EWeRHkQhLurdwBBqQuzGZSnmaF1vWiLofPFELT79spGP45eOt-zf9Uq6_Oy6Xz5zQBs51wmybFLplYnHE4xJFfWVy5EkanmlWU/s1600/DSC01752.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481515992842358498" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px; height: 150px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJuHv5c4kcu1BMMGUjCmvgdquBcG7GDrtX8jNb5fi1EWeRHkQhLurdwBBqQuzGZSnmaF1vWiLofPFELT79spGP45eOt-zf9Uq6_Oy6Xz5zQBs51wmybFLplYnHE4xJFfWVy5EkanmlWU/s200/DSC01752.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICuj0FdATZXdpE2nRb8eRyk0hAy81SaXx4_q6W0K7dHvbQ5oK-3pyty29M-Cv0xsNGTk-uprjD_LTtk8DI6xTC1VrTbXkx2CdBTaFIO_vs_qT3ZCXFd3fsOhM8nEujwU7JWoqGyTPojY/s1600/DSC01764.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481515761072448786" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; height: 300px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICuj0FdATZXdpE2nRb8eRyk0hAy81SaXx4_q6W0K7dHvbQ5oK-3pyty29M-Cv0xsNGTk-uprjD_LTtk8DI6xTC1VrTbXkx2CdBTaFIO_vs_qT3ZCXFd3fsOhM8nEujwU7JWoqGyTPojY/s400/DSC01764.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I've just come back from a week in Thorpeness. It's an annual thing which has been going on since I was a baby, and it is truly my favourite place in the whole world. It is my plan to retire there someday - I will potter around my garden, bake homely cakes in a big unfitted country kitchen and stare at the sea at dusk from a rocking chair set at the window. (Actually this makes me sound like Grandma Walton, so I might need to re-think.)</div><br /><div> </div>Of course, baking in this environment is always hugely enjoyable. Apart from anything, there are about 18 of us who go each year, so I don't have the problem of eating too much of it myself. I'm lucky if half a slice actually passes my lips. (Don't imagine for a moment though that I don't make up for it in other ways, with the local fish & chips, Sunday dinners and barbecue's. I'm always half a stone heavier by the time I get back)<br /><div><div> </div><br /><div>I always plan in advance what I'm going to make, so that I can pack the right cake tins, and any speciality ingredients that I might not be able to get hold of in the local Co-op. I also take my measuring spoons, digital scales, favourite spatula and for the first time this year, my electric hand-mixer. I seem to spend more time on this than actually packing clothes or anything else remotely useful.</div><br /><div> </div>The house which we usually stay in was being refurbed this year, which was a shame because its huge, bonkers kitchen plays host to some of the most extraordinary baking paraphernalia I've ever come across - I think most of it was purchased in the 1940's and 50's and indeed some of them seem to still bear the stains of grease and lard from that era too. Super-sized cast-iron bun-trays and loaf tins clearly designed to make industrial-sized batches of bread practically fall out of the cupboards as you open them.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>Our house this year, though boasting more mod-cons than our usual, had a lamentable lack of utensils, and I found myself doing most of my mixing in a fruit bowl.</div><br /><div> </div>However, this didn't dampen my enthusiasm as there is something utterly inspiring and wonderful and magical about going about one's business in the kitchen whilst the sound of the sea can clearly be heard from the french windows.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>In addition to a few fail-safe recipe's that I felt would fit the mood of the place - the Butternut squash cake with orange and honey drizzle, and those perennial Rye brownies - I thought I'd try my hand at an absolutely classic Victoria sponge, and a cheesecake this year.</div><br /><div> </div>I've never actually made a cheesecake before, which is odd because I adore a good one and frequently order it in restaurants. Plus of course, there's the ethnic thing: I remember vividly trips to Reubens delicatessen on George Street when I was child and that dense, lemon-y, texture of a slice with that almost rubbery glaze on top. Yum. Perhaps it was this memory which cowed me. I also have many friends who make divine cheesecake, so I've never really felt that there was a gap in the market.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>But there was something about Dan Lepards recipe which inspired me - perhaps it was the addition of passion-fruit and the fact that it was baked and not chilled. It appeared to be one of those recipes with distinct stages, and I love the challenge of those. So I started with the base by pushing a basic crumble mixture into the bottom of the tin and sticking it in the oven for 20 minutes or so. Then the really fun bit, which was creating the passion-fruit and orange curd - after several minutes in the pan this watery amber-coloured mixture looked quite unpromising, but just as I was about to give up on it, it bubbled into a creamy, fruity, gloopy sauce which I could have quite happily eaten by itself, straight from the saucepan. I also loved the fact that I was instructed to remove and then replace the passion-fruit seeds - I actually have no idea why this benefited the outcome, but it was such a ridiculously but enjoyably anal activity that I didn't for a moment question its importance. The cake was honestly delicious. We had it for tea that afternoon unchilled, and therefore still soft and a bit wobbly. Though it was still great the next day after spending the night in the fridge. I only remembered at the last moment to take a quick picture of it, and it barely does it justice - the whole thing was so handsome. </div><a href="http://www.danlepard.com/recipes/2010/05/passion-fruit-cheesecake/">www.danlepard.com/recipes/2010/05/passion-fruit-cheesecake/</a><br /><div><div> </div><br /><div>On our last day, I made the Victoria sponge. I virtually cut my teeth on basic sponge cakes, and my older son always preferred them as his birthday cakes, so I've baked many over the years. But I couldn't resist the recipe which appeared in the Guardian recently in Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall's pages, though he acknowledges that its based on Mrs Beeton's classic version. The most liberating thing about this was the measuring; Weigh 4 eggs and match this exactly with the amounts of flour, sugar and butter. It was 230g in this case. How clever is that? I shall always use this method to make sponge cake in the future. The other element that added greatly to the success of this endeavor was the suggestion that a couple of table-spoons of milk should be added if the batter didn't fall quite easily off the spoon once mixed. Again, so incredibly simple but it made a huge difference ensuring that the cake was light, airy and exactly as it should be. Filled to the brim with some decent raspberry jam and lashings of whipped cream it was the ultimate teatime treat and the perfect way to end our week in my paradise.</div><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.guardian.co.uk/.../victoria-sandwich-recipes-hugh-fearnley-whittingstall/">www.guardian.co.uk/.../victoria-sandwich-recipes-hugh-fearnley-whittingstall/</a><div> </div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div></div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-16607334476588546122010-04-29T01:48:00.000-07:002010-05-02T04:25:26.031-07:00Dough Oh Dear*<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BJQIbNYAYwvAXvdKXkx07KEXMqHCpaGzm8xA-0PBdDDM7Nrl4CVdY1a2R_asOPqERoAbvSAkuyfiDa1x4Ssd_0DwmGZM_s1N5_ji8xonmY-jx7tqpMC2Z9E1hWm3nQAQkB5jW-ut0nw/s1600/DSC00117.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BJQIbNYAYwvAXvdKXkx07KEXMqHCpaGzm8xA-0PBdDDM7Nrl4CVdY1a2R_asOPqERoAbvSAkuyfiDa1x4Ssd_0DwmGZM_s1N5_ji8xonmY-jx7tqpMC2Z9E1hWm3nQAQkB5jW-ut0nw/s320/DSC00117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466286546367164498" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I've seen a recipe for an oat and cranberry loaf that I'm dying to try. But when?<br /><br />There are certain baking endeavors that are so time-consuming, and demand such a level of constant attention that finding the time is a real challenge. One really does have to commit to a day spent, if not literally in the kitchen, in close enough proximity to return for kneading, prodding and just general staring-intently-at-the-dough purposes. Yeast-based products fall into this category, as does - in my case, at least - pastry.</div><br /><div></div>Pastry is something of a thorn in my side; as much as I love the idea of a light and delicate crust enveloping some luscious filling, I make excuses to myself not to attempt it. This is largely due to the fact that whenever I've given it a go, the results have generally been underwhelming. And as much as I'm sure that if I 'praactise praactise praactise', as Vera-Ellen is urged to do repeatedly by her European dance teacher in the Stanley Donen musical 'On The Town', I never quite feel the inclination to waste precious baking time on a project that may well disappoint and frustrate.<br /><br />I love to crash around in my kitchen making things, so when an opportunity arises to do so, I'd rather have fun than spend the time pondering why only half a pastry dish is covered, despite an almost OCD'ish attention to the detail of the recipe, and why the dough is the approximate thickness of a carpet rather than a dainty sliver. Quite recently I made a pear tart with a chocolate crumble topping - a delicious, sticky mess of a thing but definitely lacking the patisserie-style finesse that I was hoping for.<br /><div> </div><br /><div>However, over Easter I made some heavenly hot cross buns, and on this occasion must admit that I actually relished the challenges that each stage presented - starting the night before with soaking the flour and yeast in stout with a myriad of spices. But they took <span style="font-style: italic;">all day</span>. I confess: Eli missed his football training in the morning, and Caleb had to find his own way back from a party because I just couldn't tear myself away. I heartlessly put my own culinary needs before the social lives of my children. The result was worth the effort though - they were perfection (www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/stout-spiced-buns-dan-lepard). And admittedly the sense of achievement was immense (the dodgy mobile photo really doesn't do them justice, trust me.)<br /><br />So with a bank holiday looming, maybe I'll give that loaf a go. What the hey - I've got nothing better to do, after all.<br /><br />*With apologies to Julie Andrews.<br /></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-8982451313220660952010-04-08T07:47:00.000-07:002010-04-11T15:43:31.745-07:00Pretty as a picture?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqWKzfrHkFbtuN8-0fkhlqG5MCoTqb6TnuIU3ktXBqr5WrNLn8MijKJbvuXjvD5csesN3A9pac7nHPMx-Qw-Kuzjifd0A-aqdE7niBgDiJENnHKkZTgamy05v_bpocajpeHTksHpG8fk/s1600/DSC00113.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqWKzfrHkFbtuN8-0fkhlqG5MCoTqb6TnuIU3ktXBqr5WrNLn8MijKJbvuXjvD5csesN3A9pac7nHPMx-Qw-Kuzjifd0A-aqdE7niBgDiJENnHKkZTgamy05v_bpocajpeHTksHpG8fk/s320/DSC00113.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459005907140817138" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br />In common with many keen amateurs, I have a vast selection of cook books, and naturally favour those with an unapologetic emphasis on cakes and puddings. There are two or three perennials, and I also keep an extremely unruly folder of dog-eared recipes torn from magazines over the years. These wilting pages are probably the most often revisited, and the many buttery stains and splashes of barely mixed batter obscuring the type bear testament to this.</div><br /><div></div>Luckily for me, many of my friends work in the magazine industry, and occasionally I receive a big jiffy bag of new books that they have thoughtfully wrestled from their freebie cupboards.<br /><br /><div></div>Being a creature of habit, it usually takes me a while to 'bed' the new books in, and quite often they'll be shelved and remain unopened until I can face the task of troweling through them. As I've mentioned elsewhere on these pages, I suffer badly from Choice Anxiety, and if I already have a backlog of recipes to try, I panic at the thought of adding more to my repertoire (I'm imagining that Woody Allen might suffer similarly if ever he took to the kitchen). However, when my beloved ex-Mother-in-law decided to pay us a visit I decided to branch out and see if I could find something suitable to try amongst the pages of the new tomes.<br /><div><br />It is widely acknowledged that the enjoyment of food is a multi-sensory experience; the look, smell and feel of it is nearly as important as the way it tastes. But this fact is apparently something utterly lost on the food stylists responsible for the photography in a book entitled (rather perplexingly) Fresh Baked (what other kind of baked would it be? Stale? Passed its sell-by date?) The cover features a shot of three very anemic looking mini-sponges which are being drizzled on from a great height by a sickly looking yellow liquid that looks alarmingly like mayonnaise. I've never seen anything less appetising. Equally, all the pictures within feel almost apologetic; set against a spartan white background, and endlessly employing the technique of allowing the shot to go a wee bit out of focus at the edges, which looks more like someone nudged the photographer at a salient moment, rather than anything remotely artistic. There's something slightly WW2 about the whole thing - I almost expected tripe to make some random appearance. It transpired that the noctious looking yellow goo was in fact a passion-fruit cream, which sounds quite nice, but now that it's mayo in my head there's no rescuing it.</div><br /><div></div>Undeterred, I felt vaguely excited by a recipe for a pear, cardamom and sultana cake, three winning ingredients in an irresistible combination. So I decided to give it a whirl. My only reservation was its use of self-raising flour which I just don't appreciate; mixing the raising agents with the flour at source is just plain sinister. But I'm grown-up enough to acknowledge that this is an irrational complaint, and I persisted anyway. The cake, despite its chillingly Presbyterian setting on the page, actually turned out very well. My more homey version is pictured above. Next time though, I'll ensure that the pears I use are a little over-ripe as it needs the naturally occurring sugar of the fruit to make it really more-ish.<br /><br />PS. For an example of the way a cake <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> be represented in a recipe book - to induce immediate salivation and a trance-like march to the larder - I urge you to check out the chocolate genoise royale in the Baker & Spice book, Exceptional Cakes.Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-18596929286276906572010-02-25T03:52:00.000-08:002010-02-27T14:29:13.970-08:00The future's bright...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqm1X3MtJqMzBGgMLQvXiHhBPePVz7w74RAiTe4ntfji5ovc5MAcz8wLkbHb4qQpM9ZSMP79AVXBGvcBUHBkebtwA9I5A2PDb2GN-fRgZ8MtmGiBkNzvXte3D279ozbyH_85B4FlwyRVA/s1600-h/carrot,+apple+and+pecan+muffins.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442569069295653250" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 150px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqm1X3MtJqMzBGgMLQvXiHhBPePVz7w74RAiTe4ntfji5ovc5MAcz8wLkbHb4qQpM9ZSMP79AVXBGvcBUHBkebtwA9I5A2PDb2GN-fRgZ8MtmGiBkNzvXte3D279ozbyH_85B4FlwyRVA/s200/carrot,+apple+and+pecan+muffins.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7jEHTQxgzSxJA8SUhMVSYzIZNlynntwVGfCOT1OxwiN7__Bih6l3JsrfghhdN35uKM8FKKU-2Me2uyIxJ5Jg2GAmMo7SkMkDbNVskKhKa981d4uSAS-0HJrARdOxYYULxhg2aMByrXwc/s1600-h/Orange+polenta+cake.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442568909631140130" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 240px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7jEHTQxgzSxJA8SUhMVSYzIZNlynntwVGfCOT1OxwiN7__Bih6l3JsrfghhdN35uKM8FKKU-2Me2uyIxJ5Jg2GAmMo7SkMkDbNVskKhKa981d4uSAS-0HJrARdOxYYULxhg2aMByrXwc/s320/Orange+polenta+cake.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Last week I was giddy from baking. Half-term meant time off work, and rubbish weather necessitated days languishing indoors with the kids which for me can only result in one thing.</div><br /><div>Factor in Caleb's birthday and the inevitable tea party to celebrate the occasion, and I can barely recall any other activity taking place - the week passed in a veritable haze of flour and icing sugar.</div><br /><div>My first creation was a fig and walnut cake, which was rustled up on Thursday. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but I really <em>love</em> figs. I love them fresh (though God knows, it's hard to find perfectly plump and sweet raw figs in the UK), I love them dried. I love them in savoury dishes and in cakes. And I can happily just munch away on them by themselves with no embellishment whatsoever. If I were a guest on the BBC's Saturday Kitchen, I would quite possibly select figs as my Food Heaven (the hypothetical decision about what I'd chose, and even more vexingly what my Food Hell would be - considering that I will eat virtually anything - has almost taken over from the agonising choices I'd make on Desert Island Discs. I've literally spent hours of my life making that list, and then changing it. And don't even get me started on my top 10 films.) So anyway, this was a Nigel Slater recipe (<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/nigel-slater-spices-recipes">www.guardian.co.uk/nigel-slater-spices-recipes</a>) and it was simple and fun to make. I may have left it in a smidge too long, as it was slightly crusty on the outside. But the extremely indulgent cream cheese icing disguised its shortcomings, and it was really delicious.</div><br /><div>I started my tea party baking on Friday - 2 days before the big event itself. I once again had a go at Ottolenghi's Sticky chocolate loaf that I first made over Christmas, though this time I honoured the recipe and made two 500g cakes rather than one big one. Much more successful second time around - they both came out perfectly with no distressing dips in the middle.</div><br /><div>I cleared the decks on Saturday, and spent the entire day holed up in the kitchen. The birthday cake was, as always, a doddle. I had great fun with some Barbie writing icing; a quartet of slightly sickly looking pastel pens with a glitter finish. I'm not sure what my 15 year old birthday boy would have made of it had he clocked them, but as I only used the blue and silver, he was none the wiser. I'll save the princess pink for a more suitable occasion. </div><br /><div>I also knocked out a lemon drizzle (the best I've ever tasted, and fool-proof: <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/lemon-drizzle-cake">www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/lemon-drizzle-cake</a>), and a batch of Ginger macademia cookies, which are just sublime - as Dan Lepard rightly points out in the recipe; you can use unsalted nuts, but the saltiness against the buttery biscuits is such a heavenly combination - I highly recommend. <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/ginger-macademia-biscuits-dan-lepard">www.guardian.co.uk/ginger-macademia-biscuits-dan-lepard</a>) </div><br /><div>I saved the best, and most challenging, till the day of the party. Despite weeping copiously at the demise of Ambridge's patriarch Phil (I was listening to the Archers omnibus), I managed to pull myself together long enough to get cracking with Ottolenghi's Orange polenta cake. I'd been eye'ing this up since getting the book back in November and had been waiting for an excuse to make it. It's one of those cakes that you prepare in stages - it requires patience and a steady hand. The first part of the process is making the caramel; I have attempted caramel on many occasions, and have never quite managed to pull it off. Predictably, this day was no different, and not only did I lose my nerve midway through the boiling stage and take the pan off the heat several minutes too soon, I also flooded my oven with leaking hot toffee sauce which still bubbles menacingly every time I switch on the damn thing. (I'll get around to cleaning it eventually). Also, the recipe suggested a 45 minute gestation; however, the cake was still more-or-less raw after this time, and ended up being in for around an hour and a half. Despite this inauspicious start, the cake turned out beautifully - truly a work of art. I used a combination of blood and regular oranges for the top of the cake, which created a really stunning almost mosaic effect. And the marmalade glaze, painted on once the cake was cold, really sealed the deal (see photo). It tasted great too, with a subtle citric flavour, and I love the slight bite you get when polenta is added. </div><div><br />At around midday, and with perilously little time before our salivating guests were due to arrive, I started frantically grating carrots and apples, and chopping pecans for some muffins - another Ottolenghi recipe that I couldn't wait to try. As you may have gathered by now, I'm preoccupied with both finding and baking perfect muffins. In fact, the other day I picked up a wheat and gluten-free Cinnamon and apple version from Luscious Organic, and it was horrid- like cardboard. So I had high hopes for these babies, and was especially excited by the crumble topping, which included various seeds - pumpkin, sunflower and sesame, as well as some oats and light muscavado - bound together with honey and a little butter. I felt that they would be a welcome addition to my tea table, offering a 'healthy' alternative to all the sweeter, chocolate-y treats. One could even argue that they provided at least two of the required five-a-day! Again, and as I'm consistently finding with Ottolenghi recipes, they needed way longer than the suggested 30 minutes in the oven. They were incredible though - light and moist with that crunchy top (not a great snap, but you will get the gist). They improved with time as well - I had my last one for breakfast four days later. Perfection? I'm not sure. But definitely getting there.</div><br /><div>A very satisfying week's work, all-in-all. And apart from the latest goings-on in Ambridge, relatively drama-free.</div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-52141055361690110472010-01-22T07:45:00.001-08:002010-02-13T15:03:09.924-08:00Painting and decorating.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgJbAkTMe5O2vq39voz4sV0_KVsfEa05GVBbU4f4AmyUigYJx4RKYAuxJQ3QwXnW4AtbZ_1iudEylPaL7BeSu31yPvFdeAnOSZhIV3NLnoSO1NJpW235jcr_sZ1ESTtwSbXuOsCktGcM/s1600-h/DSCF0622.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgJbAkTMe5O2vq39voz4sV0_KVsfEa05GVBbU4f4AmyUigYJx4RKYAuxJQ3QwXnW4AtbZ_1iudEylPaL7BeSu31yPvFdeAnOSZhIV3NLnoSO1NJpW235jcr_sZ1ESTtwSbXuOsCktGcM/s320/DSCF0622.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437488136510377298" border="0" /></a><br /><div>In the last few weeks I've been baking birthday cakes. For cash. And as much as I'm thrilled that anyone would want to pay me <em>actual</em> money for my efforts, I experience the most extreme anxiety when it comes to decorating.</div><br />The main event is so damn easy - I have made my 'light' cake many times now, and its never been anything but perfectly tasty, moist and moreish. The white chocolate version is slightly more labour intensive, but always equally delicious. They're the cake equivalent of Lennon and McCartney - one is rustic and homey, the other more complex and edgy but together they produce magic. (I really do apologise for these gratuitous analogy's that crop up every now and then. I have a terrible tendency to meander - even as I'm sitting here I'm trying to think of an excuse to mention Coronation Street)<br /><br />But oh, the decorating...<br /><br />The thing is, my vaguely Keith Haring-inspired naive style is fine for my kids and near relatives. They can see the humour in garish hearts, and spindly writing-icing typography - (think those fuzzy title credits for that old cartoon series Roobarb & Custard). It's all perfectly charming in an amateurish way. But I always feel like I have to raise the bar for my 'customers'. It's actually the anticipation that is most crippling - the certain knowledge that an accidental blob of metallic green goo, or badly centred greeting will not only look unsightly but will expose me as the fraud, the cuckold that I truly am. Poor Eli had the misfortune recently to wander into the kitchen whilst I was mid-flow, politely inquired if there was a bowl to lick, and was subjected to a torrent of expletives. He was rightly confused by the outburst.<br /><br />Then just as I'm feeling marginally more secure, I'll go to a tea party where a Konditor and Cook cake is presented with a flourish, all perfectly beautiful duo-toned lettering, so pretty and inviting. Ho hum. I think my efforts are destined for one of my favourite websites Cake Wrecks (<a href="http://www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">http://www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com/</a>), which is a homage to gloriously badly decorated cakes everywhere.<br /><br />Having said all that, I've had no complaints so far - perhaps my policy of loading on lots of summer fruit or white chocolate buttons disguises my aesthetic short-comings. And I have no such concerns for Caleb's cake which I'll be doing next week - in fact, I've got a little pot of sparkly burgundy fondant and a teeny-tiny paint brush that I haven't attempted to use yet. The poor boy doesn't know what I have in store for him (and come to think of it, neither do I).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-48069964091559275622009-12-30T06:27:00.000-08:002010-01-02T15:08:44.800-08:00With bells on...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnJQyUZdlQ_O4KJYDXtWjCeBtrr3cbDajPu00AUp0h7hmV0TcQ7iV1_kXddgDuYiss7zruRUqdAErtJaPC9JnlXR6gsnB062bfmse2cB7GbIDkBfHSdg-YYMi3n2ANDNxJCWFa55qTxY/s1600-h/plum+muffins.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421050928936687922" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 320px; height: 240px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnJQyUZdlQ_O4KJYDXtWjCeBtrr3cbDajPu00AUp0h7hmV0TcQ7iV1_kXddgDuYiss7zruRUqdAErtJaPC9JnlXR6gsnB062bfmse2cB7GbIDkBfHSdg-YYMi3n2ANDNxJCWFa55qTxY/s320/plum+muffins.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>There are many reasons why I love Christmas, and one of them is undoubtedly a license to bake in abundance. There are no end of excuses to rustle up a cake at the slightest provocation - usually the many visits to friends and family, where there is now an expectation that I'll roll up with some kind of an offering. And I'd hate to disappoint.</div><br /><div></div><div>So with the addition of Eli's birthday on the 21st, it is a veritable bakathon in my house. The season's tally kicked off with my usual chocolate cake, as well as some really delightful cranberry and white chocolate cookies (from the Ottolenghi book), which were thin and crispy rather than dough-y - almost like Florentines, as my cousin Xanthe pointed out. I also made a batch of the much anticipated plum and marzipan muffins (pictured), which I actually think tasted better on the second day, perhaps because the fruit compote had really congealed, and the crumb was slightly soggier - not always a good thing, but in this case an advantage.<br /></div><br /><div></div><div>Next up was the marmalade Dundee cake. Now I love a fruit cake, but acknowledge that they're usually more something to be admired, rather than lusted after. I don't think people usually wake up in the middle of the night craving a slice of fruit cake as they might a doughnut or blueberry muffin. But I have to say, this recipe - the star of Dan Lepard's live bake-along - was about as moreish as it can get. I took it to my brothers house on Christmas day, and despite the fact that we were all groaning with over-indulgence by the time it was cut in the mid-evening, it still went down a treat, and was enjoyed again on Boxing Day. It looked gorgeous too, with its glazed almonds on top. I get quite misty-eyed at the thought of it.</div><br /><div></div><div>On Christmas Eve, I once again trowled the Ottolenghi book for inspiration. I found a sticky chocolate loaf - dense with agen prunes and glazed with Armagnac - but as I had neither to hand, I used 'regular' prunes and some brandy, but I don't think it suffered too much as a consequence. The recipe was actually for two 500g loaves, but stated that you could make one bigger cake if you adjusted the cooking time. I'm not sure whether this was the cause, but disappointingly, mine sunk in the middle. This has never actually happened to me before, so I was mildly traumatised. But I wrapped it tightly in greaseproof paper and tin foil, and when it was unleashed with my friends Sean and Gina several days later, it really did taste amazing. The dip in the middle certainly appeared to be a cosmetic hitch, and nothing more terminal flavour-wise. </div><br /><div></div><div>Finally, I made the Apple and Olive Oil cake again, and this time I really nailed it. Rather than baking it in two sandwich tins as I had done the first time, I used one deep 20cm tin which I insulated with several layers of greaseproof paper (a la Dan Lepards masterclass), and cooked it for nearly an hour and a half; longer than the second time, when I maintain it was very slightly underdone. It survived the long journey south to Lou, Wol, Charlie and Frank, our friends in the 'burbs, and was roundly enjoyed by all (I also saved a couple of slices - one for Wyn for fixing my car, and the other for Omari in the office who you may recall loved this cake so much that he actually commissioned me to make him a whole one).</div><br /><div></div><div>So the New Year is nearly upon us, and I have come to realise the hard way that the Christmas weight-gain armistice really doesn't exist. I don't know why I spend the week eating chocolate coins for breakfast, Lebkuchen for lunch and enormous hunks of stilton with cranberry sauce as a midnight snack, believing that somehow, because all one's usual routines, rituals, timetables and commitments are so totally disrupted during the festive break, that it can't possibly impact on my waistline. I came to work today and was actually waddling rather than walking, and unless I'm mistaken I can confirm that my coat - yes, my <span style="font-style: italic;">coat</span> - is feeling tighter!</div><br /><div></div><div>I'm still ruminating over whether to knock up a little lemon drizzle for January 1st though - well, citrus fruit is quite good for de-toxing isn't it?</div>Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8421673954077125495.post-16942343235211634632009-12-15T13:00:00.000-08:002009-12-18T03:12:49.684-08:00Be prepared.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHKobco_3iyQByTeJkYONYtRP9LQ23NGr-fM02pKeMuq4yc21nVCW_ALe_6c9Ysj3jMZ1MHVnOLUpAV_8G8JaYNjLcJ57n2GszW2wcjMBJlG_snHeR9edhITgvL36QxTyLLAFqNZHenc/s1600-h/DSCF0436.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415572020808796226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHKobco_3iyQByTeJkYONYtRP9LQ23NGr-fM02pKeMuq4yc21nVCW_ALe_6c9Ysj3jMZ1MHVnOLUpAV_8G8JaYNjLcJ57n2GszW2wcjMBJlG_snHeR9edhITgvL36QxTyLLAFqNZHenc/s400/DSCF0436.JPG" border="0" /></a>It's not the destination but the journey that counts, as my yoga teacher is so fond of pointing out. Admittedly it's a rather spurious analogy as far as baking is concerned, as it is undoubtedly the end product that denotes success if you happen to be making a cake rather than performing a Sun Salutation.<br /><br />But bear with me here.<br /><br />There is a science to baking, and unlike other cooking where a level of spontaneity and experimentation is positively encouraged, the quantities of flour, ratios of ingredients and size of tin etc, are all of paramount importance if you want a good outcome. I have spent hours on forums discussing the merits of a 2lb loaf tin, and get very frustrated if a new recipe describes the tin in diameter rather than weight. I've had the ruler out more than once.<br /><br />The other day Dan Lepard, who's How To Bake column in The Guardian really was solely responsible for starting me on this particular journey (it was his recipe for peanut butter cookies), announced on his website that he was going to attempt a live bake-along online. Very regretfully, I couldn't take part though I loved the concept, and eagerly read all the follow-up posts after it had taken place. In one message, somebody mentioned that the section on using greaseproof paper was especially helpful.<br /><br />The cutting and moulding of baking paper has long been an issue for me; it is my least favourite preparatory activity, and always has me wishing for a kitchen assistant - perhaps a little elf in a Cath Kidtson apron - who would dutifully line my tins for me, grate all the orange and lemon zest, and do the washing up afterwards.<br /><br />So after being directed to the youtube link, I asked my 14-year-old son Caleb if I could watch the clip on his computer. It was a revelation. Dan was so deft with the scissors it was more like origami, folding the paper 3 times and leaving it as a high column, rather than trimming it down to the height of the tin. And cutting 3 discs to line the bottom, which apparently guarantees much more even baking - especially if it's something like a fruit cake which requires a longer cooking time.<br /><br />Whilst I was literally squealing with pleasure, and commenting excitedly on the fact that Dan uses the same brand of paper as me, I became aware of the look Caleb was giving me. A kind of withering pity best describes it. It's hard to explain under such circumstances that, contrary to appearances, I was actually quite cool once.<br /><br />Still, he won't be complaining I'm sure, when he's tucking into a slice of the marmalade Dundee cake that was the subject of the bake-along, and which I shall be making over Christmas.<br /><br />PS. The picture is an almond and clementine cake with bitter chocolate icing - nothing to do with anything I've written about here, but so pretty I felt impelled to share.Urban Cakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10341837199593073526noreply@blogger.com3