Daily Bread

My inner voice is considerably more insightful than the one that comes out of my mouth. Throughout August, inny was adamant that I was fast running out of time. Opportunities to lay out under our huge whitebeam tree reading dozing were passing me by. I ignored the dopey wasps crawling over the window frames as I dashed about finding pencil tins and PE kits. I was certain the heavy green fruit of the Black Krim tomatoes in my veg beds would ripen gently in a warm September glow and I would breathe in the sweet rot of Autumn. Our beautiful summer seemed endless, but my subconscious had already noted the dropping leaves.

Term began and the rain came. I haven't seen a single wasp in a fortnight, the toms are surely chutney. And I have completely run out of time.

Now it's all timetables and lost property, alarm clocks and commuter traffic. But back in August I had a little fun with GBBO bread week - I just didn't get around to blogging it. The family demanded breadsticks so I obeyed. I am pretty scathing about the showstopper rounds, cooking doesn't need to be a spectacle - it needs to taste good. Heston has so much to answer for.

I tried Paul Hollywood's green olive breadstick recipe from his How to Bake book. I made half the dough into a green olive mixture as directed and with the other half I experimented with roasted echalion shallot and Roquefort, because it's what I had in. The olive recipe called for 400g of olives which would have been ridiculous and expensive, so I halved it.

I made the dough in the KitchenAid with a dough hook which was super easy. I was so carried away with the ease of the process I misread the bit about the dough trebling, and assumed a normal doubling would take place. 

I'm not sure whether it was the KitchenAid, the proportion of yeast, or the warm evening but the dough was very airy with an amazing cobwebby structure.

Once shaped, the dough sticks require more proving. For this I would have needed five baking sheets and more than the tail end of the baking paper roll. As it was I spent the evening pinging back and forth from the kitchen in fifteen minute intervals, increasingly impatient, flinging bits of dough onto my single baking sheet while the oven belted out 250 degrees. 

Frankly it made very little difference whether the sticks were proved or not. They were all delicious hot out of the oven, the olive generally the favourite. They were sadly revolting after a day or two and I wouldn't bother making them again - at least a day old loaf can be toasted. And it only needs one tin.

Half Baked

My inner/outer geek loves the lure of back to school. New shoes and sharp pencils, I always want to start something as September approaches. August is just too overripe and overgrown.

What better time to begin blogging again than a new series at of the Great British Bake Off? All the satisfaction of fresh challenge paired with the deep joy of autumn telly schedules.

For the first episode, the family gathered round the set like it was 1983. GBBO is about the only regular programme we all watch together.  I knew immediately that I wanted to try a "signature bake" - a variant on a traditional Victoria sponge. I am obsessed with Germanic cakes, heavy with big pieces of fruit and topped with a nutty, crumbly streusel. I just can't get enough of them and imagined the top sponge with a crumble texture and a lovely apple filling through the middle.

I started with a traditional small Victoria sponge batter (three eggs) but replaced a little of the flour with some whizzed up hazlenuts. I made a separate crumble mix of even quantities of Demerara sugar and plain flour with a little less melted butter and scattered it over one of the tins of batter. Then I chucked on a bit more pulverised hazlenut for the sheer hell of it.

I was concerned that the crumble would sink into the sponge as it cooked and a halftime peek into the oven confirmed my suspicions. The only thing left on the surface were the nuts. Nuts. I forged on with filling. With one foxed chicken (poor Bella) and one broody chicken, wasting Sylvia's perfect little eggs on a cake mistake was not an option.

A few Bramley windfalls from the orchard just needed to be heated with a squeeze of honey to make soft pulpy jam. A jar of Confiture de Lait winked at me from the fridge. It seemed like a cheat but the salty caramel was a perfect partner for apple and it was easy to spread on the warm sponge.

The streusel all but disappeared, but the nuttiness of the sponge and the caramel apple filling were delicious. Bread week beckons...

GBBO week 5 - Pie

I was excited about this week's bake. Entirely sated with sweet food and fairly short on time, a savoury dish that could count as Sunday dinner seemed ideal. As tempting as it was to find myself a wooden dolly and start hand raising pies (it can't be just me that envisages a pork pie suckling on a bottle of milk), I decided to plump for the Wellington option for this week's Bake Off challenge. Should I ever feel the need to spend hours making pork pies that I can buy from any petrol station Delia reckons a deep muffin tin is all you need. And anchovy paste, whatever that is.

I have never made a Beef Wellington, nor have I attempted proper homemade puff pastry so I decided not to mess with a classic. Clearly the most painful part of this bake would be parting with the money for the beef fillet. Gordon Ramsay's recipe suggests 750g of meat, which would have cost over £26. That's more than I would spend on meat for our family of four in a fortnight, so I bought a third less.

A layer of duxelle (paste of diced mushroom, shallot and herb) seemed risky, but essential for flavour. I was concerned about excess mushroom juices ruining my pastry. Also the children are both phobic about mushrooms even though I secretly sneak them into all manner of foodstuffs. A stand-off over the dinner table needed to be averted or tears would flow, probably mine. Gordon's addition of Parma ham, wrapping the duxelle to the fillet was extravagant, but I could see the wisdom. Another £2.99. As we drove away from the supermarket, I felt quite hysterical. Even childish jokes about eating wellington boots made me laugh.

In fear of ruining the luxurious cut of meat, I very nearly defrosted a pack of all butter puff from the freezer. Here are the photos to prove I didn't. Yes, that is an entire pat of butter.

I actually found it quite soothing to make my own puff pastry, and the endless short periods of "resting" time between rolling are very handy for getting those irritating little DIY jobs done.

With the pastry made, the meat seared, smeared (with mustard and the duxelle), wrapped in Parma and chilled, I felt very serene. I just needed to bring everything together, eggwash and then leave it to rest once more.What could go wrong?

Suffice to say a tantrum of epic proportions involving homework, a late night and hunger whipped any smug grins from my face. Sacrificing the final essential rest for the pastry, I hurled the Wellington into a not-quite-up-to-temperature oven.

It smelt wonderful cooking. It looked less good as the pastry began to slide off the meat. I am not sure why this happened because the meat was well chilled before the pastry went around it. I think the lack of resting and a low oven temp might be to blame. Ultimately it looked less than perfect but the beef tasted great and was deliciously tender and there was no soggy bottom!

I plan to make an inside-out version with a pork fillet. I'll hammer the pork out flat, lay on the Parma ham, then the duxelle, roll it all up and cover with puff pastry. I might even make my own pastry again. Tonight's programme is sponge puddings, Queen of puddings and strudel. Can I do all three?

Last summer flowers

Out of the garden before October comes; verbena bonariensis, lathyrus odoratus Flora Norton, Lord Nelson and Matucana Sweet Pea, Cardoon Cynara cardunculus, Hydrangea macrophylla, Dahlia Sam Hopkins, Lavandula angustifolia Hidcote and a couple of stems from my new David Austin roses, Gertrude Jekyll and The Generous Gardener.

Gertrude Jekyll roses are a constant in my garden. A memory of my mum who bought one for my first tiny patch and for their endless gaudy blooms which shriek summer. The Generous Gardener was a recent impulse purchase, I was beguiled by its heady old rose and myrrh scent. Subsequently I discover that the rose was named in honour of the 75th anniversary of the National Gardens Scheme. The NGS allows the public into 3,700 private gardens every year and is the single biggest donor to both the Marie Curie and Macmillan charities.

Rose beds aren't remotely fashionable, but I am not convinced by gardening trends. Mine sits beneath my daughter's ground floor bedroom window, surrounded by horrible concrete pathway.  I planted climbing roses at the back, so that they would reach around the frame of her window. I secretly hope their impossible beauty will enchant her in years to come and this will ensure the matriarchal line of rose growers is continued. But if not, they might just keep the boys at bay.

Soft set oven cooked raspberry jam

Mentioned in my last post, making raspberry jam in the oven is a lovely way to preserve raspberries. It's incredibly simple and gentle cooking method doesn't destroy the characteristics of the fruit and the end result is very soft set. There are numerous versions of Elizabeth David's original idea but in essence you place the fruit in one tray, the sugar in another and heat for 20 minutes in a moderate oven (190°c).

Once the fruit and sugar are really hot, the two must be brought together and then potted up. I use two cast iron roasting dishes, pour the sugar into the fruit, and give it a good stir to help dissolve the sugar crystals. Set the jars on a cloth, don some good long oven gloves and pour it in.

Some recipes suggest the juice of a lemon or a little liquor, but for me the simplicity of the fruit is the delight and it sets as much as I want it to. Due to the lack of boiling, this is not a store cupboard jam. It should be eaten before the New Year and perhaps kept in the fridge if you have a warm kitchen. I make sure the jars and lids are scrupulously clean and hot, don't skimp on the sugar and ban anyone from sticking a buttery knife into it - I have never had a mouldy batch yet.

One of my first jobs when we moved to a house with a larger garden last year was to plant raspberry canes. I chose a mixture of summer and autumn fruiting varieties including Glen Ample, Tulameen, Cascade Delight, Tadmor, Autumn Bliss and Polka. I should have picked the flowers off the summer varieties to give them a chance to get established but forgot so we ate the few berries anyway. The autumn fruiters are romping away this week with lots of fruit still ripening. Little hands hunt the ruby treasure and few make it as far as the kitchen. Maybe next year there will be enough for jam.

A little slice of Hollywood

I don't endorse a cookbook lightly. The only cake baking book I have ever recommended to a friend is Mary Berry's Ulitmate Cake Book.  I have had my copy for years and it is properly filthy, which is really how I like to see a recipe book. A pristine copy on a shelf tells you all you need to know about it's dispensable content. Every single recipe I have tried in Mary's book has worked and been delicious. I have baked her recipes for birthdays, Christmas, weddings and funerals and all the days in between.

I am still a sucker for something new and couldn't resist ordering Paul Hollywood's How to Bake recently. Primarily I was interested in the bread baking, but it's got some lovely cake and dessert recipes as well and I have been curious about the lemon curd in Paul's recipe for Mrs Post's Lemon Drizzle Cake since the book arrived. The house has shuddered to it's termly hush this morning and there was a pressing need to clean six weeks of congealed playtime from every surface. So I baked instead.

We like a lemon drizzle in this house. But not from a shop. For me it's got to have a dark crust on the outside with plenty of crunch to the syrupy top. It should be plain without a hint of cloying sweetness.  I want it prepared and cooked in less than an hour with minimal washing up. I made this while I was waiting for a flooring man who was running a bit late.

Cream together 75g butter with 125g of caster sugar, then mix in 150g of self raising flour with 1 tsp of baking powder, a hefty tablespoon of lemon curd, 2 eggs and 2 1/2 tablespoons of full fat milk. Bake in a loaf tin for 40 mins or so at 180°C. While the cake is hot, pour over the juice and zest of 1 lemon mixed with 2 tablespoons of granulated sugar. Leave to cool completely, if you can bear to.

One of the most useful things in my baking cupboard is my pack of Loaf tin liners. As much as it seems very wholesome to fashion your own from a roll of paper, this is a much better solution.

I think there could have been a drop or two more syrup - next time I might bother to ding the lemon in the microwave before squeezing to get a bit more juice. The cake is incredibly soft and light. A sweet taste of summer to soothe away the indignities of the school day.

There is nothing better....

Baking is my first love and I was taught skillfully by my mum and my two Nannies. Hours stood on a chair at the kitchen bench, watching and helping just as Indigo does with me now. These women may be long gone from my life, but they are never closer than when I am cooking. Rubbing in butter, folding in egg whites, rolling out pastry, I see their hands on mine. I am the sole keeper of their secrets now and I really hope I have remembered well.

As much as I like to experiment and try new flavours and recipes, I realised recently that their currency was comfort food and that comfort came from familiarity. As a child, I wanted to eat the same things over and over. It had to be apple pie or lemon meringue for Sunday lunch, Belgium cake and date krispies for tea, cheese scones and lardy frumadiddles in winter and a deep, buttery Victoria glued with raspberries in June.

I'm never happier than when I have made a chocolate cake. The most basic all-in-one Victoria sponge sandwiched with some concoction of chocolate or cocoa, icing and butter. It seems too simple, almost like cheating. It never fails. And the children always want one on their birthdays.

Fresh walnuts from the Lonely tree

I usually loathe walnuts, little shriveled squirrel brains ruining decent coffee cake. A few years ago on a trip to the Dordogne, I discovered how delicious wet walnuts were so I was excited to find these beautiful fresh walnuts falling off the Lonely tree at school pick-up this afternoon. I discarded the outer shells and filled my cardigan pockets. What's more thrilling than free food? I confess that I don't always manage to use my foraged food and there is a very real risk that these nuts will languish in some plastic pot or other, growing fluff until they hit the compost bin. But for now I'm inspired and planning fabulous Perigordian salad; Pear, Roquefort, rocket and the crumbled nuts with a sharp lemony dressing.

The Lonely tree is a magnificent, mature walnut that stands within my daughter's school grounds, close to the two infant classrooms. It's sprawl of branches hang low, just above head height and it shelters us all from sun and rain as we wait for the straggle of children to appear at the end of the school day. 

The tree used to make me sad. Surely a refuge for those kids who didn't quite fit in? A morose soul sat on the rough tree bench, scuffing the dust in solitary social exclusion. How tragic! Another parent recently enlightened me of the true meaning of the Lonely tree. The children know they can go there if they ever find themselves without a friend at playtime, and then anyone passing will invite the "lonely" child to join their game.