Hijacked by cake

I have a problem. I don't consciously think about cake, but there it always is, hovering just out of sight, ready to skip into view when I'm least expecting it. I haven't had a spare second to even think about baking anything of late and although I intended to spend last weekend working on my new-look, new-name blog, I got sucked into the great black hole that is the archive in my spare room. I took on the task of finishing off an archiving project that had first commenced in 2010. The last of the boxes are finally available to be processed for the national archaeological archive and I was offered the job. I took it on in my spare time and took the dusty boxes into my spare room (why oh why?!). Weeks of procrastination later, the musty smell and dust motes creeping out from the beneath the closed doorway forced me to take action. Before I knew it, much of the weekend had disappeared and I was coated in a layer of decades old dust and dirt (archaeological field sheets, notes and plans get written or drawn up on site and are frequently - and sometimes liberally - coated with dried mud). 

So, no time or thought for baking, but I did manage to make a fresh batch of granola - a necessary occupation as I had run out the previous week. Making your own granola might seem a luxury if you're pressed for time or in fact, might be something you've never even considered, but home-made granola is something I will nearly always have in the cupboard. It's yummy (most importantly), nutritious and as healthy as you want to make it. This particular recipe is so delicious that No.1 Sister had to stop making it - her husband would just eat it by the (large) handful every time he passed the dresser where the tub was stored and it would be gone in a flash. Nothing at all wrong with eating it just like that (I sometimes bring a bag of it in the car so I can), but I tend to have it with berries and yoghurt for breakfast or sprinkled on top of porridge (highly recommended). It's also good with rhubarb or stewed apple and custard or you could convert it into a crumble topping if you need a quick dessert. 

Home-made Granola

The original recipe was printed in Nigella's Feast, but I don't think I've ever used even half the amount of sweeteners as are in the original. I usually reduce the amount (or even eliminate altogether) some of the sugar / syrup / honey and increase the amount of stewed apple / apple compote. Making your own means you can also use whatever nuts, seeds and dried fruit takes your fancy. For me, no nasty raisins (I don't like them in granola any more than in muesli and my views on that were made very clear in an earlier post), but I do add extra seeds and coconut, either regular desiccated or the big flakes you get in the health food shop. There's ginger and cinnamon, lots of tasty oats and all you have to do is mix it all up together and bake in the oven, giving it a quick shovel every 10 mins or so, to make sure it bakes evenly into crunchy clusters and crispy flakes.

Anyhow, granola recipes aside (find it below if you'd like to try it), there I was, dusty and tired with not a thought of cake or baking in my head. At least that's how it was until I sat down on Sunday evening, watching TV, safe (I presumed) from distraction. My mind had other ideas. It was mulling over the day's activities, tripping past excavation licence numbers, mucky field notebooks and archiving and landing straight on granola. I can't be too sure, but I imagine the thought process went something like this: 

"Granola... Hmmmm, toasty oats... Ooooh, you know, if you added even more apple sauce and squished the wetter mix into the tin to bake, it would make lovely granola bars, just like flapjacks... Oooh, remember flapjacks? You used to love flapjacks. God, it's been years since you made flapjacks. Yum. Didn't you see a recipe for chocolate flapjacks somewhere...?"

Dangerously good chocolate flapjacks

Before I quite knew what I was doing, I was out of the armchair, kneeling on the floor in front of the bookcase and thumbing through the pages of the Green&Black's chocolate cookbook, where I did indeed find a recipe for chocolate flapjacks (with cocoa in them rather than chocolate on them). They looked so delicious in the picture and the recipe seemed like a winner, so here we are. In a week when I had no intention of making anything even resembling a cake, I found myself compelled to rustle up a tray of chocolate flapjacks. 

Happily, flapjack-making is uncomplicated, fast and so alarmingly simple to do, that I couldn't recall why I ever stopped. For such little effort, the rewards are great. The basic recipe is butter, oats, sugar and golden syrup and all that's involved is melt, stir and bake. My only caveat is that you really should use quality ingredients (as in all simple recipes, with so few ingredients, there's nowhere to hide). This is no place for butter substitutes and sub-standard cocoa - the flavour of the finished product would be the worse for it. Similarly, the use of brown and muscovado sugar in the chocolate flapjack recipe (see below) helps to reduce the tooth-aching sweetness of the traditional flapjack and also gives a lovely caramelly note - so don't resort to white sugar, caster or otherwise.

A stack of chocolate flapjacks

My only word of caution in relation to this recipe is that you might want to make a smaller amount - unless you're baking for a school cake sale or feeding a family of ten that is. I'm doing neither of those things and yet somehow didn't think to reduce the recipe to a 'trial bake' size. Unlike the granola recipe, there's no pretending that this one is at all healthy, though you could put a shout out for the nutritious oats (B vitamins!!). Ahem. I will hold my hands up and tell you straight out - the amount of sugar and butter was enough to give me pause. Granted I made the full quantity, making it seem even more decadent. So be prepared and don't let that stop you (just make sure you don't consume the entire lot yourself) because these little chocolatey oat-filled, buttery flapjacks are outstanding. Magnificently, spectacularly good. These are the champions of the tray-bake world. 

I now have a big box full of incredibly delicious, gloriously rich and more-ish chocolate flapjacks. All for me. Just look where being hijacked by cake thoughts gets you. I think I'll be bringing them with me tomorrow when I'm heading back into the office and I'll definitely be serving some up to my sister and hubby when they pop in on Saturday. They do say a problem halved is a problem shared. 

• Granola (original recipe from Nigella's Feast) 
• Feel free to make this as it stands for the first go, as I did, then tweak it to suit your own taste. The amount of apple sauce needn't be exact but I find that any more than 225g makes the mixture too wet. I generally only add about 50-60g of sugar and either the stated amount of syrup or honey, but never both. Two of my sisters cut out all of the sugar/syrup/honey completely and go commando, with just the apple sauce for sweetness. I also use only 1 tbsp of the oil, but with the aid of the apple sauce for moisture and the sugar for browning, you could probably get away without any oil at all. As stated before, I leave out the evil raisins, but if you love them - go for it. You can happily mix it up with the different nuts, seeds and dried fruit, or even by substituting some millet or quinoa flakes for some of the oats. It's your granola. You get to decide. 
• 
  
• Ingredients 
• 450 g rolled oats
• 120 g sunflower seeds
• 120 g white sesame seeds
• 175 g apple sauce (or apple compote)
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon ground ginger
• 120 g brown rice syrup (or rice malt syrup, or failing that golden syrup)
• 4 tablespoons clover honey (or other runny honey)
• 100 g soft light brown sugar
• 250 g whole natural almonds
• 1 teaspoon maldon salt
• 2 tablespoons sunflower oil
• 300 g raisins

Method 

1. Mix everything except the raisins together very well in a large mixing bowl. I use a couple of curved, rigid spatulas; normally, I'd be happy to use my hands, but here it just leaves you covered with everything.
2. Spread this mixture out on two baking tins (the sort that come with ovens, and are about the width of a rack) or large roasting tins (you need a bit of depth to the tray so you can shovel it around without it going everywhere, so don't use a baking sheet). Bake at 170°C/300-325ºF, turning over about halfway through baking and re-distributing the granola evenly during the baking process. The object is to get it evenly golden without toasting too much in any one place. This should take anything from about 40 minutes. 
3. Once it's baked, allow to cool and mix together with the raisins. Store airtight.

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Chocolate Flapjacks (Based on the recipe in Green&Black's Chocolate Recipes)

Ingredients 

• 275 g rolled oats
• 175 g jumbo oat flakes
• 350 g butter
• 175 g soft brown sugar (I reduced this to 150g)
• 175 g light muscovado sugar (i reduced this to 150g)
• 3 tbsp golden syrup
• 6 tbsp good quality cocoa & 1/4 tsp instant espresso powder
• 2 tbsp desiccated coconut

Method 

1. Preheat the oven to 140°C and line a 17cm x 28cm (or similar sized) baking tray with baking parchment/paper.
2. Melt the butter, syrup and sugars over a very low heat, making sure that you don't let it bubble - you only want them to melt.
3. Mix in the oats, cocoa, espresso and coconut.
4. Tip the mixture into the prepared tin and level it out and press down with your spatula or a fork.
5. Bake for about 30 mins - you want them to be cooked (unfortunately, the usual test of 'cook til they turn golden' doesn't work with the cocoa making them look brown) but not to bubble. Check after 25 mins - a little bubbling around the edges is ok, but if you have bubbling all over, then the mixture will set into a toffee-like consistency and be impossible to eat. 
6. Once baked, allow to cool in the tin to set completely. The mixture will still be very soft and might seem uncooked, but be patient. It will set if you let it sit there! You can score it with a knife while it's still soft, as this will make it easier to cut into squares when it's set. Stored in an airtight container, the flapjacks should keep for a week.

A few of my favourite things

Such beauty! Ballymaloe House
(photo from the official website)

For Julie Andrews, it was raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens, and it was a visit to East Cork last weekend that made me think about some of my own favourite things. Many of them, happily, were tied up in the very pretty package that is Ballymaloe House, my destination for the day and a Mecca for Irish foodie pilgrims. There was the Georgian house itself, its symmetrical facade adorned with lilac wisteria in full bloom. The picturesque restored stone outbuildings and grain-store around the courtyard. The stately old trees standing solidly in the grounds, with the wind whipping around them and rippling across the fields of wheat. There was the small but perfectly formed cafe, serving simple, delicious food and fragrant coffee roasted on site, and a shop full of every wonderful frippery you can imagine. It's a place where every detail has been thought through and it appeals to all the senses. It's clear that there is a passion for doing things right, a passion for food and a passion for the landscape and our architectural heritage (it had me at 'doing things right', perfectionist that I am). Be still my beating heart. Reader, I think I'm in love.
 

Pretty!

 What was I doing down in Ballymaloe? I was there to attend a blogging workshop at the Cookery School and as I haven't been feeling too well lately, No.1 Sister had kindly offered her services as chauffeur. Not that it was an entirely selfless act (albeit greatly appreciated); she was like a child en route to Disneyland. The prospect of visiting Ballymaloe, nipping off to wander the market at Middleton and then returning to join me for a lunch in the fabulous cafe, was nearly too much for her. The lovely folk at the Cookery School welcomed us both with coffee and cake (first thing in the morning, but who's arguing?), even though No.1 Sister wasn't even attending the course. They also gave her a free pass to meander through the gardens when I went into the workshop. So while I was listening to the inspiring Lucy Pearce speak, No.1 Sister was frolicking about the raised vegetable beds, saying hello to the pigs in their pen and the Jersey cows in the field, and just generally getting her fill of the bucolic scene before heading back to Middleton Market. 

Delightful!

We enjoyed a browse around the shops after I had finshed (delightful objects or yummy food everywhere). Notice I said 'shops', plural. A word of caution: there is a shop both at the Cookery School and at the cafe, which is about 4km on down the road at Ballymaloe House - this is exceedingly crafty (wallets beware!) but undoubtedly makes good business sense, since we did indeed make purchases in each. One delicious lunch later (asparagus & ricotta tart for me and a Ruben sandwich for the sis) and we were on the road back to the Big Smoke. 

Coconut cupcakes

Arriving in Dublin later that afternoon, weary but contented, we got to enjoy the fruits of my labours the previous evening - cupcakes left over from an order for one of my regular customers - and I got to round off an already lovely day with another of my favourite things: a coconut cupcake with cream cheese frosting sprinkled with yet more dessicated coconut (I use the Barefoot Contessa recipe, which I can highly recommend, with the caveat that it makes a few more than stated - though how can that be bad? ;) ). 

What did I learn from a day playing hooky from my normal Dublin life? Lucy asked us to think really hard about what we were passionate about and what we're good at. Yes I love cakes and baking, but I also love (in no particular order):

• 'old stuff' (archaeological sites and crumbling ruins, atmospheric old houses, vintage fashion, antique crockery and furniture) - basically if it has history, I'm in; 
• books (I'll try any genre once and have devoured books for as long as I can read);
• language (how we use it, why we use it, what words mean).

Such non-cake thoughts and ideas frequently creep into my cake blog posts, pushing their way to the front of the queue and shouting for attention. I now realise that I have strayed far from the original premise of a Bake Shop Blog, documenting my life making and selling cakes, and it is time that my blog reflected that. 

So the blog is getting an overhaul and will be re-christened, though the name is as yet undecided (much as I would like to call it 'A few of my favourite things', some dastardly blogger has stolen that one already). There will still be cake at every turn (you just try and stop me) and plenty of baking tips and recipes, but the conversations may wend in and out of other areas as the muse takes me. It will be just like sitting in a warm cafe with your best friends huddled around the table, forks poised over slices of cake, coffee and tea steaming in the cups, chatting about all of your favourite things. I hope you join me there for a cuppa and a slice next week.

Strawberry Fields Forever

If ever there was a sign that Summer is almost here, it's the sight of punnets of fragrant Irish strawberries lining the Supermarket shelves and strawberry stalls by the roadside (and I say 'amost here' because in spite of what I had to learn by rote in Primary School, for me, Summer begins with June rather than May). The availability of different fruit and veg all year round - including strawberries - provides a false sense of 'aren't we lucky?'. There's nothing remotely lucky about the taste (or lack thereof) of strawberries from Spain or elsewhere, outside of the natural growing season in Ireland. They may look the part, but in terms of fragrance and flavour, they reveal themselves to be imposters. Many things in life are worth waiting for (nothing wrong with a bit of delayed gratification) and strawberries in season is one of them. 

On the baking front, strawberries need little help (and even less heat, unless you want to make jam). They benefit from being up-front and au naturel in any recipe worth its salt - strawberries and cream anyone? All you have to do is peruse any baking book and you'll find a variation of one or other of the following recipes: no-bake strawberry cheesecake (with the berries both in and on top), strawberry cake (with the fresh berries as a filling and very occasionally in the sponge itself) and strawberries on a Pavlova or served with meringues and cream. Strawberries, when in season, have a scent and taste that's all their own and need no further embellishment - a juicy, plump red berry popped straight into the mouth is one of life's simple pleasures. 

For some reason, thinking about strawberries dredged up a childhood memory of fancy paper. Now for those of you who didn't grow up in Ireland in the late 70s / early 80s, you might be wondering what on earth I'm talking about, so a quick recap. The basic premise was that young girls would set about collecting 'fancy paper', i.e. pretty stationery. The variety of sizes, shapes, designs and colours were infinite, with some designs produced as sets. Thus, for example, you might have the same design but different colours or perhaps the same character in different poses or situations. Some of the designs were strawberry-related (the Strawberry Shortcake girl) and even strawberry-scented, which probably explains my mind's wanderings. 

It sounds very straightforward, but there was a whole set of rules and a hierarchy among collectors and things could get quite heated indeed. The ultimate goal was to collect as many sheets as possible of different designs and to complete a set if you could - for no other reason than to have them to look at and to show off to everyone else. At the very top of the fancy-paper pile were the lucky (smug) few who had copious amounts of fancy paper, with a wide range and complete sets of especially rare designs or even (gasp) a brand new pad of a particular 'fancy paper' (which they could dole out pityingly, if the mood took them, to the poorer citizens of Fancy Paper Land). In the middle were the majority (me included), who had one or two prized possessions (the fisherboy was one that stands out - he was quite the rarity) in an otherwise mediocre collection (which was none the more precious for its mediocrity). At the bottom were the younger girls who were only beginning their collections and who had to rely on the generosity of others to slowly build it up. We all felt so sorry for the beginners (Imagine having no fancy paper! The horror!!) that each of us would contribute and reluctantly part with a piece or two (usually a least favourite or less valuable piece to be honest, so not that generous really).

Swapping was the principal means of improving your collection: 'I'll give you three small heart-shaped strawberry-scented sheets in pink with a picture of a small girl in a bonnet, for one colour sheet showing the labrador puppy' (some of the puppy collection were damn hard to get your hands on, especially the colour ones - black and white were two-a-penny). We would gather outside on Summer days, on a picnic blanket on the grass, weather permitting (and in my mind, the sun was always shining), or in the dining room of our house, all seated on the carpet. We would spread our fancy paper collections in front of us, prized sheets proudly placed in prominent positions, and commence bargaining and swapping like the sharpest market traders. Given this early introduction to trading, you would think I'd be better at bargaining and the like now, but alas, no such luck. I think it must be a natural born talent - you either have it or you don't (I guess that's why my collection was never top-drawer). 

Eton Mess 

But having digressed way beyond the topic of the day, it's back to strawberries! One of the easiest strawberry desserts to make is also one of the most delicious - Eton Mess (so-called because it is traditionally served at cricket games in Eton College). There are no complex ingredients, just the perfect marriage of strawberries, meringue and cream - the fresh berries and sweet, crunchy meringue provide a wonderful counterpoint to the smooth, cool, rich cream. It's made by crushing meringues (not too small - you want recognisable pieces to give the dish texture) and mixing them with strawberries and whipped cream - and that's it. Simples, as Russian meerkat Aleksandr Olav would say. 

The term 'mess' may well refer to its appearance, as it's not a looker (as you can see in the photo). You could dicky it up by serving it in a pretty stemmed dessert glass, with a few fresh strawberries placed on top for colour, though I had to serve it in a cup due to a lack of crockery (needs must - any port in a storm and all that). The more likely derivation for the word, though, can be found in its older meanings: 'mess' can also be used in the sense of a quantity of food, particularly a prepared dish of soft food or a mixture of ingredients cooked or eaten together. In the 15th century, the word was even used to describe a group of people who eat together (hence the modern military application of 'soldiers' mess' as a place where soldiers gather to cook or eat). 

Whatever its origins and whatever it looks like, this dish is second to none when it comes to foodie pleasures. I made us up an Eton Mess when we were in Kenmare last weekend - words could not do justice to the experience, so all I can say is get yourself some fabulous Irish strawberries, fresh cream and meringue and see for yourself. (Shop-bought meringues will do in this instance, though I would never normally advocate buying them from a shop). It's quick and it's easy and since the strawberry season doesn't last forever, go make a mess.

Baking Mad

Iced Daisy Biscuit

I may have mentioned once or twice that I find baking to be therapeutic, in much the same way as any physical task that fully occupies the mind and hands. I used to do embroidery for this very reason - the detailed work and the focus required prevents my mind from racing in circles around a problem or issue that is stressing me out. A session of yoga, a walk along the beach or a hike in the mountains gets the endorphins rushing in, renders me calm and creates a sense of well-being, but sometimes energy levels, poor time management, or the lack of opportunity means I can't do any of these things. 

A crackle of honeycomb

As someone who finds true meditation a near impossible task (all the more reason to keep trying no doubt), I seek a meditative state through the kind of precision, detailed work that would drive most people insane - the repetitive needlework for an embroidery piece, moving tiny stitch by tiny stitch, or piping delicate lace or bead work in royal icing onto a cake or biscuit. Both require a steady hand, patience, a calm focus and a willingness to take one small step at a time. It can only be achieved by keeping your mind in the present and not allowing the size of the task to overwhelm you. In a more general sense, baking requires a similar presence of mind, for as soon as you allow other thoughts in, you can find yourself making mistakes (which also happens if I'm baking whilst very tired, a lesson I never seem to learn!). 

Chocolate Biscuit Cake,
set and ready for action

As I had started out Easter week full of rage (for reasons I won't bore you with here), energy sources sadly depleted and a mountain of baking ahead of me, I had neither the time nor the requisite oomph for a session of yoga or a nice long walk. Given the levels of rage and frustration, all of the baking I had to do was probably very well timed indeed (I don't think even the Dammit Doll could have withstood a session with me). There were orders to fill for Easter, a promised birthday treat to make for my niece and a wedding cake and biscuits to create the following week. 

I love Jammie Dodgers

By the time Good Friday dawned, I had rolled and cut biscuit dough, iced little Easter bunnies, lambs, chicks and eggs, stirred fudge into submission and made enough chocolate fudge cakes that the whole apartment was scented with vanilla, chocolate and the aroma of freshly baked cakes. Although exhausted, I arrived safely at the Easter weekend feeling markedly more calm and content (and quite possibly with a dusting of cocoa powder and icing sugar still coating my hair). Refreshed by some Coffee & Walnut Cake (thank you kindly No.1 Sister) and a glass of Prosecco, I was ready and able to face the challenge of a three-tier wedding cake without complete melt-down.

...and all is well with the world again.

Maybe this could be the start of something big - the newest in a very long line of self-help books (well, why not?). If you can't afford a therapist or anger management course and a good bout of physical activity hasn't done the trick, might I recommend some baking? You can even adjust the type of baking therapy to your particular issue. Serious rage would require lengthy, vigorous kneading and pounding of bread dough. Mild frustration could be handled with a spot of biscuit dough rolling and the methodical cutting-out of shapes (roll and repeat until all of the dough is used up, the delicious biscuits are baked and your frustration is gone). A busy, frantic mind can be calmed by icing beautiful (or otherwise) decorations on biscuits or cakes. Need to acquire a focused mind quickly? Get out your digital thermometer and make some honeycomb - it happens fast and furious, so you have to concentrate, but is oh so very satisfying once you add the bicarb and watch it bubble! 

And if all that fails and you just want something sweet to feed the demon inside, no baking required, then melt and stir-up a deluxe chocolate biscuit cake (recipe below) - satisfaction guaranteed. If it worked for me, it can work for anyone - from Incredible Hulk (all green, furious and rage-y) to mild-mannered baker / archaeologist once more. And it was all thanks to baking. 

Chocolate Biscuit Cake

Molten chocolate biscuit cake,
ready for the fridge

This luscious and luxurious version of the simple chocolate biscuit cake is particularly delicious (if you're trying to be good, you have been warned). It's based on the recipe from Konditor & Cook, as printed in Green & Black's Chocolate Recipes, and single-handedly converted me from someone who always thought chocolate biscuit cake was over-rated (I blame early exposure to a bland and rather dry version in the Coffee Dock in Trinity during my college years) to someone who just can't get enough of the stuff. I replace the walnuts, sultanas and cherries with the same amount in biscuits, but feel free to leave them in if you prefer. Alternatively, mix it up by adding in whatever takes your fancy - be it a different type of biscuit, some marshmallows, honeycomb or other type of nuts. Likewise, if you really can't take the intensity of dark chocolate in this (though I would urge you to try it), use one third dark and two thirds milk chocolate or half of each. I also add a quarter teaspoon each of instant espresso powder and cocoa powder - small amounts but they work to ramp up the chocolate flavour.

It's a cinch to prepare, taking only 15 minutes or so. Patience is only required for the 3-4 hours it needs to chill and set in the fridge (they say patience is a virtue and it is duly rewarded here).

Ingredients

125g butter

75g golden syrup

200g dark chocolate (minimum 60% chocolate)

1 egg

50g each of digestive biscuits, walnuts, sultanas and glace cherries (or simply 200g of digestive biscuits or combined other mix of your choosing) 

1/4 teaspoon each of instant espresso powder and cocoa powder

Method

Line a 20cm x 8cm loaf tin with baking parchment. Place the butter, syrup, chocolate, instant espresso powder and cocoa powder into a saucepan and melt over a very low heat - make sure you stir regularly. This works every time for me, but if you're scared of melting chocolate over direct heat, then simply melt that separately in a bowl suspended over a pan of simmering water before adding to the butter / syrup mix. Remove from the heat and pasteurise the egg by beating it slowly and continuously into the hot chocolate mixture. Break up the biscuits into large chunks (they'll be broken further when mixed and you don't want it to become Chocolate Crumb Cake) and stir these along with any other dry ingredients into the chocolate mixture. Pour and press into the prepared tin and leave to set in the fridge. Once set, you can remove it from the tin, peel off the paper, cut into slices or chunks. On the slim chance that it's not all savaged in the one sitting, keep any extra in the fridge.

Old Friends

Today's post is a nod to friends, old and new. As someone who has suffered with a chronic illness for the last four years, I am keenly aware that in the friendship stakes, I have lucked out. It takes a very good friendship to survive the constant battering of cancelled arrangements, early exits and the need for emotional support. Some friends I see less of, others have drifted away, and I have culled that pool of acquaintances or not-so-close friends that I used to see socially. But my close friends still circle around me, full of sympathy for my plight when it gets bad, with fun and laughter to cheer me up, and keeping my seat at the table for when times are good.  

I was reminded of this when I met up with two good friends last Saturday. I hadn't seen them for an age, so we met for lots of chat and lunch in the lovely Fallon and Byrne. One of the girls had been browsing the foodie aisles downstairs beforehand and had purchased a chocolate spread. Now in case you're thinking Nutella (yum), I have to tell you that would be like comparing my car (a solid and reliable Toyota) with a Porsche (which I can only imagine is a much more exciting drive). This is no mere chocolate spread people. Expensive, yes, but what's life without its little luxuries? I always have a jar of chocolate hazelnut spread on the go (Nutella or otherwise), so when Aoife snuck the jar out of the brown paper bag at the dining table, a big smile on her face, I was intrigued. A small jar, with a classy label, full of the most delicious looking chocolate spread imaginable. To top it all off, it hailed from Aix-en-Provence, where I once spent a wonderful six months doing research for my PhD. Memories of lavender fields, hot sun and azure blue skies, all bound up in one little jar of chocolate spread. 


Since today's theme is friendship (and chocolate I guess - it just snuck in there), I have to mention the irresistible pairing of coffee and chocolate - BFFs of the culinary world. Even if you don't like to drink coffee alongside a chocolate nibble of some description (to which I say, are you mad?), there should still be a place in your world for this pair. The addition of coffee to a chocolate cake or dessert can take it from ordinary to sublime. It does something to make the chocolate taste more chocolaty, without turning it into a mocha - you shouldn't add so much that people know it's there, just enough that it intensifies the chocolate experience. For that reason, my all time favourite chocolate fudge cake has coffee in both the sponge and the icing. It's originally Nigella's choc fudge cake recipe, to which I add three tablespoons of strong coffee to the cake mixture and one to the icing (recipe link here - if you're going to make any cake for Easter, make it this one, as it's both easy and addictively good). Similarly, I will add a hint of coffee to chocolate brownies, mousse or any other type of chocolate cake. And to take a step away from the sweet trolley for a moment - most unlike me I know - adding a few squares of chocolate (74% cocoa solids or higher) to a chilli con carne that has been made using strong coffee as the stock liquid, makes the most more-ish chilli you've ever tasted.

But back to my chocolate spread (I can't bear to leave it). As soon as our lunch was over, I abandoned the girls to make their way home and headed straight for the condiment aisle. I did manage to resist the temptation to purchase not just this, but also the dark chocolate version (Oh God!) and a salted caramel spread (Lord save me!). One day, I have promised myself, I will make my own chocolate spread - just for the sheer joy of it - but in the meantime, I do believe this will do. I have died and gone to chocolate heaven. It tastes like the most luscious praline-filled chocolate, but in spreadable form. As you can see from the photo, I couldn't wait until I had something to put it on (or for that matter a spoon), instead I just dove straight in... resistance was futile in this instance. My next free time is this Friday (just me, the armchair and some trashy TV). I'm planning to sit with my feet up, a slice of fresh, crusty bread liberally coated with the chocolate spread and cup of coffee in hand. Bring it on!

Jill of all trades...

I am self-aware enough to acknowledge that there are certain things that I am just terrible at. I know, for example, that I have no natural inclination towards the sciences or maths (unlike my sisters). Nor will I ever excel at anything sporty. But that's OK. This is not an exercise in me-bashing. I'm equally aware of what I am particularly good at, which usually (though not always) coincides with what I am most interested in - namely baking cakes, dealing with the past (history and archaeology - not incredibly useful in daily life unless you're an archaeologist, it has to be said) and all things linguistic (languages, books, writing).

But scattered all along the middle of the road are the many, many things that I'm OK at - I'm happy to have a go simply because I enjoy them, safe in the knowledge that I don't have to master them to perfection (Jill of all trades, master of none?). And as they're not something I have to do well in order to make a living out of them, perform to an audience or ace in an exam, I can remain content in my mediocrity. So I can sing somewhat tunefully along to my favourite songs (I will confess that, although my music tastes are broad, I have a penchant for a Country and Western ballad to sing along to - take it away Dolly!). I can make a half-decent curry for dinner (and no, I don't roast and grind my own spices). I can benefit from my years of yoga practice without ever beating myself up for not managing a headstand unaided or full lotus position. I'm also pretty handy with a paint-brush, though other feats of DIY require a handyman. 

Maltana

This is all by way of an introduction to my recipe for my malted raisin yeast bread. I will confess straight up that I am no Master Bread Baker. I love good bread, but generally wouldn't ever get a yearning for it in the same way that I would for cake, and I don't tend to eat a huge amount of it. So while I have spent years mastering the baking of cakes, biscuits and other sweet treats, yeast bread is a relatively new endeavour. I probably would have left well enough alone had my sister not bought a bread machine a few years ago. Her success led to us buying one for our Dad (already a champion soda bread maker). More than any other bread from the machines (all of which is pretty fabulous by the way), the Maltana made me want to try my hand at bread-making. Yes, you can still buy lovely Maltana in the shops, but it's nice to make it yourself and know exactly what's in it. 

Now my kitchen is small and counter space is tight, so there was no way I'd be investing in a bread machine myself. Armed with the recipe from the bread-machine book, I began the first of what would be many trials. The recipe as it stood turned out OK but was a bit dense (what works in the controlled environment of a bread-machine doesn't necessarily do the same outside). I upped the yeast quotient for the next loaf and added some treacle for colour, but still wasn't happy - too heavy. After a bit of research, I realised one of my fundamental errors was adding the raisins in at the start of the process, instead of kneading them in after the first prove (yes indeed, research first would have been a great idea). Third trial involved a whole new recipe (by Delia), which oddly required no kneading (should have trusted my instincts there) and contained a lot more treacle - this one was funny in texture and had a burnt after-taste from too much treacle (third time was not the charm). 

Finally, a variation on the original recipe worked a treat, with the addition of some melted butter, a touch of mixed spice for flavour, milk instead of water (for a softer crumb), and making sure the dough was wetter than usual and the raisins pre-soaked (to stop them sucking the moisture from the dough). And if you’re feeling a bit lazy like I was, instead of kneading in the raisins, simply roll the dough out flat, press on the raisins and roll the dough up tightly before placing in the tin. This has the added advantage of looking a bit like a pain au raisin, which fools the eye into thinking you’re being bold, when really you’re not.

I'm sure the formidable Paul Hollywood would toss it aside dismissively as an imperfect loaf of bread. And he would be right - it wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn good and no doubt it will get better with practice. So if, like me, you're no Master Bread-Maker, don't worry about it. Give it a go anyway (I've put the recipe below). There's nothing like the smell of bread baking in the house and the sight of a loaf warm from the oven, cooling on the rack. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again (they do say practice makes perfect, so I live in hope). Or if you're not as tenacious (stubborn) as I am, do as my sister would tell you - buy a bread-machine.

Malted raisin yeast bread

Ingredients

2 tbsp malt extract

1 tbsp golden syrup

1 tbsp treacle

55g butter

1 1/4 tsp salt

1/2 tsp mixed spice

454g strong flour

2 tsp fast-action yeast

200-250ml milk

160g raisins / sultanas 

Method

Melt the butter, golden syrup and treacle and allow to cool completely. Scald the milk (i.e. bring to a boil, allow to cool, then remove the skin from the top of the milk). Place the dry ingredients in a bowl (keeping the salt and yeast to separate sides initially), add the butter, syrup and treacle and mix together. Add enough milk to make a slightly wet dough (you don't want it gloopy, just a bit sticky) and mix. The dough should be kneaded for about 10 minutes by hand (or about 5 mins in the machine with a dough hook, which is what I do), until it looks smooth and soft. Place it in a large oiled bowl, cover with cling film and leave to prove for 1.5 to 2 hours (until it has doubled in size).  

While this is happening, soak the raisins or sultanas in a small amount of boiling water from the kettle, covering the bowl with cling film and leaving them to soak up the water (you can drain off any excess moisture left before you add them to the dough). Knead in the dried fruit, form into a rough oval, almost the length of your loaf tin (I use a 22cm long x 12cm wide x 6cm deep tin), place in the tin and leave to prove (covered) for another couple of hours - it will almost double in size again and when you gently press your finger into the dough it will spring back. Bake for about 40 mins in a pre-heated oven at 200C (fan) - this varies depending on your oven.

Working with yeast (which is alive) can be tricky, as there are so many variables - moisture in the air on a particular day, how warm your kitchen is, the batch of flour you're using - each of these factors can affect how the dough proves and how the bread fares in terms of texture and taste. As you make more and more bread, you become more attuned to how it should look and feel at certain stages, so in this case, practice really does make perfect!