Spiced Apple and Rye Hand Pies

I woke to the sound of a kookaburra’s call a few mornings ago. The sentinel of his flock perhaps, a call to arms to indicate the first slivers of light appearing through the trees on the horizon. It always goes quiet after his call. It’s a long string of distinctive caws increasing in volume and energy to a final crescendo before silence falls. I imagine his fellow flock members stirring in their eucalypt branches sandy eyes blinking open winged feathers ruffling as they stretch and meet the day as he nods off from the night shift keeping watch. Is it the same Kookaburra doing this job every morning or do they take turns? Are they even so organised a species? Who knows, it’s these cerebral meanderings that float around my mind while I procrastinate from the inevitability the breaking light heralds. Probably time to ruffle my own feathers and rub the sand from my eyes.

The calls of the morning are quieter at the moment. It’s autumn and we’ve freshly switched off day light saving time. The damp cold stillness that the turn of the season towards winter brings settles over all of us. Nature its own beacon to the shift. Leaves turn all the colours of their own red, orange and gold rainbow, plants slow their growth and animals start their pre hibernation routine fattening up for the coming cold. We humans are similar in a fashion. We become drawn to foods that warm and nourish our bodies and minds. Porridge for breakfast a promise that helps draw the covers back, hot tea at morning teatime to warm from the inside out and stews and soups to comfort and nurture at the end of the day to fill bellies and fuel our bodies to keep us warm.

Not only do we look to warm hearty fair to warm us from the inside out and stoke out internal furnaces we’re also are drawn to particular flavours and their memories evoked by the season. Spices often compliment such meals the warming notes of specific extracts doing the heavy lifting. Be they in that porridge, tea, a stew or slow cook but most particularly in a bake, spices can add complexity and sensation to a dish that adds another dimension and layer to the experience. If you look through my recipe collection you’ll note it’s no secret that I adore cooking with spices. The shift in seasons and my proclivity to lean on them got me to pondering this, procrasitpondering if you will. And it occurs to me that this is not just rooted (see what I did there? Rooted? Ginger, coriander, wasabi) in my love of flavour but also the extra elements their characteristics offer to enhance a meal. Characteristics like sweet, savoury, earthiness, warmth, brightness, freshness amongst others all create a dance between themselves and other ingredients in your cooking. Much in the way music does to a song spices can create a cohesion to all the components of your culinary creations.

And so to the season. As we let go of the warmer weather and flavours like makrut lime, lemongrass, basil and mint amongst other summer flavours we turn to autumnal ones. Interestingly not only do they lend the colours of the season but flavours that settle over us with recollections and experiences whose memories come to life as the flavours erupt on our palettes. Pumpkin, maple, chestnuts, walnuts, mushrooms, apples pears and all those beautiful warming spices like ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and the like form the foundations of many of our favourite recipes that bridge our journey from hot weather to cold.

Laying in bed listening to the silence around that Kookaburra’s call, the breeze tumbling overnight rainfall droplets from the leaves on which they’d settled knowing it was cold outside I didn’t crave fruit or salad, I craved something baked. I yearned for my home to be filled with aromas of sugar, butter and spice, the cosiness that evokes and the delicious morning tea I would pull from my oven at the end of that fragrant alchemy.

Notes:

I use a blender (vitamix) to make my pastry in this instance. You can follow the same instructions in a food processor. If you have neither or prefer to use your hands employ a traditional method of rubbing butter into the dry ingredients doing the job of the blades, make a well in the centre and add the wet ingredients and bring together with your hands again doing the work the blades would do and give a short simple knead to bring together.

Makes 12 Hands Pies

Ingredients:

125 gm cold butter in small cubes

150 gm plain flour

70 gm rye flour (you can substitute wholemeal wheat flour here if you prefer or even use plain white flour. If using plain white you may find you only need one Tb of the water).

1 scant tsp cardamon ground

20 g/1 Tb caster sugar

1 egg yolk

60 gm sour cream

1-2 Tb ice water

2 large green apples, peeled and cut into thinly sliced chunks

2 Tb brown sugar

½ tsp cinnamon

Pinch of salt extra

An extra egg for brushing pastry beaten with a splash of milk

Demerara sugar to sprinkle

Method:

In a blender or food processor (see above if you have neither) add cubed butter, flours, caster sugar, cardamon and a pinch of salt. Doing this step in this order, butter first then dry ingredients, is important as it integrates the butter and flour more efficiently and therefore reduces the time under mix and the chance of the dough becoming overworked. Pulse the machine a few times until the butter and dry ingredients are integrated in the way they would be if you’d rubbed them together with your fingers. A few lumps of butter is fine and in fact preferable. In a small bowl, beat together the egg yolk and sour cream. Add the wet mixture to the mixture in your blender/processor and pulse a few times again until the mixture has come together mostly. Tip the mixture out onto a bench and use your hands to finish bringing everything together gently. Pat down into a disc, wrap in cling wrap and pop in the fridge to rest for 30 minutes.

Prepare apples and tip into a medium sized bowl. Sprinkle over brown sugar, cinnamon and salt and stir well until sugar is completely coated. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 180c and line a large baking tray with baking paper.

Remove pastry from fridge and roll out to a thickness of 3mm. Cut rolled pastry into rounds. I’ve used a tin lid of 11.5 cms across. To assemble pies, take a round in your hand, holding like a taco shell and brush the edges with the egg wash. Spoon a heaped desert spoonful of apple into the centre and pinch the edges together to seal. It will look like an overgrown dumpling. Continue this until all rounds are stuffed. Line up on tray and brush with egg wash and sprinkle over demerara sugar. Bake for 25-30 mins.

Eat warm or cold, with cream or custard or whatever your autumnal heart desires.

Chocolate Croissant Pudding

Just this last week the morning air has taken on a crisp chill. Not one to make you shiver or pull the covers up in the morning shy to rise rather one that feels brisk as a prelude to autumn sunshiny days. It’s the shift you note that reminds you of the approaching swing from summer’s steamy languorous days to the frosty mornings of days spent kicking up fallen leaves and sipping hot tea planning meals of soups and stews. It’s also the time of year that signals easter’s beckoning and a short holiday period to laze and rejoice in company of loved ones before we settle in for the winter and that long stretch of months before long weekends and holidays return.

Easter has always been a special holiday for us. We’re not religious people observing the special meaning behind this period rather this time of year has been a time for us as a family to enjoy one last camping holiday before the real thick of the year settled in. This last break together before winter’s descent was always marked by easter egg hunts in the bush. The delighted shouts of excited kids would ring through the trees with a backdrop of kookaburra’s cawing almost hinting to the kids to of hidden chocolatey treasure and the whooshing of rivers rushing past us a white noise of the water’s course by our campsite like background music to the feverish scene. As the years went on and the kids became savvier the hunt would be quite a strategic affair, elbows would be sharpened and lines would be drawn between siblings and friends, but always to the tune of laughter and happiness.

As you’d expect food would always feature heavily over these weekends. Sometimes fish or seafood on Friday, not out of any particular observation but rather an excuse for a more indulgent meal. Hot Cross Buns a given of course, more recently using only this recipe. A Sunday lamb roast another non-negotiable. Sometimes slow cooked in a camp oven bubbling in its own juices, vegetables simmering alongside the succulent meat, other times rotated over the campfire on a spit the enticing aroma floating across the campsite making everyone hungry. And of course it wouldn’t be easter without ALL the chocolate, Lindt balls, Smarties Eggs, Elegant Bunnies and delicious rich Haigh’s Bilbies. And like all holiday periods where food is part of the celebration lots of leftovers.

Growing up we didn’t go away for easter or have a particular set of traditions we observed however food was the star of the weekend whether we were all home or not. Mum would cook smoked cod according to her grandmother’s recipe. The strangely golden hued fish with its tight white flesh simmering on the stove would exude a smell that failed to entice me in younger years and later was happily replaced by prawns and fish fillets pan fried. Hot cross buns would be available in copious volume all weekend though croissants appeared on Sunday to be enjoyed with chocolatey easter treats quite an exotic delight in those days. Though we didn’t have a tradition of holiday getaways these little food traditions did establish little seasonal rituals that marked the occasion and always created anticipation.

It's these little rituals we grow up with that inspire us to create our own. It’s also shifts and changes in the shape of your family and these holiday periods that create new additions to food traditions we enjoy and look forwards to.

Croissants are commonly available now, not the exotic luxury they once were. They’re an ingredient, though that still feels a bit special. Together with chocolate they’re the height of celebratory breakfast. Chocolate Croissant Pudding is particularly delicious with flaky layers of buttery pastry soaking in rich chocolate custard and baked to a warm gooey pudding, what better way to celebrate and indulge in all the richness of easter fun.

Ingredients:

3 eggs

1/3 C caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste

1 Tb/10 gm cocoa

1 ½ C thickened or heavy cream

¼ C milk (Whatever kind you use is fine.)

1 ½ tsp cornflour

6 croissant (yesterday’s leftover ones work well here)

50gm chopped dark chocolate or leftover easter eggs

Butter softened to spread

A jar of caramel spread. You need roughly 2 tsps per croissant but you do you and enjoy the remains of the jar on ice cream.

Demerara Sugar for sprinkling. This isn’t a deal breaker if you don’t have it, just leave it out.

Method:

Slice open croissant and spread generously with butter and your chosen spread if you’re using one, set aside. Butter a suitably sized oven proof dish well.

In a large bowl whisk egg, sugar and vanilla well until completely combined and slightly foamy on top. Add cream and sifted cocoa and whisk again until completely combined and no cocoa lumps appear. Take a few spoons of the milk and combine with the cornflour until smooth then return to the remaining milk. Add this to the custard mixture again whisking to amalgamate.

In your buttered dish lay out the prepared croissant in a single layer. Pour over custard mixture and gently press to encourage the pastries to soak up the moisture. Leave to soak in the fridge for at least two hours (overnight is good too), croissant don’t seem to absorb in the same way as bread does when making the similar bread and butter pudding. I like to loosely place a sheet of baking paper over the top to cover so I can gently press on the pudding helping it along whenever I’m in the fridge.

When ready, preheat the oven to 180c. Take the pudding out of the fridge when you turn the oven on for it to lose some of its chill before going into the oven. Sprinkle the demerara sugar over the top. When ready place in the oven for 45 minutes checking half way through to be sure it’s not browning too much on top. You can cover with foil if needed.

When cooked remove from oven and allow to cool a little and settle for at least 15 minutes, serve warm. Serve with whatever creamy accompaniment your easter heart desires.

Notes:

~If caramel spread isn’t your thing you could also sub in a nut spread like Nutella, your favourite berry jam or leave out completely.

~Croissants not your easter jam? How about using up all those left over hot cross buns.

~If chocolate custard feels all too much you could follow this version of a bread style pudding which will work with croissant or hot cross buns.

Lemon Shortcake

Some weeks, Thursdays are a bit like the start of the weekend for me. I’ve usually sent this out early and generally don’t schedule any deadlines. Sometimes I may have a shoot booked but generally it’s an admin day or exploratory one in either the kitchen or studio. When the calendar allows though, it’s also a good day for catch ups. More often than not, if I am catching up with someone I’m heading out and fitting it in around other commitments. Or maybe that’s just an excuse to try new restaurants and venues.

Recently however I enjoyed a Thursday catch up with my Aunt and Uncle. Though not much older than me they’re both retired and very social so I knew it would be a fun and lovely morning tea.

The day dawned with all the promise of the sort of spring morning that puts a pep in your step and leaves you lite of mood. I had several errands and admin tasks in the morning to get through but as is my wont was convinced, I could complete my list and pop something in the oven to take along with me. A hostess gift if you will, ‘never arrive empty handed’ the mantra that plays in my head whenever I’m visiting someone. To my great embarrassment I neither completed my list nor arrived at their door with a ‘plate’ in hand. I’ve also just outed myself, both my aunt and cousin read this. The great aussie tradition of ‘bring a plate’ and never arriving empty handed crashed into each other in my head.

I’m not sure where the idea of a hostess gift originated, though perhaps it goes back as far as ancient times when travellers and explorers would make offerings when entering new lands and territories. It’s something that can be traced through the ages in various forms and cultures and in many ways persists today. In some cultures, the traditions are quite definitive and act as a guideline of their own in both budget and content. Whilst perhaps not inviting creativity countries where the expectations are established simplifies the process and sounds pretty attractive in a busy world. The Australian tradition of ‘bringing a plate’ seems to be ours. It’s one that’s tripped up many a newcomer to our shores in the act of establishing new lives and networks. The stories of many a new pal originating from overseas, obediently, though confusedly, arriving empty plate in hand, perhaps even sympathetically so empathising with the dilemma of a hostess not having sufficient dinnerware for guests are almost folklore. We’re an odd bunch really but of course we know that plate should actually carry a contribution to the meal. Perhaps a salad or side, a small cheese or charcuterie platter or even a dessert all common requests. I’m always confounded though whether I should also bring a small gesture of gratitude for the invitation and effort entertaining brings to busy lives. Some little homemade treat to be enjoyed in private after an event or a bunch of flowers maybe. The act of inviting someone to your home and cooking for them is such an act of affection for but likewise arriving with a gesture of gratitude in hand “is an investment in the relationship,” (I’d like to claim responsibility for that pearler but it’s from one of the plethora of websites I trawled researching the concept).

I’d considered flowers on that recent Thursday morning but was unsure about their movements in the days following in their busy retired life or perhaps even something to be enjoyed later but the morning slipped through my grasp. Greeted at the door by their enthusiastic and warm welcome my embarrassment slipped away as we immediately leapt into our long awaited catch up. A grandbaby on the way cousins careers progressing and all the other ups and downs and adventures of my 30 something year old cousins all updated. All the while over coffee and a Lemon Shortcake, proudly showed off by my aunt who declares herself “not a baker.” A dish she mastered many years ago from a treasured recipe book created by the mothers of preschoolers she taught early in her career, it’s one she makes frequently and she promised was easy. I whipped out my phone to capture Lemon Shortcake by Anne Tempest from long ago. I’ve made a few tiny tweaks to dear Anne’s recipe though her sweet bake remains just as delectable.

I think it will go on my list of ‘bring a plate’ dishes when I’m assigned a dessert next time I’m lucky enough to be welcomed into the home of a pal and maybe, if time has escaped me again it will be so delicious it will be thank you enough.

Ingredients:

115 gm butter softened

115 gm caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1 egg, room temp if you can be organised

Pinch of salt

115 gm plain flour

115 gm self-raising flour

½ cup lemon curd. I always use this one, it’s fool proof and perfect as you’d expect. You could also use store bought for a quick bake.

https://www.smh.com.au/goodfood/recipes/lemon-curd-20111018-29wiz.html

1 tsp whit sugar

1 tbs almond flakes

1 egg and a splash of milk extra for glazing.

Method:

Preheat oven to 220c. Grease and line a 20cm spring form cake tin.

In the bowl of a stand mixer combine soft butter, sugar and vanilla. Beat on medium high until light and fluffy, scraping down sides as you go as necessary. Add in beaten room temp egg and beat again until amalgamate. Watch it carefully as you want it to be emulsified but not split. At this point remove bowl from mixer and tip in combined flours and salt. With purposeful movement fold together using a spatula until completely combined. Tip onto a lightly floured bench and work with your hands in a light kneading fashion similarly to how you would for scones. Divide dough in half. Refrigerate one half for ten minutes during the next step. Take the remaining half and push it into the base of prepared tin working it evenly with your hands covering the whole base creating a bottom layer disc, neaten the edges. Pour the lemon curd into the centre of your disc and spread evenly leaving a 1.5 cm border free of curd. Brush edges with egg wash. Remove your remaining dough from the fridge and, on a floured surface, roll out to a matching sized disc. Gently work the edges with your fingers to neaten. Lift carefully and gently place over base and lemon curd, softly pressing edges to seal. Brush over the top with your egg wash, sprinkle with sugar and almond flakes. Place in the oven and immediately turn heat down to 200. Cook 15-20.

Allow to cool in tin and transfer to a serving plate when completely cooled.

Serve with lashings of cream, sour cream or yoghurt. You may also like to serve warm with ice cream as a dessert but not hot, that curd will burn your tongue if you let anticipation take over.

Strawberry Yoghurt Mousse

In her most excellent newsletter this week, Kate Mildenhall reflected on reading and the role it plays in her personal and professional lives. Celebrating her passion for the ‘pastime’ from childhood through to adulthood she also recognised its now important function in her profession as a fiction author. One of the things she noted was the genesis of her characters. Quoting Maggie McKellar’s brilliant book Graft in which, when citing works used in the construction of her book, she says, “This book stands on a library…” Struck by the quote Kate goes on to reflect on her own work and reading. Whilst acknowledging the seeds of her two protagonists in her latest book, her two daughters, she also reflects on characters previously in tomes previously read and the “DNA” in the catalogue of her own internal reading library. The evolution of all the characteristics of those fictional individuals perhaps swirling around and melding into new characters, drawing different qualities from all those personalities on the page and reimagined into new ones.

On the other side of the country, bathed in sun, toes in the red dirt of The Kimberley dear friends are holidaying in Broome. We’ve holidayed with our friends frequently and as happens we have many ‘in jokes’ from our adventures. Technology being what it is postcards aren’t the method by which folks stay in touch on holidays rather we send each other quick messages, perhaps including a phone snap to share with a pal we think they may like or be amused by. Sharing a couple of photos with me in a message, my friend sent a photo for my husband and one for me. They’d visited an historical site sharing an image of aeroplane wreckage for hubby and one of CWA memorabilia for me featuring recipes from long ago. The ones captured were concoctions created by women living in remote Australia perhaps tapping into their culinary creativity with whatever was available in the store cupboard. As is my wont I zoomed in on those snippets of food history, curious to read the food writing and instructions and most importantly the recipe. ‘Amy Johnston Cake’ caught my attention, my food and recipe writer brain immediately clicking into gear. Deciphering the instructions of B. Andrews of Newstead I imagined what “a little milk…..fairly thinly……1 teacup….1 breakfast cup” all looks like. What do they weigh or measure too, and how thin is fairly thin? Translation aside it all sounds delicious and one I will work on and share. Which leads to my thought that, this is the recipe of another, one that I’ll play with and meld to a modern language and help evolve to something with measurements and instructions longer than that which fits into a letter to an editor of an organisation’s traditional newsletter, but still, the creation of B Newstead. Or is it? Is it one whispered to her in haste at the school gate amongst parents collecting kids or passed down from a favourite aunt? Or is it one carrying the DNA of hundreds of previous recipes she read or cooked or ate. Is it one she thought required a tweak here or there. A touch of flavour from her tastes and preferences. How far back in the narrative of her personal cooking ‘library’ could she indeed travel to record the history of this cake?

At her recent event in Melbourne Nigella Lawson was asked how she felt about people changing or tweaking her recipes. Sadly I don’t remember her exact words but very much do her sentiment. She reminded her audience that like them she’s a home cook and that’s how we cook and create. That, as new ingredients become widely available and understood we add them to our cooking, to the recipes we already know. Likewise as our skills grow we try new things and tweak, this way and that to both suit our skill sets and what we prefer. Reassuringly she loved the idea that her writing gave readers the platform to go forth and tap into their intellectual libraries and create new dishes.

As a child one of my favourite desserts was chocolate mousse. Whenever we went out to dinner as a family I would always order a dish of the brown fluffy pudding to end my meal. These nights were rare, always to celebrate something and enjoyed after mum and dad had saved their pennies to indulge in such revelries. As such as you can imagine we ordered special dishes, always our favourites and for me no such outing was complete without the full stop of mousse. I often couldn’t really fit it in and would pass half a glass to my dear old dad who perhaps encouraged my largesse in the hope he would benefit from my child like stomach that clearly didn’t match my ambitious appetite.

Mousse remains a favourite or more precisely any creamy pudding really. So too does the notion of mingling recipes and ideas, creating new ones. As a young woman I worked for a small family catering company whose owner tried to teach me to make chocolate mousse. I’d watch with fascination as her gentle determined folds amalgamated the oozy melted chocolate mixture with fluffy whipped egg whites and stiff whipped cream. Her deft hand

would amalgamate the mixture to enticing silken mounds of chocolate clouds spooned into little bowls to set. Unfortunately, that recipe is filed under “recipes by wonderful older mentors I should have written down,” dear old Mavis having long ago left us. There’s a plethora of variations on the theme though, a theme I’ll gladly explore one day though with our boys moved on one I’d wind up eating on my own. My husband, whilst a firm chocolate lover, is not a fan of desserts flavoured with chocolate, he does however love anything flavoured with strawberry whilst I love anything creamy and set and am quite enamoured with anything reliable and versatile. Drawing on our wants and my internal library of flavours, textures and techniques, I offer you Strawberry Yoghurt Mousse. Like a favourite lipstick she’ll take you from breakfast all the way through to dessert, you can thank me later.

Should you be considering a mousse for breaky you can set these in a jar and sprinkle some crunchy breakfast accoutrements on top like granola or coconut chips like you would a chia pot. Alternatively set them in a pretty glass and top with more fruit, perhaps a drizzle of syrup of your chosen variety and whipped cream, or ice cream or any dessert like adornment that takes your fancy.

Ingredients:

1 c thick Greek yoghurt, preferably set not the smooth creamy Greek like version.

½ c of fully cream milk. I use almond milk so by all means you do you.

130 gm strawberries trimmed, hulled and roughly chopped pureed

¼ c honey

1 tsp vanilla extract

5 gm gelatine leaves, I use platinum, it’s the most readily available in sheet form at major supermarkets.

Method:

Clean and prepare four small glasses or dessert dishes suitable to hold the mousse as pictured. Each serve will make ¾c of mixture. Place them on a small tray suitable to place in the fridge, set aside.

Put the yoghurt in a large bowl and set aside. Fill a small jug or bowl with cold tap water and place gelatine sheets in to soak and soften for a few minutes until they feel soft and squishy. In a small saucepan combine milk, honey and vanilla and warm over a low flame until all combined and smooth. The mixture shouldn’t be hot only just warm. Remove gelatine leaves from the jug of cold water and squeeze out as much moisture as you can. Take the warm pot from the heat, drop the gelatine sheets into the warm milk mixture and stir continuously until completely combined and they’ve disappeared. I like to pour all of this into the jug I used for the water, this will help it cool faster if it’s out of the warm pot.

While the milk mixture is cooling use a balloon whisk to whip the yoghurt mixture like you would cream. It won’t gain the volume and structure of whipped cream but it will be smoother than set yoghurt and a little more voluminous with a few small bubbles of air and look like swoon worthy swirls. Add the strawberry puree and again whip vigorously combining thoroughly. Once amalgamated take your jug of cooled milk mixture and slowly pour into the yoghurt mixture all the while whipping well with your whisk to completely combine.

Pour the mixture evenly into your four prepared glasses and refrigerate for at least four hours to as much as overnight.

As I mentioned earlier you can use this for a fancy dessert and dress appropriately or as dessert. I love a little drizzle of pure maple syrup and perhaps even some curls of white chocolate for dessert or some crunchy granola for breaky.

If you’re catering to a crowd or prefer a larger serve this recipe will scale up very well by just doubling everything and using the size glasses you prefer.

Vanilla and Apple Cake with Mascarpone Frosting

The grunts of exasperation could be heard from the kitchen over the television in the loungeroom. My brother looked at me, rolled his eyes and reluctantly hauled himself from his armchair, I leapt from the couch trailing after him curious, like him, to find out what was frustrating mum so much. The kitchen came off the loungeroom separated only by a sliding door that was rarely closed. When the door was rarely closed we knew not to go snooping, but this one night with only the three of us home my older brother, the only ‘man’ home, felt compelled to investigate. Mum had decided that after dinner would be a good time to make my 6th birthday cake. Perhaps not a time of day when one would be at their most agile in the kitchen, she had multiple ingredients spread across the round white laminate kitchen table. I climbed up onto the orange vinyl upholstered kitchen chair at her left my, then, 19-year-old brother on her right asking if he could help. Nodding, she gazed down to the famed Australian Women’s Weekly Birthday Cake Book, our eyes following hers. I delightedly admired a beautiful Barbie cake standing proudly in a dress of pure white fluffy buttercream coated butter cake, jewelled with 100’s and 1000’s, multi-coloured smarties and sugar coated spearmint leaf lollies, her golden locks flowing in giant curls to her waistline of silver sugar pearl. My mum saw a baking nightmare and my brother saw an excited small birthday girl and a stressed Mum trying to create some birthday magic.

Taking charge, he tidied up what we didn’t need, ordered what we did and made a start on adorning Barbie in her dolly varden butter cake gown. Together they worked as a team sculpting the cake, whipping air through the butter cream and designing a colourful pattern of sweets for her skirts. I watched, chin perched on both hands, elbows resting on the table my knees folded under me, completely entranced by the evolution of my birthday cake. My brother’s tradesman hands worked with slow precision, his eyes darting back and forth from the book’s pictures to the slowing evolving sugary masterpiece. Mum’s shoulders slowly relaxed. She made herself a coffee and worked at his side warming to the task and enjoying the team effort. As he placed the final adornment on the cake with the ceremony of the placement of a Christmas star on a tree, we all oooed and ahhhed at her beauty. I clapped with delight, mum exhaled with relief and my brother cautiously looked at us both, a slow, satisfied and relieved smile creeping across his face. She was done! My Barbie birthday cake was complete, and she was glorious!

I learnt a few things that night. Firstly, and perhaps most obviously, be prepared. I say ‘I learned’ but am not necessarily entrenched in this lesson still falling prey to a craving or whim to create something in the kitchen without all the ingredients, at an absurd time of day when I already have too much to do and not in an orderly fashion. I learnt about teamwork and the need to call on help when you’ve reached your end and to call on anyone who’d happily help even if they don’t seem like the one with the expertise you may require. Again, I learnt this one but don’t necessarily act on this one as much as I should. And I learnt about family. Pulling together to meet a common goal. Leaning on each other to alleviate stress, fill gaps and most importantly the ceremony of honouring a member’s bitrthday…and of course to create cake!

You see in our family cake was a centrepoint of family birthdays. It wasn’t a birthday without it, favourite flavours and themes. As a child drawing on the eponymous children’s birthday cake book which resided in most Australian homes I remember choosing Barbie, a teddy bear and a lolly train amongst others. And as time went on, I grew and our family became busier, and perhaps my tastes changed, cakes from specialist stores were ordered including my favourite to this day a croquembouche. I’ve tried to maintain this tradition in my own family, though we’ve veered from tradition and often enjoyed a birthday dessert including, pudding, pavlova and the like.

As much as I’ve tried to continue the cake tradition, as the family’s baker, it’s not one I’ve enjoyed myself, until this year. With my boys not here and feeling in need of a little festive cheer I pondered what I would want for my own birthday should a genie appear from a bottle to make me one and as I often do, I landed back in apple cake world…though Barbie would have been on trend. I dreamt of one I loved when I first visited the now closed Beatirix Bakes cake store with my blogging pal Kath. It was called Apple Pie Cake and was a multi-layered tower of a butter vanilla icing with a hint of salt, a thin layer of slightly sweetened apple and coated, in more, deeply, buttery, smooth buttercream. Like my mother all those decades ago it was somewhat of a spur of the moment decision requiring a bit of pivoting and still not too much effort, after all it was still my birthday.

With a few tweaks, I reimagined my Chai Cake into a fluffy moist vanilla cake. From there I pulled my copy of the Beatrix Bakes cookbook from the shelves knowing within it’s pages was a recipe to inspire a version of apple compote to be sandwiched in folds of sweet Chantilly cream between two layers of the cake and finally I whipped together a fluffy frosting of mascarpone and cinnamon.

Obviously if you just want cake without the extra work stop at the cake part and adorn in any way you prefer. Simple icing of any flavour you love, a dusting of icing sugar, chocolate icing or indeed absolutely nothing. Whatever floats you boat.

A few tips:

~If no one else in the family can make you a cake, buy yourself one or make one. It’s important!

~Like a moody teenager ensconced in her bedroom insisting on privacy, this cake also prefers the door closed. Don’t peek, leave her alone and allow her to rise to the challenge in peace. When you do remove her from the oven, like that teen, give her some space and leave her alone for ten minutes before coaxing her from her tin. She’ll reward you well I promise.

~As always, the best ingredients you can afford will always give you the best results but, in this instance particularly, grab the best vanilla you can. It is vanilla cake after all.

~When you first think “hmmm cake,” take the eggs from the fridge to lose their chill and melt the butter so it can cool before you use it. A paradox but important.

~Sift the flour if you’re not lazy like me. Otherwise simply use a whisk to incorporate the salt with a few assertive turns to aerate and loosen the flour.

Ingredients:

Cake:

2 eggs at room temperature, trust me this matters

200 gm caster sugar

2 tsp vanilla extract

150 gm butter melted and cooled. 40-50 seconds in the microwave should just melt it without overheating it leaving you waiting for it to cool too long.

120 ml buttermilk

250 gm SR Flour

¼ tsp salt flakes

Chantilly Cream:

1 cup thickened cream or whipping cream

1 heaped tb icing/powdered sugar

1 tsp vanilla exract

Cinnamon Mascarpone Frosting:

250 gm mascarpone

¼ thickened cream or whipping cream

50 gm very soft butter

1/3 cup icing/powdered sugar

½ tsp ground cinnamon

Apple Compote:

500 gm granny smith apples

30gm caster sugar

¼ tsp ground cinnamon

Pinch fresh grated nutmeg

Pinch salt flakes

2 tb water

½ tsp cornflour

1 tb lemon juice

1 tsp honey

Method:

Cake:

Preheat oven to 180c. Line and grease a 20cm springform cake tin.

In the bowl of a stand mixer or a large bowl for handheld electric beaters combine eggs, sugar and vanilla. Using whisk attachment mix on medium speed until combined, 30 seconds, then increase speed to med-high for 3-4 minutes. It should be fluffy, pale and double in volume. Decrease speed back down to medium and in a thin slow stream pour in melted cooled butter. Turn speed back up to high and whisk for 1-2 minutes until again increased in volume to an almost foamy consistency like a zabaglione. Stop mixing and add half the flour and mix on low speed until almost combined, pour in half the buttermilk while the mixer is still stirring on low. Once combined, no more than a minute for each of these steps, add the remaining flour and again followed by the remaining buttermilk. Mix until just combined. There will be a thin mote of buttermilk around the edge. Remove bowl finish mixing with only a couple of confident folds with a spatula and pour into the prepared pan. Smooth over top very gently, preserving all the lovely air and lightness you’ve created with all that whisking and pop in the preheated oven for 45 minutes. No peeking until the 45 minute mark. Test with a skewer and on the off chance the skewer doesn’t come out clean return to the oven for 5 more minutes.

Allow to cool in the tin sitting on a wire rack for ten minutes before removing spring form ring and sliding from the base. Slip paper out gently from underneath and allow to cool.

Apple Compote:

This is inspired by and my take on the recipe in the beautiful Beatrix Bakes Book.

Peel, core and cube the apples. Combine all sugar, water, spices, salt, cornflour and lemon juice in a small saucepan over medium heat. Heat until small bubble appear on the sides, add apples stir to combine then cover and cook on medium for 5 minutes. Remove lid, stir through honey and remove from heat and cool completely before using.

Keep a close eye on the mixture while it cooks, you may need to stir once or twice to prevent it sticking.

Chantilly Cream:

Combine all ingredients in a stand mixer. Whip on medium high until soft peaks form. Pop in a bowl and store in the fridge until you’re ready to use.

Mascarpone Frosting:

Combine very soft butter, icing sugar and cinnamon in a stand mixer. Mix with whisk attachment until combined then increase speed to med-high to combine well and lighten in colour and form. Just like you would for butter cream frosting. You’ll need to scrape this down a couple times to reach the lite fluffy texture you need. Add mascarpone and cream and again slowly to start to combine then increase to med-high to whip up to a fluffy texture. It will be lighter and fluffier than a traditional butter cream frosting almost like a thick whipped cream.

Assemble:

Slice the cake across the middle using a serrated knife (I use a bread knife) making two discs as close to an even thickness as possible. Set your bottom layer on the plate you’d like to serve on and top with whipped Chantilly cream. Using your spoon make a little indentation in the middle and pile the cooled apple mixture in the middle gentle distributing to a circle 2/3 the diameter of the cake leaving a 2cm border of cream all the way around. Gently place the remaining disc of cake on top and with a soft touch pile and spread the mascarpone frosting on top in soft, uneven peaks like clouds. You can leave it like that or dust with additional cinnamon.

Nana’s Chocolate Fudge Cake

I’ve lost my son’s birth certificate. There! I’ve said it. It’s been missing for a while but being a positive person who genuinely believes everything works out in the end, I honestly thought it would turn up with a more concerted effort on my part to hunt it down. He called from the outback on his adventure around our big island recently asking if I’d found it, plotting adventures further afield. “No problem,” I assured him, “it’ll be here somewhere.” Spontaneously, one morning recently, I set about pulling my room and closet apart convinced I’d be imminently victorious. As the morning dragged on and the mess of my efforts grew it became painfully obvious that my positive attitude may well have been misplaced on this occasion. A birth certificate is perhaps the most important document we carry through life, A document denoting the moment in time of our entry into the world. Whilst I’m not the first mother in the world to lose one and certainly won’t be the last after, what was stretchin out to a full day of hunting, I was becoming deflated and frustrated and frankly very disappointed.

Always one to look for silver linings however, I was spring cleaning (in Autumn) as I went through things. The piles of donate, keep, dispose of were growing and if nothing else that alone would make the search worthwhile. As the hours ticked by and I moved from one shelf to the next box my focus was waning and the effort to keep searching methodically leaving me rapidly, until I opened a camphor chest that sits in a corner. One of those big, in interior decorating in the late 80’s early 90’s, that I’ve hung onto for its practicality if nothing else. It’s filled with my Nana’s recipe collection amongst other curio. It’s one of those piles carefully stored though, if I’m honest, in desperate need of curating. Easily distracted particularly at this point of the search, I sat down to have a little peruse through the collection. Small snippets from magazines and newspapers fell from books heavy with text but scant with imagery. Retro recipes featuring ingredients and concoctions not enjoyed readily today brought a smile to my face. I scooped up all the little cuttings as they fell from the well thumbed pages replacing them from where they tumbled except for one small frail piece of blue notepaper. As I reached for the faded scrap of paper the old fashioned handwriting caught my eye enveloping me in nostalgia. I could imagine her in her humble kitchen sitting at her table, back warmed by sun through the kitchen window as she jotted down the recipe on a small piece of paper possibly cut into note paper size from an old envelope or other packaging, a habit from her frugal ways. She could never have imagined, at the time, the jou this quicky penned list would bring me so many years hence. Though acutely unwell she left us quickly and unexpectedly. I wrote about her here and the legacy of memories she left us and indeed reflected on the lost recipes and regret I carry not having spent more time in the kitchen with her as an adult. I wish we’d cooked together as women, my young sons at our feet, her instructing me and imbuing me with her wisdom both food and life. I wish I hadn’t been consumed with misplaced confidence that we had time and that I truly appreciated the hands of time taking moments from us. Seeing this little slip of paper fluttering from between the collected pages of other clippings she’d accumulated was like pennies from heaven, life a feather fluttering down gifting me this sweet creation of hers and a gentle hand guiding me, one I miss immensely.

The irony of this find is not lost on me, while looking for the birth certificate of my first son, born 14 months before my Nana’s premature departure a handwritten note of hers finds it’s way into my hands serendipitously. As excited as I was to find her little note from the past, I couldn’t remember having enjoyed chocolate cake at that white laminate table. None the less, following her instructions to the letter that first time I cooked her cake making sense of some measurements and instructions translating them to modern quantities and techniques. After a not so patient wait for the completed cake to cool I took my first bite of the buttercream topped cake and was flooded with memories of a flavour and texture as familiar to me as the handwriting that had guided me to this point. It’s a strange thing the memories our senses carry and the visceral feelings and emotions they evoke, almost like the familiarity long seen handwriting carries, the knowing and identity ever present.

I’ve followed and shared Nana’s recipe to the letter, though I’ve doubled the cocoa and increased the butter a little. Unlike her suggestion I’ve cooked it in a loaf tin rather than a lamington pan, doubling the cooking time. She’s a sturdy loaf with a rich fudgy centre and sweet crisp crust. I have taken nana’s suggestion of a butter cream adornment though have added some melted dark chocolate for a smooth luscious frosting. It’s a meeting of the minds if you will, across the decades, her delicious creation with my embellishments.

Now to make a cuppa and have a slice of cake while I contemplate what to do about that missing birth certificate.

**If you’re lucky enough to still have a treasured elder in your life maybe you could make them a chocolate fudge loaf, take it with you to visit and ask them all the questions you’ve wondered about. Trust me It’ll be an afternoon well spent xx**

Ingredients:

80 gm butter softened

1 c caster sugar

½ c milk

1 egg beaten

1 ½ c self raising flour

2 Tb coco ( dutch process, unsweetened)

¼ tsp salt flakes

¼ tsp bicarb soda

¼ tsp baking powder

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

¼ c boing water (I leave the kettle to cool slightly while I’m mixing. Adding that boiling water to a mixture containing an egg still scares me)

Method:

Preheat oven 180c. Grease and line a loaf tin with a few cms overhang each side to lift cooked cake from pan later.

In stand mixer with paddle attachment beat butter until colour is beginning to lighten and it’s starting to turn fluffy. Add sugar mixing on low until just combined, increase speed to med-high and cream until light in colour and fluffy. Pour in milk, vanilla and egg mixing on low until combined to prevent splashing, increase to medium for a minute once it looks like it wont splash out of the bowl. Stop mixer, tip in dry ingredients and again mix on low until everything’s mostly wet then increase to med-high and pour in boiling water. Whip for a minute until it reminds you of the smooth creamy consistency of a packet cake mixture. Pour into prepared tin and bake for 40 minutes.

Do not open the oven door before the 40 mins. If left alone this cake with rise to a pleasing even rounded top with a fine crack down the centre when ready. Open the door too early and she’ll collapse slightly in the middle. Still delicious but lacking that smooth satisfying top.

I’ve topped mine with a butter cream recipe adapted from Emelia Jackson’s most excellent book Frist Cream the Butter and Sugar. You might like to try it with a Ganache or even a simple chocolate glaze

Buttercream:

40 gm dark chocolate melted and cooled. Do this first an allow to cool while completing the other steps. It needs to be properly cooled with setting as it may set into fine grain like pieces of chocolate when combine with cool butter.

80 gm icing sugar

1 scant Tb cocoa

60 gm soft butter

2 tsp of full cream milk.

Pinch of salt flakes

Like the cake whip the butter to lite and fluffy. Add the dry ingredients, melted chocolate and milk, mixing on low until combined then increase heat to high for one minute or until increased in volume, fluffy and spreadable.

Rocky Road

It was always the sweet smell sugar and chocolate that alerted me first. Small hand ensconced in my mother’s, eyes darting around for the entrance. The sweet heady aroma of chocolate and assorted sweets would waft from the shop door always drawing hungry shoppers in. My mum had a penchant for liquorice all sorts and straps. A bit of a monthly indulgence on our Saturday shopping trips she’d stock up ensuring there was always a jar of soft squishy liquorice black straps in the cupboard and a smaller one of cubes of all sorts. Not a liquorice girl myself I was always more taken with the mountains of chocolate. Jars and jars of it, all available by individual piece and more, wrapped in brightly coloured crinkly packaging invitingly displayed just within a child’s reach. I would always delight in the small offerings of the sales assistants keeping me occupied while mum stocked up…or quite possibly enticing me to pester mum for something yummy for me as well. They wore long full skirts that would swish with each step around the store they took and billow sleeved blouses, adorned with equally long bib and skirt aprons and full bonnets that reminded me of shower caps all as a nod to the heritage of the brand. They were the type of local brand who’s wares were coveted, indeed my mother in law always cherished a gift of a box of assorted chocolates.

Alongside her love of liquorice mum also loved rocky road bars. Come xmas she’d stock up on these some cut into bars in individual clear bags their squishy shiny marshmallow and jewels of Turkish delight shining out from the rich chocolate coating and others cut into cubes piled abundantly in bags with small fragments of nuts piled at the bottom like prized debris. She loved having a basket of goodies at hand that she could gift people. Generous to a fault she hated the thought of not showing her fondness for those around her at Christmas time. From the postman, to work colleagues, school teachers and friends everyone was thought of and many the recipients of treats from our favourite chocolate shop.

To be honest I’m a bit the same. I love small offerings of love at Christmas and do indeed include as many of those in my life as I can. Spiced cookies, shortbread, mince pies and fruit cake all feature prominently but his year I wanted to include something a little different. I was reminded of Mum’s rocky road love and as always my fondness for putting my spin on a recipe. I recall my small fingers as a child picking the individual jewels from the chunks and licking my fingers of the melted chocolate as my mind darted around with ideas for my version of Rocky Road. I’m particularly enamoured with these marshmallows, large cubes like small sugary pillows and fragrance that bursts from the packet. Tumbled with floral Turkish delight jellies, golden caramel popcorn and crunchy cashew nuts I like to encase them in dark chocolate to balance out the sweetness with a few pops of tart craisins for little bursts of sour. I’ve also kept the big, lovely pieces of marshmallow and Turkish delight jellies whole because it’s one less thing to do and then when I’m eating it and then enjoy chunks with each delicious ingredient. You could chop marshmallow and Turkish delight into smaller chunks if you prefer to have candy cocktail with each bite, it’s entirely up to you. You may also prefer milk chocolate or even white, it will all be delicious and loved by all those in your life to whom you make a small offering of chocolate love this Christmas.

Ingredients:

250gm turkish delight (rose flavoured, the pink one)

140 gm marshmallows

1 C dry roasted whole cashews

2 C caramel popcorn (remember Lolly Gobble Bliss Bombs?)

½ C craisins

725 gm of dark chocolate (I use this one.) roughly cut into small pieces

2 Tb grape seed oil or other neutral flavoured oil.

Method:

Line a 30cm x 19cm straight sided slice tin with baking paper leaving a few centimetres overhang on each side so you can easily lift the slice out for cutting when set.

In a large bowl combine all ingredients except chocolate and oil. You can cut up the marshmallow and Turkish delight if you wish. I like to leave it whole, saves time and the gives you pieces with big chunks of favourite ingredients.

Bring some water to a simmer in a small to medium sized saucepan suitable for a glass bowl to sit on top ensuring there isn’t too much water that it will lick the bottom of the bowl when placed on top.

Put chocolate pieces in a second large bowl big enough to fit over the saucepan you have simmering on the stove. Place the bowl on the saucepan keeping the water at a gentle simmer. Melt the chocolate until just smooth remove immediately. Stir through oil until well combined. This should help the chocolate cool a little so we can add it to the other bowl with melting the marshmallow and Turkish delight. Once cooled to room temperature, pour over first bowl and stir through until well combined and all the ingredients are coated. Tip into prepared tin, smooth out until mostly well distributed and pop in the fridge uncovered to set for at least one hour or until firm.

Cut into chunks of your own size preference and gobble up!

Blueberry and Spiced Frangipane Galette

In the way I spoke about creative block a few weeks ago, this week the creativity was free flowing but the frustration ever strong. I knew what I wanted to create and I knew the basics and mechanics of those elements and was sure it should have worked. Sadly though the frangipane wasn’t set. The flavour was exactly where I wanted it but the texture was all wrong. Falling away from perfect at the outer it was sludgy in the centre and frustratingly oozy. I love Frangipane and have made it many times so you can imagine how annoyed I was. It took me back to my twenties when I was trying all sorts of new cooking techniques and recipes in my own home and my own first small and humble kitchen. With a much narrower skill base but boundless interest and motivation the breadth of things I would try and create was almost as great as the depth of failures. I would have, what amounted, to tantrums almost. Sitting at the table with my then boyfriend (now husband) sullenly eating a meal I could see in my mind’s eye but not taste at the end of my fork, almost annoyed at his fervour for the meal he had been presented with and his lack of acknowledgement of my ‘catastrophe.’ This frustration was most probably the catalyst for my cookbook collection and my passion for cooking. An interest and persistence born out of frustration pushing me ever forward.

The irony is not lost on me that blueberries feature at the core of the frustration of a few weeks ago rising up as the resolution to my rut then and this week as the source of my frustration. Their sapphire like spherical form are one of nature’s cleverest creations. Rich deep hues, sweet almost lolly like flavour reminiscent of blue heaven milkshakes and crowned with a flower like window where the bud has bloomed into berry. Likewise their delicateness is frustrating farmers at the moment as their buds soak up the relentless rain. Though they remind me of giant cabochon gems they’re not quite as tough. A reminder that whilst eating seasonally can be fraught with the fragility of being at the mercy of nature.

They require a gentle touch in cooking. My first attempt at this tart was laden with fruit it’s flesh collapsing to a jamlike puddle in the centre. Whilst this sounded like a good idea it’s ooze moistened the frangipane hampering it’s setting. Much googling and a few tweaks and we have a moist set frangipane, or almond cream as it’s also known. I’ve also used rye flour in the pastry to add a delicate nuttiness to the flavour of a short crisp casing. While the blueberries are indeed flavoursome at the moment, they can always be enhanced. The marriage of blueberries and rye had a Nordic air about it which led me to lace the frangipane with cardamon and lemon zest, creating an almost citrusy fragrant freshness.

You can enjoy still warm with a lovely vanilla ice cream, drizzled with a thin stream of lemon ice swished all around like ribbons or plain with cream, my favourite.

Ingredients:

Pastry:

120 gm plain flour

80 gm rye flour

20 gm caster sugar

100 gm cold unsalted butter, cubed

60 gm sour cream

1 tsp vanilla paste or extract

1 egg yolk

Pinch of salt

Frangipane:

80 gm butter softened

125 gm caster sugar

Finely grated rind of 1 lemon

½ tsp of ground cardamon

1 egg beaten

1 tsp vanilla

125 gm of ground almond/almond flour

30 gm plain flour

Pinch of salt flakes

200 gm fresh blueberries

1 egg extra beaten with a splash of milk for pastry glazing

1 tsp demerara sugar

Method:

Pastry

In a food processor or blender combine flours and butter and pulse on high until combined looking like breadcrumbs, some lumps are find. Beat together sour cream, egg yolk, vanilla and salt and add to food processor/blender. Pulse again until just combined. Tip it all out onto floured bench and bring together with your hands. Need briefly until just smooth and form into a thick disc. Wrap in cling wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour.

When ready roll out to a round sheet roughly 30 cms round, this should be roughly 3-4 mm thick. Gently lift using the rolling pin and lower onto a tray lined with baking paper, set aside.

Frangipane/Almond Cream

In a stand mixer beat the butter on med-high on it’s own until lighter in colour and starting to turn fluffy. Add the sugar, vanilla, lemon rind and cardamon and cream together until light and fluffy again. Add egg and beat until it resembles custard. Remove the bowl from the mixer and gently fold in the flour and almond.

Spread the Almond cream mixture over pastry in a circle roughly 2-3 cms from the edge of the pastry disc. Evenly sprinkle blueberries over the cream and fold edges up as pictured.

Brush pastry edges with egg wash and sprinkle with demerara sugar.

Bake 45-50 minutes checking half way through cooking time.

Blueberry and Apple Compote

Plunging my fork into, what should have been, an unctuous herbaceous dish of some history for us I was pretty excited. A recipe given to me by a friend a million years ago that always evoked memories of another time in our lives the anticipation was high. As I bit down, swirled in my mouth, my expression fell. What had I done wrong? This isn’t how I remember it at all. I reluctantly ate, cant waste food to save myself. The boys loved it, me not so much. That was to be your recipe this week. And right then the wall went up. The creative block. I’d already photographed the recipe, loved the pics and felt very organised, just not whatever I’d done to the recipe. I have loads of dishes I could share but couldn’t think straight or decide on one to choose, re-test, cook, shoot and share. With only a few days to go what the heck was I to do. By this point it was late, I was tired, disappointed and deflated and really couldn’t arrive at a new direction.

The creative fork in the road is a funny thing. Generally known as creative block many say it’s a thing of its own. As is our want in 2022 I googled the phenomenon…. Procrastigoogling? Absolutely! Anyway, I digress. Elizabeth Gilbert, writer and creative commentator suggests the affliction is not in and of something on its own rather it’s the egg in the chicken and egg saga. Either representative of something bigger happening around your creative pursuits or indeed boredom of the reality that creativity when it’s both a profession and a pursuit is still work and not always something that lights you up with each word, click of a camera or brush stroke of a painting, or indeed step in a recipe. So, did I feel bored? Nope food never bores me, except at 5.30pm when I, yet again, need to come up with dinner. Was it something bigger around creativity…hmmm quite possibly. Imposter syndrome and wondering if your work is enjoyed and good enough is very very real. So, when a recipe idea crashes and a deadline (albeit self-imposed) looms what do I do? Well apparently, my creativity crashes too. So I went to bed with a headache and a blank page in my head and no expectation of sleep.

Mysteriously, sleep I did. Very well in fact. I still woke up with the remains of that headache but I was rested so that was a good start. Going through the motions of the morning routine, blinds raised, radio on, cat fed, coffee machine on I started running through ideas. Sitting with my breakfast I sat with my notebook scribbling down ideas and flicking through other recipes already recorded. Taking my first spoonful of yoghurt I stopped, “wait that’s it!” I doesn’t always need to be complicated, elaborate or solve a big problem. Sometimes it can and should be simple. When it seems complicated the answer is more often than not simple and more often than not right in front of you. Both the recipe and the words.

I have no idea where my love of cooked fruit comes from but I’m a sucker for a compote or more simply stewed fruit. I have no elaborate tale to wend my way through, there’s no specific spark lit in my memory, I just love the sweet jammy syrup with jewels of still whole fruit that results from a gentle simmer and addition of a few embellishments of a compote.

My Greek yoghurt at breakfast was blanketed by puddle of Blueberry and Apple compote, the spark for my simple share today. It was the result of a purchase at a recent farmers market. A deliciously generous tub of sweet sapphire coloured globes that from a distance, as I approached the stall, looked like fresh fruit but as I took them from the farmers hand were in fact frozen. I’d been meaning to bake something with them but finally arrived at compote and in turn have arrived here with you.

Ingredients:

500 gm Blueberries

1 Pink Lady Apple peeled and cubed

2 Tb Maple Syrup

1 Tb caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste or extract

Pinch salt

2 Tb water

1 tsp lemon juice

Method:

Reserve one cup of blueberries. Combine remaining ingredients in a small saucepan and over a medium heat bring to just below a boil. Continue to simmer over med-low heat until apples are just ender and the liquid that has developed has thickened. Add the remaining blueberries and continue simmering until they’ve just softened about 3-5 minutes.

Pour into an airtight container and refrigerate until completely cold. The sauce will thicken on cooling.

Cooking times will vary depending on whether or not you have used fresh or frozen berries.

Serve on Yoghurt like I enjoy it or even more deliciously over vanilla ice cream. The compote is also a lovely addition to a simple vanilla cake, porridge or rice pudding.

Blood Orange & Blackberry Self Saucing Pudding

He’s a sunseeker. Like a cat stalking a sunbathed window, he’s usually found where the sun shines her warming beams down. As a young man he was rarely indoors, always seeking adventure always in the sun. From summers by the seaside with loved grandparents in childhood to adventures in the bush with mates as a teen, always following the arc of the sun. In adulthood he continued to point north face turned toward the sun’s sweep across the sky his pursuits informed by those best enjoyed under golden warm skies.

I first met him as summer waned, still sunny, ocean breezes licking our young faces. He was the handsome divemaster on the boat on which I too pursued sunbathed pastimes. He’s my north, with whom I’ve pursued a life in the sun for nearly 25 years and built a sun soaked life with our two boys.

He still prefers a sunbathed life, always looking forward to sunny days, warmer seasons and life outdoors. Winters aren’t always to his liking indeed they rarely are. This winter has been particularly long, this last week marked by mornings blanketed in frosts sparkling under winter sun and crisp chilled air. At the end of the cold days a little bowl of sunshine can go some way to thaw chilled hands longing for warmth.

Seeing shiny blood oranges with a vibrant ruby blush, plump with tangy juicy at the green grocer was a draw too good to walk past. Harking back to my own childhood favourite winter pudding of magical self-saucing pudding my Blood Orange and Blackberry version is like a soft pillowy island of gently spiced almond sponge floating on a puddle of sunshiney blood orange syrup dotted with berry jewels.

Maybe it will bring some sunshine to your winter nights and warm you from the inside out.

Ingredients:

Pudding

60 gm butter melted

200 gm self raising flour

1 tsp ground ginger

½ tsp ground cardamon

40 gm ground almond/almond flour

100 gm caster sugar

1 tb of finely grated orange rind, preferably blood orange

¼ tsp salt flakes

1 egg lightly whisked

180 ml of whole milk

125 fresh blackberries

Syrup

80 gm brown sugar

125 ml freshly squeezed strained blood orange juice

200 mil boiling water

Method:

Preheat oven 180c (170c fan forced)

Generously grease a baking dish, preferably ceramic or glass. The one pictured is 30cm x 16cm at the base. Spread out fresh berries and set aside.

In a large bowl combine dry ingredients and orange rind. Mix with a whisk to to thoroughly combine and aerate. Whisk together egg, milk and melted cooled butter. Make a well in the centre of the dry ingredients and pour in wet ingredients. Fold together gently using a balloon whisk or spatula with a lite hand. Gently spread batter over berries in an even layer.

Stir together boiling water, strained juice and sugar, stirring quickly to break down sugar. Gently pour over the pudding batter pouring over a spoon to spread the fall of the liquid and moving around the surface of the pudding to prevent puddling and denting of the surface.

Pop in the oven for 35 minutes or until firm to touch in the centre. It will feel like cake floating on a pool of sauce.

Serve warm with scoops ice cream melting through the cracks or dollops of whipped Chantilly cream.

Notes:

Feel free to substitute blackberries with raspberries if you prefer.

You can switch the whole thing up and make a lemon and blueberry pudding. Just sub in lemons from oranges and blueberries for blackberries.

For a little extra zing a splash of a couple of teaspoons of your favourite orange liqueur or gin over the berries before the batter is a lovely little grown up addition

Spiced Pear & Ginger Cake

She had the tiniest feet of any baby I’d ever seen. Swaddled in baby blankets, her porcelain skin and tiny frame, doll like in my arms, she wriggled and squirmed settling into life in the big wide world. With her twin she’d been nestled in the safety of her mother’s womb almost to the end of the normal forty weeks. Not frighteningly tiny but still small her and her sister were strong enough to make their feelings known about their arrival from their warm safe little pond, saying their piece with healthy lungs, twig like arms flailing and little faces scrunched in all manner of expressions.

As a toddler she would speak with remarkable clarity and purpose still making sure the world knew what was on her mind, her blonde silken hair framing an expressive face.

Through the doors of her first day of school she walked with her twin, both thrilled to enter this next phase of growing up, a world of words, numbers and new friends. They thrived and evolved stretching and unfolding, two remarkable little buds blooming and unfurling.

Talents revealing themselves, individual characteristics emerging, girls becoming women. One a young woman of numbers the other a lover of words, both blessed with a talent for science and like science ever evolving. We were privileged to be a part of the life and growth of these two girls, the daughters of special dear friends.

Those tiny feet are now on the march. Having recently farewelled her dear twin as she set off in the world moving out of home for the first time, it’s now her turn. She’ll hit the highway and head to the country to take a posting at a country hospital where she’ll make the world of difference to her new community. Watching this beautiful evolution is like following that of a chrysalis and now the butterfly will take flight and we’ll all look up and watch with awe.

Evolution has been ever present for me this week. My first letter to you here was this lovely cake. A simple cake, my first recipe share, the birth of my letter. I’ve made that cake a few different ways since then, ever changing and evolving. It’s a bit more grown up than that original version, much like our little butterfly. We’ll all follow her up the highway this weekend, her parents, her twin, her big sister and us, a cake on my lap to celebrate this next season.

Ingredients:

2 eggs

100 gm brown sugar

100 gm caster sugar

125 ml neutral flavourer oil (I’ve used grapeseed)

80 ml buttermilk

1 cup/175 gm of self-raising flour

½ (80 gm) c wholemeal spelt flour

1 tb chai mixture/powder

1 tsp ground ginger

2 tb finely chopped glace ginger

¼ tsp salt flakes

2 pears, peeled and sliced into 8 wedge slices (I used Beurre Bosc or the brown ones)

Method:

Preheat oven 180c non fan forced. Grease and line a 20 cm springform cake pan.

Combine all dry ingredients in a bowl and dry whisk to break up any lumps, mix thoroughly and aerate.

Using a whisk in a large bowl whisk together the eggs and sugar until lightened in colour slightly and starting to appear fluffy in texture. Pour in oil and whisk until combined, repeat with milk until all well combined. Gently tip dry ingredients into wet and gently fold until almost combined. Add chopped glace ginger and fold gently again for a few folds but not overmixed.

Pour into prepared cake pan. Gently place pear slices on top as shown. Place into a preheated oven and cook for 60-70. Try not to open the oven to check it until at least 45 minutes. It’s cooked when a skewer comes out of the middle clean.

Allow to cool in the tin for 15 minutes before opening tin and sliding off base onto wire cooling rack.

You can either sprinkle icing sugar on top to serve or brush warmed apricot jam on top like I have.

Apple Crumble

The door shuts with a thunk, voices waft up through the window on a soft summer breeze from the driveway like birdsong and the baby gurgles in my arms. My Nana alights from my parents’ car, small box in her arms brushing off offers of assistance from my parents. I hear her uneven footsteps approaching the front door the legacy of childhood polio and her happy chatter, coming to spend time with her great grandson a much-anticipated treat and an opportunity to show her love. Even in her eighties she remembers those first days and weeks of parenthood. The pea soup fog of joy, exhaustion and elation are never too far back in the recesses of a mother’s memory. I open the door, babe in arms to her gentle loving smile and box of goodies is offered forth. She crosses the threshold proudly carrying her offerings through to the kitchen unpacking and explaining without skipping a beat. She’s brought us a sheet of Cornish pastie, a recipe passed down from my Cornish great grandmother, my favourite slice for a treat with coffee and a tray or apple crumble. She knows apple deserts are my favourite, this one whipped up in lieu of the apple pie she knows I love, her arthritic hands too frail to work the pastry. I’m flooded with relief knowing dinner is sorted, my heart swollen with love for this beautiful humble woman. She never took a compliment batting them away with shyness and modesty. Her humble nature content to know she’d showed her love for us and made a few nights easier on us we settle in for a visit and cuddles with our new babe and making memories with two lives who, unbeknownst to us, would only enjoy each other’s company for the brief crossover of time in which they both shared the world before she passed.

This is the first memory that always comes front of my mind when I scoop a spoonful of apple crumble into my mouth. One of the first I reflect on when I think about my Nana. It typifies her spirit and reminds me how loved we were. She was a woman of few words not especially effusive, though she loved a chat she relied on actions to show her love and food was top of her list.

When I savour a mouthful of my apple crumble the golden sweet crunch in the topping with a hint of a salty foil melts in the mouth amongst the oozy soft apple bed on which it floats. The additions amongst that apple compote are not entirely those of my nana’s but I think shed approve. Butter, sugar and Calvados blend to create a not too sweet caramel threading it’s way through the soft apple slices and bubbling up through the crumble topping. Strictly speaking this is a little off script from the traditional one of my childhood but I think Nana would approve. Also controversial is the absence of oats. I’m not sure why our family’s crumble didn’t have but as a result crumble with oats has never been my preference.

The addition of Clavados is my modern twist not something you’d have seen in the kitchen of traditional country cooks of old. If you want to omit the booze just substitute with apple juice or for a little tang, lemon juice.

Ingredients:

140 gm Plain flour

100 gm brown sugar

2 tbs desiccated coconut

½ tsp salt flakes

125 gm butter cold and cubed

1 tsp cinnamon

¼ tsp all spice

¼ tsp ground ginger

5 cooking apples peeled, quartered and sliced

30 gm butter extra

2 tbs Calvados

2 tbs caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1 tb demerara sugar

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

Combine, flour, sugar, coconut and salt. Toss through butter cubes and rub through until the mixture is like damp clumpy sand. Set aside.

Peel, core and slice apples and place in large bowl. Pour calvados, sprinkle over sugar and combine vanilla extract. Toss this all together and pour into a well greased ceramic or glass ovenproof dish. Pinch off pieces of the remaining butter dotting over the apple slices. Sprinkle over crumble topping mixture crumbling with your fingers as you scatter it over. Don’t worry if there are gaps as this allows the juices to bubble up in between.

Pop in the oven for 45 minutes uncovered baking until golden brown and oozy at the edges.

Allow to cool slightly before serving as the syrup that forms during cooking can be very hot. Serve with custard and or cream. My husband like his with ice cream, I forgive him this transgression, so long as it’s good vanilla ice cream. My boys and I prefer custard of the homemade variety. The below is my go-to custard recipe, perfect every time and never fails. It’s delicious for a few days stored in a sealed container or jar in the fridge if it lasts that long.

Shared with the generous permission from Sophie Hansen from her second book A Basket by the Door.

Combine 1 ¼ C each of milk and cream in a saucepan with a halved and scraped vanilla bean and it’s seeds over medium heat. Warm until almost boiling. Remove from heat and allow to cool a little. Whisk together 1/3 c Caster sugar with 1 Tbs caster sugar and 6 egg yolks until pale and creamy (freeze the left over whites for a pavlova another day). Splash some of the warm milk/cream mixture into the egg mixture and mix until well combine then slowly our in the remaining while whisking until well combined. Return to the saucepan and stir over low heat until thickened and coating the back of wooden spoon, about five minutes.

If you’ve bought a bottle of calvados to try in this recipe and aren’t sure what to do with it you might like to try some of these, you can thank me later.

Panettone Bread & Butter Pudding

Walking into my Nana’s kitchen through the back door on the evening of the second Sunday of December annually would always make my eyes pop. Even though I knew what awaited I would eagerly skip through the side gate running through the flowers, past the heaving plum tree and up the four steps through their back door. Joining my cousins, aunties and uncles in my Nana and Papa’s small kitchen my eyes would fall longingly on the kitchen table covered in every dessert imaginable. Everyone would gather and mingle sharing stories of the year and season’s preparations. We’d all eagerly await the full compliment of family members to arrive before being seated with Uncle Ron’s rousing “howdy folks,” always the final greeting and signal that everyone was in attendance. I suspect he would watch from his front window next door until everyone had arrived before making his cheery entrance seemingly enjoying the groan, jeers and laughter his late would always elicit. Dinner was always a classic traditional roast served on a collection of trestle tables and fold up card tables all dressed in the finest family linens kept only for this annual evening and my Papa’s birthday in December. Plates were passed down the line until everyone was served and the accompanying silence a sign of the enjoyment of nana’s days of labour creating our Christmas feast. While we all munched happily we’d all be preoccupied with that kitchen table. My Nana’s love language was food before love languages were a thing. She’d toil for the week leading up to our celebration ensuring that everyone was served their favourite dessert. There’d always be plum pudding for Papa, a collection of slices for one family, another set of cousins eagerly feasted on loganberry pie and my brother and I would tuck in to apple pie with custard.

This tradition that we all still reminisce about is my strongest Christmas dinner memory and one of the biggest lessons I learnt from her. To make the time to make sure there’d always be everyone’s favourites at the table at the one time of the year where there can never be enough food or delicious desserts on offer.

In the spirit of this tradition I’ve tried to create some of my own favourites that we can look forward to every year. And so I offer you my personal favourite, Panettone Bread and Butter pudding. A smorgasbord of Christmas flavours and comfort food all rolled into one using the traditional Italian Christmas bread and the English method of baking old bread in a custard mixture. It can be made ahead and warmed on the day and can even double as breakfast served with yoghurt….or cream and custard because its Christmas and we’re not going to split dairy hairs.

Dating back to the Middle Ages Pane di Toni (as it was originally named after the young chef who invented the dish) Panettone has evolved through time to become as big a part of Christmas food traditions as Roast Turkey, Plum Pudding, Egg Nog and any other delicious Christmas treat you can imagine. The citrus and fruit flavours reminiscent of the heavier plum pudding or fruit cake options bring a seasonal zing baked in the custard laced with a little hint of spiced rum and tang from a sprinkling of dried cranberries. Inspired by Stephanie Alexander’s Bread and Butter pudding this is my Christmas take on the classic.

1 medium sized traditional panettone – I use this one which weighs in at 700gm

50 gm butter very soft for spreading

3 large eggs

1 ½ cups thickened cream

1/2 cup milk of your choice

¼ c caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1 tsp spiced rum

1 Tb dried cranberries

1Tb sliced or slivered almonds

1-2 Tb of raw sugar crystals

Preheat oven to 180c.

Prepare a ceramic or glass baking dish greasing well with batter. I used a 24 cm round as pictured.

Combine eggs, cream, milk, vanilla, sugar and rum and whisk well. Allow to sit while you construct the pudding.

Halve your loaf from top to bottom creating two half circle pieces. Slice each piece in thick slices approximately 2cm thick. Spread each slice with softened butter. The block type that you’d bake with not the spreading type from a tub…because it’s Christmas. Lay slices in dish sprinkling cranberries over first layer of slices then top with a second layer of bread.

Pour custard mixture over bread evenly and gently press bread slices with your flat hand to help the bread absorb the custard. Allow to sit for at least 10 minutes while you clean up, or even a couple hours in the fridge, so all the custard has soaked into the panettone. Just before placing in the oven sprinkle over the raw sugar and almonds, bake 45 minutes.

Check the pudding after 20 minutes to check how it’s browning. My oven can be quite warm at the back so I always rotate it half way through so it browns eavenly.

Allow to sit for half an hour before breaking into it to allow it to firm up a little making it easier to serve.

Notes:

Use heavy cream or whipping cream in place of what we call ‘thickened cream’ if you’re reading from the northern hemisphere.

If you’re panettone is little plainer in flavour you can add a tsp of freshy grated orange rind to the custard.

For a richer pudding spread marmalade or a Christmas flavoured jam on half the slices. Cherry or redcurrant jam works well.

If you prefer an alternative to the cranberries halved pitted cherries are delicious dotted through the pudding between bread layers.

Brandy can be used in place of the rum or omitted if you prefer.