simnel cake :: 2

cakeHere it is, this year’s Simnel cake basking in the only sunshine we’ve had this Easter.

According to Jenny Baker, who cites The Art of British Cooking, by Theodora Fitzgibbon, as her source, Simnel cake derives its name from the Roman siminellus which was a special bread eaten during spring fertility rites. Later, the name attached itself to a fruit cake enriched with marzipan which girls in service were allowed to take home to their mothers on Mothering Sunday. Perhaps the Roman bread was transformed over the years, and it became the enriched cake. Who knows? Either way, the cake has become associated with Easter and, like its Christmas cousin, it is a cake that keeps well. So although Easter Sunday has been and gone, for most families the school holiday has only just begun, which means that there is plenty of time to bake and consume this cake.

So here is the recipe I use, from Jenny Baker’s Kettle Broth to Gooseberry Fool,  though I imagine that there are many other versions out there online.

This one calls for an 18cm (7inch) tin with tall sides, and I think the dimensions are important as the cake doesn’t rise much — there is no raising agent.

Ingredients:

350g marzipan (the recipe in the last post will give you more than enough, I roll the scraps into balls and dip them in melted chocolate as you can see here if you scroll to the end of the post); 100g butter or margarine; 100g soft brown sugar; 3 large eggs, beaten; 150g plain flour, sifted; 1/2 tsp mixed spice; 350g mixed dried fruit; 50g chopped mixed peel;1 lemon, grated rind and juice; Apricot jam;1 egg white for the glaze.

Heat oven gas mark 3/325/160. Grease and line tin.

Take one third of the marzipan and knead it and roll into a disc the same size as the cake tin. Set to one side

Cream butte and sugar together and once it is light and fluffy add the eggs, one at a time. Fold in the sifted flour, mixed spice , dried fruit, mixed peel, lemon juice and zest.

Pour HALF the mixture into the tin, level it and then place the marzipan disc on top. Pour the rest of the mixture on top, smoothing it over.

Bake for 1 hour at gas mark 3 / 325/160 and then lower the temperature to gas mark 2/ 300/150, and bake for another hour.

Allow cake to cool and turn it onto a rack after about ten minutes. Once totally cold, brush the top with apricot jam, roll another third of the marzipan into a disc and place this on top. With the remaining marzipan make eleven balls (to represent the eleven faithful apostles). Brush with egg white and then return to the oven for ten minutes until the top is lightly browned – gas mark 4/350/190.

out of synch

P1200578Rather random images, taken only a few weeks ago during half term.

Unlike most children in the country, today is the last day of term for the girls. Our Easter holiday starts tomorrow. And although it feels as though the last holiday was only yesterday, I’m surprised to find that I am really looking forward to having the girls at home — even though we have absolutely nothing planned.

P1200527In fact there was nothing we could plan, because Bristol council chose holiday dates entirely out of synch with schools elsewhere in the country — our half term was the week before everyone else’s (so various friends were unable to stay with us), and this holiday is similarly out of whack, scuppering our annual Easter break with old friends from London. Very annoying. Still, it seems that next half term, and the summer holidays are back on track, though I am dreading the strain of the two very long terms ahead of us.

P1200446All the more reason to gorge ourselves on chocolate, hot cross buns and simnel cake — none of which was available to photograph, so I leave you with a an Easter bunny instead.

a good egg

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On Thursday night I went to a lovely party at Tart, on the Gloucester Road, to celebrate the publication of A Good Egg — A Year of Recipes From an Urban Hen-Keeper

Genevieve Taylor is the hen-keeper of the title, and her book is a charming and inspiring diary of a year in her kitchen, her garden and her hen-house. When not tending her hens, she is also a very talented food stylist and cook (you’ve doubtless been inspired by something she has created without realising it, as her work has appeared in many magazines and ad campaigns), and the book grew from Genevieve’s blog, The Urban Kitchen, which she started when her first batch of chickens arrived and surprised them all with their dedicated laying: 3-4 eggs a day, every day, all year. That’s a lot of eggs.

P1210185But Genevieve is clear that A Good Egg is not an egg cookery bible (neither is it a how-to for prospective hen-keepers), explaining that it’s “a seasonal diary of all that I did with my eggs, and the food that I grew and gathered to eat alongside them.” In fact it is Genevieve’s passion for seasonality that is at the heart of the book, informing her writing as well as her recipes. A point she proved with a lovely reading from the 14th March which was all about wild garlic; as she read we were treated to slices of wild garlic flamiche (the wild garlic had been gathered locally, that morning), followed by mini mocha eclairs and tiny rhubarb pavlovas. Delicious.

P1210186And the recipes — nine or ten for each month — despite coming from the kitchen of a very talented cook, are by no means complicated or fussy; rather they are dishes designed for busy family life: delicious, wholesome and speedy. Of course the temptation is to say “Pah!” to seasonality and leap ahead with the help of the supermarket — which in the case of Crisp cannellini bean and Courgette Fritters is exactly what I intend to do. Other recipes to whet your appetite include a Peach and Almond cake with lavender syrup; English Nicoise of Smoked Trout, Jersey Royals and Asparagus; Courgette and Lime muffins; Broad bean, Feta and Mint Omelette… I could go on… and on!

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The book is a rather beautiful object in its own right — a Tiffany-blue-green cloth cover, with an (egg yolk?) yellow ribbon for marking favourite pages — illustrated throughout with wonderful, hunger-inducing photographs, taken by Bristol-based photographer, Jason Ingram (his blog is over there to the right of the screen and well worth exploring).

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This last image I include, because it sums up for me, Genevieve’s un-fussy, straightforward approach to cooking: for who hasn’t failed on the planning-ahead at some point? I am  regularly caught out by the dastardly line, hidden in many a recipe, which runs something like “… and now leave in the fridge for 12 hours, preferably 24.” No! No! No! My friends are arriving in four hours’ time, not tomorrow, goddammit! Though I must stress, this particular recipe does not offer a clever route around the protracted process of making a Christmas Pudding. It’s just that I liked her admission that tradition and rules don’t dominate her kitchen or her recipes — in this case it’s her failure to make the Christmas pud on Stir Up Sunday. Her Carbonara with cavolo nero is probably a better example, not least because she describes it as “inauthentic in the extreme,” though it sounds heavenly.

And finally, as I have already said, although A Good Egg is not a guide to keeping chickens, be warned, it will certainly tempt you to have a go. Last night, as I thumbed through my copy, I found myself considering all manner of bizarre constructions — tree house!? — in order to add a chicken or two to our household even though I know our garden is far too small.

mother’s day

P1210147 Last week I went to London for a very personal version of Mother’s Day: the opening of my mum’s first solo exhibition: A Personal Landscape in Collage at the Piers Feetham Gallery.

Having studied illustration at Wimbledon School of Art, my mother has variously worked in textiles, ceramics and, more recently, collage, and the show includes a selection of her current abstract works which, despite the title, fall roughly into three categories: landscapes, still lifes and interiors. Unlike many other artists who work in collage, my mother doesn’t use found materials. She prefers to work with paper and card onto which she applies paint — sometimes in solid layers, sometimes in washes — which she then stipples, scrapes or scores to create the textures she wants.

P1210151Although she doesn’t work directly from life, her landscapes are frequently drawn from her memories of time spent in certain places, in particular the Charente Maritime in France. Similarly, many of the interiors and still lifes in the show were inspired by old rural French houses. Her more abstract works, however, were created for “the pure pleasure to be had from playing off shapes and colours against each other.”

I think her recent works are incredibly beautiful, and my photographs really do not do them justice. It is impossible to capture the texture of the pieces: the layers of card and paper, the grain of the paint.

It was wonderful to see her work gathered together in a formal setting — I see it in progress in her studio whenever we visit, and of course I have a few of her works at home here in Bristol (she has made each of the girls a stylised image of a house and garden with their names above or below), but it’s not quite the same as seeing a year’s worth of work en masse. Needless to say, I am incredibly proud of her.

The show runs until the 28th of March, and if you happen to be around Fulham Broadway or the Lots Road end of the Kings Road do pop into the gallery and take a look.

Clare Packer: A Personal Landscape in Collage, 8th — 28th March 2013                      Piers Feetham Gallery, 475 Fulham Road, SW6 1HL , Tues – Fri 10am-6pm, Sat 10-1pm

happy christmas

P1190649                                   We had a lovely day, hope you did too.

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and, better late than never, our wreath …

P1190516made from a swatch of weeping birch twigs which I found on the pavement on Christmas morning last year and kept for just this purpose. A rare (and embarrassingly excessive), bit of forward planning.

i do like to be beside the seaside …

                    Nothing like a few days by the sea to blow away the cobwebs.

Charmouth is easily one of my favourite beaches. Though, having said that, I’ve only ever visited in the winter months when, despite the steady stream of fossil-hunters and dog walkers, it’s probably much quieter than it is during the summer holidays.

The weather forecast for the weekend was terrible and the clouds looked pretty forbidding at times, but the rain held off and we managed to spend both Friday and Saturday by the sea – three hardy souls actually swam. Naked. Not me, though.

Lyme Regis for wave-hopping and crashing about on the shingle…

               … and Charmouth for fossils and chips – but not together.

Our lunch on the beach at Charmouth was one of the best picnics I’ve ever had: loads of buttered slices of bread from home which were then stuffed with chips from the cafe.

Incidentally, the cafe, which is run from an unpromising-looking large, green Portakabin-shipping container type affair, produces the best tea imaginable: hot and strong and served in large china mugs which they let you take with you while you search for ammonites and trilobites. Delicious hot chocolate too, according to the children.

And then back to base, where fortunately there was a large boot room  …

This is just the tip of the weekend’s footwear iceberg, which comprised walking boots, trainers, slippers, daps*, clogs, crocs etc. I could go on, but it’s enough to say that there were seventeen of us in all (toddlers to forty-somethings) and the weather was uncertain.

I am now dealing with a different sort of iceberg – a damp, muddy, gritty heap of clothes.

* Daps – Bristolian / West country term for plimsolls.

creepy

The rain came down but that didn’t put anyone off. Although only nine houses hosted happenings, the street was so full of children in fancy dress it looked like the set of ET.

As you can see, I managed to make Martha’s cape. I kept putting it off, the material felt so slippery and horrible I didn’t want to touch it, and beyond Martha’s drawing, I didn’t have a pattern to work from – cape construction is not really my thing. But at 5 o’clock this evening I had to face my demons and get on with it. Amazingly it took about five minutes – incredible what you can do when you are against the clock and beyond caring. The drape of the fabric is very forgiving, completely concealing my shoddy pleating. Martha, who had given up all hope of wearing a cape, was suitably impressed.

We are all off to Dorset tomorrow to recover.

planning

I know that Halloween is not to everyone’s taste, but in Montpelier it is celebrated with great enthusiasm (previous years’ fun here and here), though this year’s bash may be a rather low-key affair as it falls in the middle of half term and lots of families are away.

But of course none of this has dampened the girls’ excitement. In fact discussions have been underway for some time now: the picture above, which I thought was just another one of Martha’s endless drawings – she produces a lot – is actually a costume design. A design she is expecting me to follow when I make her costume. From scratch. Today. Eh?

When I complained that I’d had no warning, there was a loud chorus of “but mum you said you’d make me a dead bride/zombie red riding hood/creey doll costume” which, when I glowered at them across the breakfast table, quickly became a slightly sheepish, “well you didn’t say you wouldn’t!” So we are all off to Fabric Land in an hour or so, in search of red fleece, white netting, and whatever else I think I might be able to magic into something spooky with my limited sewing skills. We’ll tackle the pumpkin tonight.

holiday

As ever, packing was a pain – particularly as I was trying to think about the almost inevitable chill on Islay’s beaches whilst sweltering in Bristol. In the end the heat clearly addled my brain and I arrived with only one decent jumper, no hats, scarves or other useful bits of layering. Luckily I went into auto-pilot for the girls so they are just about ok. But yesterday was completely glorious – bright blue skies, sparkling sea, impromptu paddling and lots of seal watching – from the garden! Time for the annual mermaid …

No more posts for a bit – I only brought the computer in order to finish off a couple of
work-related bits and pieces, and I’ve ticked them off now. Let the holiday begin.

midsummer’s day

Today is midsummer’s day. And it’s raining. Only lightly now, but I’ve been drenched twice. My anemone de caen are trying to flower, but it’s hard when there is so little sun.

I keep overhearing gloomy conversations such as “they say we’re going to get three months’ rain in the next three days”, or “they say it’ll brighten for the weekend and then get really, really wet again,” or “they say that in 1976, when we had a proper drought, it was actually really rainy until the end of June,” or, and this is my favourite, by which, of course, I mean it’s the worst of the lot, “they say it’s going to rain until September.” Please no. We’re off to Scotland in July for god’s sake.

How can it possibly be midsummer, when we haven’t even had more than three sunny days in a row since March? But there’s no denying the date on the calendar. It is the 21st of June. And at about this time every year Joe and I like to have our annual is-this-our-wedding-anniversary conversation. It’s a moveable feast, a bit like Easter, and takes place any time between the 21st and 28th of June and during the course of the debate we always decide that June 21st sounds about right. More often than not we’ve missed it.

Today is not our wedding anniversary though. And the debate ended, as it always does, with me pointing out, for the sixteenth time, that we would surely have remembered having a midsummer’s wedding. But then again, when midsummer’s day feels so very
un-summery, perhaps we wouldn’t. It turns out that our wedding anniversary is the 22nd.