Baking Mad

Iced Daisy Biscuit

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

A crackle of honeycomb

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

Chocolate Biscuit Cake,
set and ready for action

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

I love Jammie Dodgers

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

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

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

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

Old Friends

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

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


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

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

Jill of all trades...

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

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

Maltana

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

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

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

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