Caution: Cake demolition in progress

I've been thinking a lot about destruction and its opposite, construction, lately - cake philosophising if you will. Destruction, although a word with mostly negative connotations, is not always a bad thing. In fact, two of my (many) favourite things - archaeology and cakes - have destruction at their very heart. 

Partly reconstructed basilica in Bolonia, Andalucia

When the lay person thinks about archaeology, they don’t automatically jump to ‘destruction’, but one of the first tenets of archaeological fieldwork is that the excavation of a site means its total destruction. Once you have dug a site, it’s gone and, a bit like poor Humpty Dumpty, there’s no putting it back together again. To counteract this necessary destruction, we record and document each little step (‘we call it ‘preservation by record’), so that the site can be ‘virtually’ reconstructed. Sometimes, where there are extensive stone remains, it also allows the partial reconstruction of a site (as you might see at excavations of a Roman town, for example) - giving us tourists something at least half-way recognisable to look at. Why excavate at all? I hear you ask. Well, sometimes it’s about ‘rescuing’ a site that would otherwise be destroyed (e.g. by erosion) or excavating it in advance of planned construction or as part of a research project. Ultimately it’s about knowledge. We excavate to find answers that are nowhere else to be found. When was the site built? What is it? Who built it? Why? Of course, we don’t always find the answers we’re looking for and there are times when we only find more questions. But without the 'destruction' of the site, there would be no answers at all.

Black Forest Gateau

Naturally, you can't have destruction without first having construction. Two of my friends are in the middle of building projects (one large-scale, one small; both driving them round the bend). As I'm in the process of re-building my blog (bigger, better, shinier - coming to a page near you soon!), I too have had construction on my mind. I have discovered that, much like a real building project, doing a bit of a refurb on my blog is just as slippery time-wise as the real thing. My friend with the small-scale project was told it would take five days to complete. Two weeks later, she's still suffering the hell of builders in the house all day (she works from home), plaster dust in the air and hearing the constant refrain of 'yep, should definitely be done by tomorrow luv'. I naively thought I'd re-name and re-design my blog overnight. Not so. And as I only have myself to blame (no tea-drinking, head-scratching builders to vent my frustrations at) it requires lots of deep breaths and patience - Rome was not built in a day and my new blog won't be either it seems.

Cake demolition

Construction of another kind altogether was involved in the creation of a birthday cake last weekend - there was a request for a Black Forest Gateau for a surprise 50th birthday celebration (a very retro cake and also very male, I often think - men usually request it. Odd fact of the day). So last Saturday morning saw me getting back to the 1970s to construct a towering gateau, with layers of chocolate sponge, cream and cherries (recipe next week). I rarely get to see my cakes once they reach the hungry hoards, but my sister happened to be at the party and sent me a photo of the gateau when it was all but demolished. Seeing the rubble and crumbs on the platter, with one lone slice standing of what was once a proud tower of Black Forest... well, it should have made me sad (all my hard work!), but instead it made me smile. Not just because all reports were that it was 'the best cake ever' (such outbursts always please), but because that is what a cake is for. A well-made, beautifully presented cake has only one real function - to be eaten and enjoyed. It is made for destruction and until it has been destroyed, it can't fulfil its destiny. I think Black Forest met his destiny very well indeed. 

Hijacked by cake

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

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

Home-made Granola

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

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

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

Dangerously good chocolate flapjacks

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

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

A stack of chocolate flapjacks

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

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

A few of my favourite things

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

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

Pretty!

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

Delightful!

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

Coconut cupcakes

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

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

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

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

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

Strawberry Fields Forever

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

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

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

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

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

Eton Mess 

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

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

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