Category Archives: Cakery Bakery

Cakery Bakery: Melty chocolate puddings, for any day you like

My dear lovely people! Come and fall into the happy embrace of Friday. It’s Friday! It’s nearly over for the space of another weekend. And, at least where I am, it’s sunny. Doesn’t that mean you deserve some melty chocolate pudding? Of course it does.


We call them melty chocolate puddings in our house, because they tend to end up melted all over our faces. Actually they’re better known as molten lava cakes, and that fits, too: a chocolate souffle baked till just crisp on the outside, with a bubbling interior that tastes like mess and happiness. We found this recipe, after a tip from my cousin, on Our Best Bites, which is the recipe site haunting my dreams at the moment. This is also what I wanted Nigella’s Glitzy Chocolate Puddings to be, and they weren’t. With due apologies to Nigella, these are twelve times better.

You start by beating butter and sugar together, which is a task better suited to an electric whisk, if you have one. If you don’t, the back of a wooden spoon will do fine – just make sure the butter is properly softened if you want to avoid tennis elbow. Then you throw in three eggs, one at a time, and then the flour and salt. If it seems like quite a small mixture at this point, don’t worry: at least half the final mixture is melted chocolate. This you add next, and the recipe suggests melted chocolate chips. I’ve tried it a couple of ways, and real chocolate works better. I like them as dark as they’ll go – there is a little Voldemort in me, when it comes to chocolate – so I use the 74% cocoa stuff. Tim is more of a Dumbledore confectioner, and prefers milkier chocolate. Even if you do, too, use about half plain chocolate and half milk. Trust me on this.


Anyway, this should make enough to comfortably fill six ramekins, which you’ve prepared beforehand by buttering and sugaring the insides. I can tell you from experience that six of these is about the maximum that two of you can consume in one evening. We made this discovery so you don’t have to.

They go in the oven for 10-12 minutes (ten being the melted middle in the photo below; twelve being more squidgy) so alter as you prefer. They go any which way, to be honest. And with ingredients that you’re likely to have in the cupboard at all times, they make a pretty fabulous impromptu treat.


Ah, now we’re feeling better.



This amazing chocolatey marvel comes courtesy of Our Best Bites, and is here. Why are you still here?!

Cakery Bakery: the only pumpkin chocolate chip cookie you will ever need


Yesterday night we skipped off to watch Ender’s Game at the cinema (which I loved). And so, in the spirit of dramatic sci-fi narration, let me say this:

there are some recipes that will CHANGE YOUR LIIIIIIFE.

And this is one of them.

Thanks to a lovely friend being wonderfully generous with the contents of her store cupboard, I now have more cans of pumpkin than I know what to do with – or I would, if I didn’t like pie so much. When I found this recipe claiming to be the best pumpkin chocolate chip cookie ever, I was ready to break into my stash and take that sucker down. (Sorry, that’s the sci-fi voice coming out again. Down, Harrison, down.)

The ingredients are almost all cupboard staples, with the exception of molasses (I use Lyons’ black treacle, Britishers) and canola oil (I use rapeseed oil, Britishers, though I’m pretty sure ordinary vegetable oil would work just fine). The method is a throw-it-all-in-and-mix type, which always makes me happy. It was all done in a jiffy, even with Henry trying to stick his face in the treacle.



Two notes about the mixing:

– put in the oil first, then use the same cup measure to put in the molasses. Black treacle is stickier than Satan’s armpit, but with a residual layer of oil in the bottom of the cup, it slides out into the bowl without a problem. And – this is very important –

– re. chocolate chips: go plain, or go home. And always, always put at least a third more in than you think you’ll need.


The mixture is unpleasantly brown and clingy, but just wait till their ten minutes in the oven are up. These things puff out into glorious, golden mounds, cracked along the top like fault lines and studded with melted chocolate chips. If you don’t take care ladling out the dough, they can very easily be as large as your face. Crack one open and they are cakey and slightly chewy – like good gingerbread, almost, but without the ginger. Curiously, the pumpkin doesn’t come through very strongly, though they’re not at all tasteless. What they most remind me of are those German Christmas cookies: the same spices and the same texture. Magnificent, in other words. And the batch made thirty-five.

Store in a tin, and eat at your leisure. But even thirty-five of these babies won’t last long. I do not think there is a better cookie in the whole of space and time. And that’s not even Harrison Ford talking.




The recipe for these cookies is courtesy of, and can be found here. Do it. DO IT NOW.

Autumn love #3: the pie’s the thing


One of the advantages of not frequenting Pinterest – apart from having no burning desire whatever to upcycle my plumbing – is that we’re almost done with October and I’m still hugely excited about pumpkin recipes. I scoped out Waitrose a couple of weeks ago for canned pumpkin (there were five tins and I only took three, which I thought was supreme self-control) and it’s been sitting in my cupboard and winking at me since then. Yesterday I finally got an afternoon where the toddler/baby/naptime stars aligned, so we opened the pumpkin cupboard and let those babies run free, FREE.

Pie first. Of course. I unimaginatively use the recipe on the back of the Libby’s can, and a pastry recipe courtesy of my sister-in-law (Fannie Farmer’s originally, I believe, and reproduced below) that is the veritable bomb.

I love every bit of this: stretching springy pastry dough over the pie dish, the mud-squelchy sound when the pumpkin tips out of the can into the bowl, mixing the spices, and – ahem – drinking the left-over condensed milk. From a glass. Don’t judge me.

There was a bit of leftover pastry, too, and Hen made himself a tiny jam roly-poly. Watching him wielding his miniature rolling pin and then scoffing his prize in front of Finding Nemo was the cutest thing ever. Teds would’ve been jealous, but he’s not the type.

The pie’s gone, by the way.









Pastry recipe:

1 1/2 cups flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup shortening
3-7 tablespoons cold water 

Mix flour and salt, then add shortening and mix in using two knives, dragging in opposite directions. 

Add cold water until it starts coming together, then roll out on a floured board. 

(Makes enough for a 9-inch dish). 

See here for a step-by-step, from the first time I made it. Happy baking!

Five cakes for five occasions

This week we have discovered that the more people you have in a house, the longer you can keep a cold virus going. We just keep throwing it between us like a frisbee of snotty sadness. I’m a lot better at catching colds than I am at catching frisbees (twice in a week, now! I am the virus winner!), which is oddly making me feel a little better.

Anyway, after I’ve run through painkillers and melodrama, dessert is my third stop during cold season. I had to choose three of my favourite desserts to bring to an activity last week, and I just hope you never have to make such a wrenching decision, dear readers. So much good cake. So much. [tears.]

So I thought I’d try to be useful, and suggest a few shortcuts. Here are five cakes perfect for five occasions – and it should go without saying that all of them will improve your average snotastrophe NO END.

the birthday party: white chocolate and brownie torte


This is ideal birthday fare: it’s the easiest thing in the world and looks far more impressive than it should (good for crowds), but needs eight hours in the freezer, so can’t be made on a whim (hopefully your loved one’s birthday hasn’t come as a surprise). And with only three ingredients, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like it.

I inherited this recipe from my mother-in-law – if you recognise where it’s from, let me know so I can credit it!


300g white chocolate

600ml/1 pint double cream

250g brownies (I use one of those boxes of mini brownies in the bakery section at Tesco)

cocoa powder


Line an 8-inch Springform tin with greaseproof paper.

Break the chocolate into pieces, and melt in a pan with 1/4 pint (150 ml) of the cream. Let it cool once it’s melted.

Crumble the brownies into pieces, and pack into the bottom of the tin (not too hard!).

Whip the remaining cream (3/4 pint, 450 ml) into soft peaks, then fold in the chocolate mixture.

Spoon into the tin, clingfilm and freeze for 8 hours (or overnight).

Transfer the torte to the fridge 45 minutes before serving. Dust with cocoa powder.

Read the full run-through here.

the valentine: Sophie Dahl’s flourless chocolate cake


I may be just shallow, but nothing says true love to me like the BEST CHOCOLATE CAKE YOU’VE EVER HAD. Trust me, I’ve tried a lot, and this is the one I keep coming back to. Without flour, the cake relies on whipped egg whites to rise, which makes it moist (I hate that word, but when it fits…) and puddingy. Creme fraiche and raspberries on top, while deeply offending Mr Jeffcoat, counterbalance the chocolate nicely, and prevent it from being too sickly.

The recipe is here, and you can read about the first time I tried it here. The only thing I’d add is that putting chocolate in a food processor always broke my food processor, and cutting it up finely was achey and time-consuming. Just melt the chocolate with the butter in the microwave, and follow the recipe from there.

Mmmm. Romance.

the church social: lemon bars


I do this every time: sign up to bring a dessert to some activity or other, and then forget until the last minute. I owe my friend Kathryn for this revelation: soft shortbread underneath squidgy lemon-meringue-style topping that tastes like happiness. One tray can be sliced into as many pieces as you need, and you can dress it up in individual cupcake cases if need be. Timothy always requests these to bring into the office on his birthday, at which point one of his coworkers described them as ‘like a lemon snog to the face’. I cannot give any better recommendation than this.

Crust Ingredients:

1 cup butter (this translates to about 226g)
1/2 cup icing sugar
1/2 tsp salt
2 cups flour (I use about 3/4 plain flour and 1/4 self-raising – did it this way by accident once and it worked well)

Filling ingredients:

4 eggs, slightly beaten
2 cups sugar, any kind
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup flour (self-raising, I use)
1/4 cup lemon juice
Rind of 1 lemon, grated


For crust –
1) Cream butter and icing sugar.
2) Add salt and flour, and mix well.
3) Pat into a 9 x 13 inch lined baking tin. Bake at 170 C for 15-20 mins.

For filling –
1) Mix all ingredients and pour over hot crust. Bake at 170 C for about 25-30 mins. It should be light brown on top and a curd-like consistency.
2) When done, sprinkle with icing sugar. Cut into squares when cool.

Read the full run-through here.

the Sunday lunch: Nigella’s ice cream cake

Photo 17-06-2012 03 38 49 PM

Och, this one is amazing. Ice cream mixed with biscuits, chocolate and honeycomb, frozen into place and then covered with hot chocolate and butterscotch sauce. Ideal for Sunday lunch because it’s dead easy, and you can fill it with whatever your family or guests like best: peanuts, chocolate chips, different types of biscuit, favourite chocolate bars – even fruit, if you must.

Nigella’s recipe is here, but it’s not an exact science: just a tub of ice cream, your favourite things, and a Springform tin. The recipes for hot chocolate sauce is here, and the butterscotch sauce is here. One would do, but using both makes it a thing of beauty.

Read the full run-through here.

the comfort eat: cinnamon roll cake


I speak here as someone obsessed with cinnamon rolls, but without the patience (or breadmaker) to make them. I first made this on a rainy afternoon with friends, so heavily pregnant I looked like a giant cheeseburger, and I swear to you I nearly buried my face in it. It’s another tray bake (though you could put it in any shaped tin you like) which is somewhat dangerous: you start off virtuously with a small square, and before you know it, it’s half gone.

The recipe is from The Girl Who Ate Everything, and it’s here. I use a cream cheese frosting rather than her suggested icing, which is at the bottom of the page, here (I generally halve this recipe, because it’s insane). And while I’d recommend checking the cake after the recommended 25-30 minutes, it actually takes just over an hour in my oven. Maybe it’s an altitude thing.

Read the full run-through here.

Head cold, I spit in your face. And eat cake. So much cake. [tears.]

Photo 15-09-2012 06 49 21 PM

Cakery Bakery: Cinnamon roll cake


I finished work on Friday. Not forever, but for long enough. Oh, it was like being let out of school before the long summer holiday, only with several hundred added Braxton Hicks. I bought a newborn car seat, in celebration (by heck do I know how to live). And then I made a cake.

It felt like a conquered mountain in itself, this cake. Baking is rather difficult at present, with a) Henry trying to get his tongue into the egg whites and b) all of this foetus to carry around. And I am generally obsessed with cinnamon rolls, but without a breadmaker can never be bothered to go through with them. Well, have a look at this: cinnamon roll cake, from The Girl Who Ate Everything (still working my way through her website. Still in love). It’s like a giant cinnamon roll, but without any dough palaver. Why didn’t anyone think of this before?

It didn’t go entirely smoothly, I admit. It started well: the cake mix is one of those wonderful throw-everything-in-a-bowl-and-press-go types, which always makes me happy. I used my free-standing mixer, but a handheld electric one would work just as well. That part is over and in a baking tin before you can say LITTLE BOY, PLEASE MOVE YOUR FACE AWAY FROM THAT EGG.

Then you prepare what the recipe calls topping, but is more like filling: cinnamon, soft butter, brown sugar and pecans all mixed together. My butter wasn’t quite soft enough, so I prepared the pecans separately, thinking it might be easier to whisk without them (it was). The instructions said to put tablespoonfuls of the filling on top of the cake mix, then use a knife to ‘marble’ it in. Well. My filling spoonfuls sat on top of the cake mix like daubs of cold peanut butter, and clearly weren’t going to marble anywhere at all. I ended up mashing them in any old how. It was messy, and left my cake looking like it had a bad case of acne (especially once I put the pecans on top), but we forged on.

Marbling [mashing]. Before and after.

Marbling [mashing]. Before and after.

Then came the real trouble. In the oven for 25-30 minutes, said the recipe. Which I did. I took the cake out, poked in a knife, and was utterly horrified when a lava-flow of grease came flooding out. I realised it was the butter/sugar solution, partying away on the inside. Who on earth would want to eat a grease cake?! I put it back in for another ten minutes. No grease this time, but lots of raw cake mix. Another ten minutes. And another ten. Thirty-five minutes after the recipe said it would be done, it was done. I wasn’t at all sure it would be edible, by this point.

Thank goodness for cream cheese frosting. The recipe gives instructions for a glaze that looks like a thin form of icing. But cinnamon rolls need cream cheese frosting, yes? It just feels right. I used this recipe, halved. It’s the sort of thing I can happily eat from the bowl, with a spatula. I would eat it on toast. I would probably lick it off a wall, to be honest, but for the time being it was jolly lovely on the cake.




The verdict, then:

Deliciousness: Do you know, after all that, it was wonderful. Extremely fluffy, gloriously messy and crumbly. I don’t know why it took half an hour longer in the oven than it should’ve done, but it didn’t suffer for it. The filling makes sandy little cinnamon blobs in the middle of every slice, and the frosting and pecans together are lovely.

Complexity: If I can work out the correct oven time, it’s a cinch: measure, mix, dump in a tin. So much easier than proper cinnamon rolls. Now I have an ominous feeling.

Washing-up pile: Two bowls and some cutlery. Nice and easy (not – um – that I actually did the clearing up. Thanks, kitchen wonders!).

Casualties: Here is a life lesson – you don’t want to wipe a ladleful of sugar/butter/cinnamon out of a toddler’s face and hair. Ever. That stuff clings.

Oh gosh, it's not going to come off. Is it?

This was the moment I realised it wasn’t going to come off.

The recipe for cinnamon roll cake is here, and the frosting I used is at the bottom of the page here. Go go go!

Cakery Bakery: Strawberry cream puff cake


We made it to May!

I don’t have any maypoles handy, and I’m not keen on the idea of gathering nuts, in May or otherwise. But, do you know, it feels like an awfully long time since I made some cake. It being May and all, we decided to bake something appropriate for sunny weather. THIS MEANS STRAWBERRIES.

I discovered, recently, a great recipe website called The Girl Who Ate Everything. Her chicken taco soup is now one of our evening staples. And today we decided on this: a strawberry cream puff cake. What is a puff cake, I wondered? Even now I’m not really sure what the answer is. The base is somewhere between eggy pudding, souffle and pastry. It’s topped with a cream cheese/whipped cream frosting, and lots of strawberries. And it tastes amazing. This is all you need to know.

The cream puff layer comes first. You melt butter, water and sugar in a saucepan, bring it to the boil, then dump in a load of flour and stir like billy-oh. Boiling sugar always makes me nervous, and so does adding flour to anything on the stove, but it turned into a kind of play-doh mixture without any explosions. Three eggs and a whisk later, the mixture is done. You pour it into a springform tin and it goes in the oven. After 25 minutes, the thing is golden brown, gigantic and making a valiant effort to climb out of the tin. You stab it several times with a toothpick to squash any of that nonsense, and then put it back in for a bit. Done, and done. I do love a cake that’s supposed to sink in the middle. It makes a nice change.

The cream cheese topping is cream cheese, icing sugar, heavy whipping cream (I substituted double cream, Englishers) and a bit of vanilla. The recipe also says orange zest, but I didn’t have any ready-made and couldn’t be bothered to grate some, so I missed it out. I don’t think it suffered without it. That goes on the cooled cream puff base – do wait till it’s properly cool, or it’ll melt horribly – with chopped strawberries on top of that. Like the Girl Who Ate Everything, I chopped my strawberries while the base was cooking, and put them in the fridge with a bit of sugar until they were needed. They sat in their own syrup, and were lovely.




Henry spent a good half hour afterwards licking the beaters and trying to clean out the cream cheese bowl with a spatula. I’ll remember that for later.

I think possibly I undercooked my base a little – it was definitely more eggy pudding than pastry at the bottom – but it was delicious anyway. The cream cheese topping is wonderful (you can ask Henry’s vest). And strawberries, well. It felt like the perfect end to a sunshiny day.




Deliciousness: Make it now. Oh alright, finish reading this first. THEN go make it.

Complexity: Not only was it very easy – the crumply base is the sort of thing that is supposed to look artfully dishevelled, so it’s hard to get wrong – but the ingredients were primarily items I already had. Which is always a nice bonus.

Washing-up pile: You guys, I haven’t washed up in two days. I have no idea how many of those eighty-seven items are baking related.

Casualties: Unless you can overdose on cheesy cream, I think we’ll all be fine.

The recipe for this cake is here. Go go go!

Cakery Bakery: Boston cream cupcakes


I always have the best of intentions when I start to bake.

Well, no. Sometimes I have the best of intentions. Yesterday I did. I should bake something practical, I thought. I’ve got those frozen raspberries I need to use up (Failed Henry Experiment No. 736). Or, maybe something healthy. Something with oats in? Oats and frozen raspberries and OH MY GOOD GRAVY WAIT A MOMENT.

Hummingbird Bakery Boston Cream Cupcakes. Otherwise known as cake with custard inside.

Could I repeat that a moment? Cake. With custard. In. Side. And chocolate frosting on top. Do you know how I feel about custard? I drink it from the jug. The raspberries never stood a chance.

Learning to make custard from scratch is one of my baking goals this year, but it didn’t feel like Friday afternoon was the right goal-busting moment. So I bought a can of Ambrosia and the whole thing was as easy as you please.

The sponge was a quick job: the recipe said to mix all of the dry ingredients plus the butter in a free-standing mixer, and as it happens, these days I have one. If you haven’t, a handheld mixer or even a food processor would do the same job. The wet ingredients come after, then you’re done. It’s a thinnish, wet mixture that you then spoon into baking cases until they’re about two-thirds full. I quite like using an ice cream scoop for this job, but only because it makes me feel a bit special.

The sponges go in the oven for fifteen minutes or so, during which I made the frosting. It’s butter rubbed into icing sugar and cocoa powder, and then whisked together with milk. For the life of me, I can’t mix butter into icing sugar without inhaling half of it, so I use my fingers. Then once the cupcakes have cooled it’s time for the assembly.

These cupcakes are very similar to the chocolate fondant cakes I tried last year. You slice the top off each cake with a sharp knife, fill the space with custard, then replace the top after trimming it a little and cover the whole thing with frosting. I am not a natural froster and it felt like it took forever. But then it was done, and oh hello my darling, it was goooood.




Deliciousness: apart from the obvious genius of filling a cake with custard, this is an excellent recipe. The sponge is very light and soft, and the chocolate frosting is surprisingly lovely (I’m not usually much of an icing fan).

Complexity: well, I cheated. I expect that making the custard would be the hardest bit. Using shop-bought stuff made the process much quicker, and the rest of it wasn’t hard at all.

Washing-up pile: Henry dumped an entire cutlery drawer into the messy sink halfway through. So, seventy-four?

Casualties: We survived. Hurrah!

This recipe is from the Hummingbird Bakery Cake Days book; it’s also online here. But buy the book if you can, because it’s lovely and you deserve it.

Cakery Bakery: Cookie-dough crumble

Otherwise known as: The Dessert That Gets Weirder The More You Think About It But Is Actually Really Nice And, Moreover, Very Easy Indeed.

We had people over for dinner on Wednesday evening. It was a long, busy day and I didn’t have time to bake for dessert. So I found this, which has to be one of the quickest, throw-together puddings I’ve ever tried. And you never know when you might need one of those.

Fruit crumble with cookie dough on top sounded like an idea straight from the mind of Zeus when I first found it in my BBC Good Food book. I love crumble AND cookies, and the only two ingredients were ready-made, so it couldn’t be easier. We ran out to the supermarket at ten to five and bought two pots of ready-made cookie dough, and a carton of frozen fruit (the recipe suggests forest fruits, but I’m not a huge fan, so got some strawberries and blueberries instead). Yessss. The sausage, apple and sage pie was ready for the main course – best pie in the universe, in case you’re wondering; that one definitely came from the mind of Zeus – and now this wonder for afterwards.

Then I started thinking about it. Chocolate chips… and frozen fruit? Wouldn’t the fruit go all watery in the oven? How well would that mix with chocolate chip cookies? To make matters worse, I’d automatically bought custard to go with it, and the thought of combining partially-cooked chocolate chip cookie + possibly watery strawberries + custard, of all things, CUSTARD made me feel a little funny.

It was lovely to put together, though. I added sugar to the frozen fruit, thinking it might otherwise be a little tart. Then I pulled off bits of cookie dough and pinched them together on top, cobbler style. Beautifully satisfying, and it looked fabulous.

We ran into some baking difficulties when it came to the cooking time (it wouldn’t be Wednesday without them, would it?). The recipe said 20 minutes, but once we took it out, the cookie dough was still sludgy and partially cooked. We left it another ten minutes and matters hadn’t improved much, but we were on a deadline so ate it as it was. I think the dense supermarket cookie dough might have been to blame: next time I’ll make dough from scratch and see if it helps. Because, in fact, it was delicious. The fruit did produce a lot of juice underneath, and the cookie topping was more the consistency of cement than cookies. But for some reason, it worked. I try not to argue with stuff that tastes nice.

I’d be interested to try it with fresh fruit, as well, but not yet: buying that many strawberries out of season might actually bankrupt me.



(I’m afraid I didn’t get a photo after it had been in the oven. Since the dough didn’t cook all that well, it looked quite a lot like this. But hotter.)

Deliciousness: Weirdly irresistible. Would’ve been even better with a proper cookie texture on top.

Complexity: An assembly job of five minutes or less. You could keep the ingredients in your freezer and have it at short notice whenever you jolly well fancied.

Washing-up pile: One oven dish. Yes, really.

Casualties: It was heavy stuff, and we ate too much of it. Then spent the whole evening afterwards groaning in trouser-straining discomfort.

Cakery Bakery: Mince pie pinwheels

This afternoon I took a big, deep breath. Because we’re almost there: Tim’s last day of work before the Christmas break was today, and we have a quiet, lovely weekend planned before next week’s festivities. This evening, with Henry in bed and Tim out with friends, I thought I’d watch You’ve Got Mail and bake. So I made these.


(courtesy of Becky from the Butterfly Buns blog, who inherited it from Lorraine Pascale: see her step-by-step here.)

If you stop and think about it, this is the most insanely amazing Christmas idea since The Muppet Christmas Carol. I love mince pies, but haven’t yet dared to make any, mostly because mince pie pastry is a delicate art. It’s easy to make a bad mince pie. But it’s impossible to make a bad one of these.

There are two ingredients: a jar of mincemeat and store-bought puff pastry. You can buy it ready-rolled or roll it yourself; either’s fine. Once the pastry is rolled out, cut out squares of roughly 10 x 10 cm with a sharp knife or pastry cutter. I guestimated, and ended up with squares of varying sizes, but it doesn’t matter.


Once you have your squares, make a 3-4cm cut diagonally from each corner into the middle. It looks a bit like this.


Apologies for horrendous photographs. The blog does not forgive late night baking. It thinks I should get more sleep.

Then put a spoonful of mincemeat in the middle of each square. Take one corner of each side and fold it into the middle, making a kind of pinwheel effect. By which I mean, this:


I found that my pastry corners didn’t want to stick on top of each other, so I brushed the ends of each with a little beaten egg, and that did the trick. Finally, cut out little stars from your leftover pastry, and stick on top with more beaten egg.


The recipe recommends brushing the whole thing with egg before it goes in the oven, but I tend to prefer my puff pastry lighter and less crispy, so I didn’t. After fifteen minutes in the oven at 200C, and after a sprinkling of icing sugar, they looked wonderful.


Be aware that mincemeat welds itself to baking trays like a raisiny barnacle, so make sure to use baking paper to save yourself flying pastry crumbs.

And that is IT. My block of puff pastry made a great stacked plateful, and it hardly took any time at all. Wish I’d known about these before Christmas party season – much easier than baking a cake, and beautifully festive. The only question is whether I can get through all thirty before Timothy gets home.

Deliciousness: Oh, lovely. Light and quickly snaffled. They are best warm, I think, but remember that mincemeat comes out of the oven as hot as the sun, so wait a little while. Oh my GOODNESS would they be intense with clotted cream.

Complexity: As Becky says, this isn’t baking but assembly. Would be great to make with kids on a Christmassy Saturday afternoon.

Washing-up pile: A rolling pin, a knife and a baking tray. I can get behind that.

Casualties: My REM cycle. Again.

Christmas Cakery Bakery: the Hummingbird Bakery’s sweet and salty chocolate cake

Whoa, wait, hang on a minute. Christmas is in how many days? I haven’t done a thing.

Well, we have a Christmas tree, though it’s getting more undressed by the day (saucy). And I have half a knitted garland for my living room. But no presents and no prep. I need to get a grip. Shake some jingle bells, that sort of thing. And also, make some Christmas food, because nothing says festivity to me like festive baking. I wanted to get stuck in to biscuits and pies and Christmas morning muffins, but first we had a party to attend. Party people want to eat chocolate cake, and that is the truth.

We decided on the Hummingbird Bakery’s sweet and salty chocolate cake, in a moment of heady abandon. If the holidays mean decadence, this is the cake for the season: three layers of chocolate sponge, sandwiched with salty caramel and caramel chocolate frosting. It’s a tiny bit obscene. When I got home from the supermarket I put all of the ingredients on the table and we stood and gaped for a while. How much sugar? How much cream?

Oh, go on then.

Start with salty caramel. You combine syrup, sugar and water, boil it for ten minutes, combine it with lightly salted double cream and sour cream (which has also been boiled) and stir like billy-oh. That’s stage one, and the caramel it makes is delicious. I’m never sure how I feel about salted caramel, by the way, but this isn’t off-puttingly salty, so you’ll be fine.

Then repeat the process exactly, but without the salt, and end up with another bowl of creamy caramel that becomes the frosting, once you’ve added half a ton of chocolate and some butter. You’re supposed to whip and whip with a whisk until the mixture cools. After the chocolate, the frosting turned thick and spatula-friendly, which was exciting. Then after the butter, it suddenly became thinner and silky-smooth. I hoped it would solidify in the fridge (it didn’t), but perhaps it’s supposed to be splashier.

That’s stage two. Stage three is the sponge. And this was the exciting bit, because I got to break in the ancient (let’s say ‘vintage’, that’s trendier) Kenwood mixer I just inherited from a very lovely friend. It’s a thing of beauty. I can’t stop looking at it. And I cannot believe that it’s possible to make up a cake mix with no input from me or my bicep whatsoever. What is this?!

Twenty-five minutes later, and after I’d decided to get rid of one of the cake layers to save time, we were on to the assembly. I was right: the frosting was a pain to keep on, especially sliding over the caramel. But it looked rather spiffy, all the same.




The verdict, then –

Deliciousness: Do you know, we thought it was only alright. Don’t get me wrong, it was a delicious chocolate cake. The caramel frosting went all fudgy, the sponge was soft, and it was beautifully rich. But we couldn’t taste the caramel, salty or no, which meant that after all that effort we’d just made… a chocolate cake. A very good chocolate cake. But not a life-changer.

Complexity: The most difficult bit was keeping the frosting on the cake. The rest of it was a little more time-consuming than your average effort, but not hard.

Washing-up pile: Approximately twenty-seven. Thousand. Maybe more. It was a lot.

Casualties: Distracted by frosting at a crucial point, Timothy stubbed his toe on the wall halfway through the afternoon. It wasn’t all bad. In throes of agony on the sofa, he asked (through the medium of song) for a spoonful of the caramel stuff as his last request. I was sympathetic, and complied.

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