Where should I start? At the beginning would be logical, but it's more important than that. I've always loved cake. And I've always associated cake with love ... because it seems to me that really good cake is made with that special ingredient.
My first memories of baking are down on my grandparent's farm. My Nanny baked and even before being school age I can remember helping her with mixing, and licking the bowl clean. She used to let me have the sad end of the pastry to roll out myself to make pretend pies - but only with newspaper filling because they were for my dollies. Sadly, Nanny died when I was around 7 years old, so my memories of her are old and faded, but through the joint pleasure of shared baking, my sense of her is a happy one of love.
School puddings are next. All the usual suspects. Spotted dick. Jam roly poly. Chocolate sponge with green mint sauce. Fly pie. Rock cakes. Shortbread. (Milk puddings, I know, don't really count, but are part and parcel of my earliest memory bank). Apple pie, or Sultana Cake and Custard. I loved them all. I was a pudding girl, still am, and, for me, it has to be a hot pudding... you can keep your ice creams or knickerbocker glory, banana split or yogurt. I'm really not interested. As far I'm concerned if it's cold then there's no love in it.
From around the age of 10 or 11 my mother would let me bake what I wanted on a Saturday morning. Which worked well for all of us. I'm the eldest of four children. Giving me free rein in the kitchen would give my mother time to do something else, and produce something (hopefully) edible for the family to eat. I would generally rustle up a batch of scones and a cake - Parkin, Gingerbread, Victoria Sandwich, Chocolate Cake, Butterfly Buns, or whatever had caught our eye in the recipe book or magazine that week.
I loved the process of baking, the anticipation, the mechanics, the tactile process of kneading, stirring, rubbing, creaming, beating, or folding, and managing the mixture so that it goes into the tin or paper cases or onto the tray, and then into the oven. The smells. The inexact science. The magical uncertainty of 'is it ready yet?'. The chemistry. The alchemy. The love.
When I was 15 years old I got an 'A' for my Domestic Science 'O' level, and expected nothing less. I can cook. I understand the planning, the timing, the juggling. I know how to follow a recipe, but I'm happier with one I know by heart and can feel how it's doing, how it's getting on, whether it's going right and if something needs to be done. I can adapt and substitute if there's something missing from the cupboard, and often that's the way I prefer it. I'm not prepared to wait. I'll just 'rustle something up' rather than have to have the exact herb or spice to hand.
I've made bread by hand, puff and rough puff pastry by hand, choux pastry, and short pastry, sweet pastry and cheese straw pastry. And then there's the whole wide world of cake.
For many years I didn't bake.... Leaving home, moving out, and watching my figure were responsible for this sad lapse in my life. And then the man I married didn't (and still doesn't) really like cake. But things change. We had children. And children have birthdays. And children's birthdays require cake. And that's when I got my cake mojo back.
Injecting my love for my family into my cakes is one of my guilty pleasures, and no-one's going to take that away from me. But it's more than that even. Every time I make a cake I follow the ritual the recipe the muscle memory from the process, and the mental memory from all the cakes I've made before this, and all the cakes I've made with other people. With Mrs Pickering in cookery lessons at the Convent, with my mother in the kitchen at Ribchester Road, with my Nanny on the farm, and with my children as I've let them lick the bowl and feel the love....
Because my cake memory is so strongly associated with my personal history I rarely consider commercial cakes. I've been disappointed with cake I've had in certain tea-rooms at stately homes. I've cringed at shop-bought plastic wrapped cake given out at other children's parties. I'm a bit of a home-made cake snob I suppose, and I don't think that's a bad thing.
WI (Women's Institute) cakes are usually up to standard, and my neighbour, Mary, makes a mean Lemon Drizzle, and we usually compare Christmas Cake. I gave her a quarter of the last Victoria Sandwich I made (a 4-egg one to celebrate Tom's Beaver Investiture, and use the eggs) which she said was a nice bit of cake, and I'll take that compliment any day of the week.
I could go on, but it's bedtime and I've work tomorrow morning.
There's a lovely smell in my kitchen, the barm brack teabread/cake I made earlier this evening is cooling the rack, and I'll look forward to a slice tomorrow with a nice cup of tea.
Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? CAKE!
Kat :)
My first memories of baking are down on my grandparent's farm. My Nanny baked and even before being school age I can remember helping her with mixing, and licking the bowl clean. She used to let me have the sad end of the pastry to roll out myself to make pretend pies - but only with newspaper filling because they were for my dollies. Sadly, Nanny died when I was around 7 years old, so my memories of her are old and faded, but through the joint pleasure of shared baking, my sense of her is a happy one of love.
School puddings are next. All the usual suspects. Spotted dick. Jam roly poly. Chocolate sponge with green mint sauce. Fly pie. Rock cakes. Shortbread. (Milk puddings, I know, don't really count, but are part and parcel of my earliest memory bank). Apple pie, or Sultana Cake and Custard. I loved them all. I was a pudding girl, still am, and, for me, it has to be a hot pudding... you can keep your ice creams or knickerbocker glory, banana split or yogurt. I'm really not interested. As far I'm concerned if it's cold then there's no love in it.
From around the age of 10 or 11 my mother would let me bake what I wanted on a Saturday morning. Which worked well for all of us. I'm the eldest of four children. Giving me free rein in the kitchen would give my mother time to do something else, and produce something (hopefully) edible for the family to eat. I would generally rustle up a batch of scones and a cake - Parkin, Gingerbread, Victoria Sandwich, Chocolate Cake, Butterfly Buns, or whatever had caught our eye in the recipe book or magazine that week.
I loved the process of baking, the anticipation, the mechanics, the tactile process of kneading, stirring, rubbing, creaming, beating, or folding, and managing the mixture so that it goes into the tin or paper cases or onto the tray, and then into the oven. The smells. The inexact science. The magical uncertainty of 'is it ready yet?'. The chemistry. The alchemy. The love.
When I was 15 years old I got an 'A' for my Domestic Science 'O' level, and expected nothing less. I can cook. I understand the planning, the timing, the juggling. I know how to follow a recipe, but I'm happier with one I know by heart and can feel how it's doing, how it's getting on, whether it's going right and if something needs to be done. I can adapt and substitute if there's something missing from the cupboard, and often that's the way I prefer it. I'm not prepared to wait. I'll just 'rustle something up' rather than have to have the exact herb or spice to hand.
I've made bread by hand, puff and rough puff pastry by hand, choux pastry, and short pastry, sweet pastry and cheese straw pastry. And then there's the whole wide world of cake.
For many years I didn't bake.... Leaving home, moving out, and watching my figure were responsible for this sad lapse in my life. And then the man I married didn't (and still doesn't) really like cake. But things change. We had children. And children have birthdays. And children's birthdays require cake. And that's when I got my cake mojo back.
Injecting my love for my family into my cakes is one of my guilty pleasures, and no-one's going to take that away from me. But it's more than that even. Every time I make a cake I follow the ritual the recipe the muscle memory from the process, and the mental memory from all the cakes I've made before this, and all the cakes I've made with other people. With Mrs Pickering in cookery lessons at the Convent, with my mother in the kitchen at Ribchester Road, with my Nanny on the farm, and with my children as I've let them lick the bowl and feel the love....
Because my cake memory is so strongly associated with my personal history I rarely consider commercial cakes. I've been disappointed with cake I've had in certain tea-rooms at stately homes. I've cringed at shop-bought plastic wrapped cake given out at other children's parties. I'm a bit of a home-made cake snob I suppose, and I don't think that's a bad thing.
WI (Women's Institute) cakes are usually up to standard, and my neighbour, Mary, makes a mean Lemon Drizzle, and we usually compare Christmas Cake. I gave her a quarter of the last Victoria Sandwich I made (a 4-egg one to celebrate Tom's Beaver Investiture, and use the eggs) which she said was a nice bit of cake, and I'll take that compliment any day of the week.
I could go on, but it's bedtime and I've work tomorrow morning.
There's a lovely smell in my kitchen, the barm brack teabread/cake I made earlier this evening is cooling the rack, and I'll look forward to a slice tomorrow with a nice cup of tea.
Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? CAKE!
Kat :)
Sadly, food for me is generally a response to, or cause of, anxiety and stress, so I admire anyone who can find pleasure in it. I remember a time when I felt the same way :) I do adore baking though, and I find the actual process of making something really relaxing. My problem is...I rush to the finish line and usually end up with a cake with a sinking middle :D Hmm...smells like you're baking right now actually. I'm going to come and investigate!!
ReplyDeleteP.S. - I agree with the cold dessert thing. Although not all hot desserts are awesome. Hot poached pear, for example, does not constitute a dessert in my eyes. It's just fancier fruit. I'm a combo girl myself...a hot cake with a cold ice cream. Sticky toffee and date pudding with vanilla ice cream is my absolute favourite :)
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