almost-spring cake

See? Sun. Photographic evidence of sun.

Yesterday, something peculiar happened: I went to post a letter. For me, that alone is rather unusual- I still have a stack of Christmas cards (addressed and stamped) languishing in a kitchen drawer, along with two lovingly-penned letters to a friend in Australia that are now so outdated that I'll have to write a third. Which I'll probably forget to post. But putting my own anecdotal scattiness aside, I went to post a letter, and it wasn't cold. Windy, certainly. Balmy? No. But it wasn't cold. I was in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms- inappropriate on several of levels- firstly, it was two o'clock. Secondly, they had sheep on. And I was wearing them in public. Thirdly, it was, and still is, February. I should have been cold. But it seems it's nearly spring... and we can all feel it; there's a contagious and palpable uplift in the national mood that gains momentum with every additional minute of daylight that's creeping in. However, judging by the ominous grey of today's sky (not to mention the return to near sub-zero temperatures this morning), I'd say we're not quite there yet. There's no spring lamb, no asparagus, and no new Game of Thrones on the telly- because what heralds the advent of Spring quite like the annual arrival of more bloodshed, pelts and dragons than you can shake a stick at?

So what am I eating? I'm bored of stews, and done with stodgy steamed puddings. And because I haven't given up cake for Lent (instead I opted for bread AND potatoes- what was I thinking??), I'm eating this. A lot.

Almond St Clements Cake

... or essentially a tarted-up Lemon Drizzle.

This recipe has come about after years of tweaking, adjusting, and screw-ups. A lemon Drizzle was the first of many things I learned to cook with my mum, and is quick, easy and relatively fuss-free to cobble together. It won't win any awards for gastronomic originality, but it might just pinch first place in a quaint rural bake sale of some sort. I can't say for sure, I've never tried.

What You Need:

• 4 oz (or 113.398g... this one works better in ounces, it seems) caster sugar
• 4 oz salted butter, at room temperature
• 3 oz self-raising flour
• 1 oz ground almonds (or for a nut-free version, just up the flour measurement to a full 4 oz)
• 1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
• 2 eggs from happy chickens
• 3 unwaxed lemons- you're using them for the zest too, so unwaxed is infintely better
• 2 oranges
• 1 tbsp (or more) of milk or cream
• 3 tbsp (or more) of icing sugar
• A sprinkling of poppy seeds

What You Do:

1. Preheat your oven to 160 degrees fan, or 180 degrees otherwise. It's just occurred to me that I never give a gas mark instruction- that's primarily because I've never used one, nor would I have a clue how to. Sorry.

2. Grease a 7" tin (with a removable base, or else you'll be gouging the finished cake out with your hands, which is never classy), and line with baking parchment or greaseproof paper. I find it helps if you grease the base, and then stick the paper on. It makes trimming easier.

Butter and zest. Lots of zest.

3. Cream your butter with the zest of two of your lemons, and one of your oranges. You'll need the rest for the 'drizzle' part. Beat for at least two minutes.

NB. I'm lucky enough to have a big shiny Kitchen Aid, which my husband bought me in lieu of paying the rent one month. No joke- they aren't cheap, but they make light work of exhausting tasks like this. Working on the assumption that most people don't own one, a handheld electric mixer (about a tenner from Argos) works well. Only resort to using a wooden spoon if you're either some kind of masochist, or looking to offset the calories from actually eating the cake itself.

Not a noteworthy picture, but just one to illustrate what
I mean when I say like yellow whipped cream. Because that
doesn't really paint a very nice picture.

4. Gradually add your caster sugar, and continue to beat. I really can't emphasise enough just how important this step is: it's the foundation of the entire cake. Do it carelessly or hastily, and your cake will be as solid and appetising as a breeze block. The process allows the sugar crystals to beat air bubbles into the fat, creating the light, airy sponge that's the mark of any good drizzle cake. Cream for at least five minutes- the mixture needs to be significantly paler, and almost have the appearance of a yellow whipped cream.

5. Add your eggs, one at a time. If your mixture looks as though it might split or curdle, add in a spoon of sifted flour between each egg.

6. Sift your self-raising flour (even if it says something along the lines of 'No Need To Sift!' on the front- it's always worthwhile), and add your bicarbonate of soda. This gives the cake an extra bit if oomph.

Lemons.

7. Fold in gently using a metal spoon or spatula (both minimise air-loss in the mixture, whereas a chunky wooden spoon is more likely to knock the bubbles out).

8. Add in your ground almonds, and fold in gently. Again, your aim is to retain as much air as possible, so do this lovingly.

9. Add a splash of milk or cream to your mixture- just enough to loosen it so that it falls from a spoon when nudged. Do this gradually-you can't take it away once it's in.

10. Place in the centre of your oven for 25-35 minutes. I appreciate that these timings are a bit vague, but it all depends on your oven, the mixture, your tin... I would suggest spending a fiver on an oven thermometer, because oven calibrations are nearly always wrong. Check it at the twenty-two minute mark- and not before! Opening the oven any earlier will cause the temperature to drop, your cake will sink, and you'll be the laughing stock of whichever provincial cake competition you've entered it into.

The cake is done once a skewer comes out without any wet batter clinging to it. Mine took twenty-seven minutes.

CAKE

11. While it's in the oven, crack on with your syrup and the icing. Squeeze the juice of two lemons and one orange into a bowl, and grate in the zest of one lemon and one orange. Add caster sugar- a teaspoonful at a time- until you get the desired level of sweetness. I like mine quite tart, because it has the sweet sponge and the icing sugar to contend with, but it's up to you. Stir to make sure the sugar crystals dissolve.

12. For the icing, place your icing sugar in a bowl, and squeeze the juice of you remaining lemon inside. Mix feverishly until a paste forms- it should be quite thick, and retain a bright white colour. Adjust as necessary with lemon juice or more sugar to get it just right.

13. Once your cake is out of the oven, prick it all over with a cocktail stick, and drizzle the... err... drizzle... over in stages. Wait for the first lot to soak in before continuing. How much you use is up to you- I love a sticky, wet cake, so I go all in. Leave your cake to cool for a few minutes until you can handle the tin safely, and remove the outer ring

MORE CAKE

14. Once the cake has cooled, drizzle your icing over in a way that strikes you as attractive. Top with a sprinkling of poppy seeds, and then try to refrain from eating it entirely. Saving a slice or two for the cat is always nice.

Happy Almost-Spring,

mrs hunt.x

austerity cooking

Ah, Christmas. A time for ill-advised knitwear, lying to children, and dodgy office parties. Oh, and shameless gluttony of course. It's as though December provides the perfect black hole for calories and cash- it's Christmas, so it would be rude not to buy/eat/drink everything in sight, even if we know all too well that feeling of dread and self loathing that hits us once January rolls around. But for now, it's December, and the festive season is in full swing. So without further ado, lets talk about food.

My own ill-advised knitwear. Well- it is Christmas...

For all you Christmas purists out there, there's turkey, 'nuff said. Luckily, due to a combination of a great mother and mother-in-law, I've managed to escape the delights of this dry, over priced and over-rated bird for most of my festive dinners. Frankly, I just don't understand why people invest so much time and effort in what is essentially an oversized chicken on Christmas Day. But, I'm not here to court controversy; instead I'm here to share a recipe that's perfect for the POST Christmas period- you know, those iffy few days between the Big Day itself and New Years. Or, it's great as a relatively fuss-free New Year's Day dinner, and it's a meal that can stretch to as many distant relatives as may deign to rock up on your doorstep over the festive season, providing brilliantly versatile leftovers that I will follow up on with not one, but TWO recipes over the coming week. Which is where the 'austerity' part of this cooking comes in- the cut, due in part to it's size, isn't exactly cheap, but remember- it is Christmas. And the reincarnated leftover dishes freeze perfectly, which will be a relief come January's credit card bill...

I'm not afraid to admit that this is a bastardized Jamie Oliver recipe. Now that's not to say there was anything wrong with the original, it's just that I do enjoy tinkering with things. I also believe that with any recipe, there's always the opportunity to put your own stamp on something- so long as you're not screwing with any basic chemistry at work (so no tampering with Mary Berry's sponge, please).

It's also worth mentioning that this takes a Very. Long. Time. But, it's worth it, and you can prattle around the house while it's cooking- maybe take the time to pair up all those nice new socks you seem to have acquired...

Jerk-Roasted Pulled Pork For The Masses

What You Need:

• 5kg boned and rolled pork shoulder, but ask your butcher nicely if they still have the bone hanging around. I also bought a nice little rack of ribs for the meat to rest on while it's cooking- the meat's delicious after a few hours in the oven.
• 1 x bottle of good quality cider- I really like the slightly medicinal taste of Hecks in this dish. You are, of course, permitted a cheeky swig for yourself every once in a while...
• 1 x can of Coca Cola (other 'cola' brands are available, but let's face it- they're shit. So just buy the real stuff)
• A handful of fresh thyme, leaves ripped off
• 1 tbsp ground cumin
• 1 tbsp fennel seeds, lightly bashed with anything solid you have to hand
• A liberal grating of fresh nutmeg
• Maldon Sea Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• Olive oil
• 3 x scotch bonnet chillis. More if you like it really hot, less if you're a bit of a whimp.
• 2 tbsp dark muscavado sugar
• A large knob of fresh ginger, grated
• 1/2 tbsp allspice
• 1/2 tbsp cloves
• 5-6 cloves of garlic, mashed with salt in a pestle and mortar
• Juice and zest of three limes
• A bunch of healthy-looking coriander

What You Do:

MEAT

1. Preheat your oven to its hottest setting- I was quite impressed to discover that ours manages 260 degrees. If your butcher hasn't already, score the skin of your pork and rub all over with the fresh thyme, ground cumin, fennel seeds, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Do this dry at first, and then follow with a hefty glug of olive oil to lubricate things nicely.

2. Pop your joint into a snug-fitting oven tray, resting on the bones. Pour half of the cider and half of the coke into the BOTTOM of the tray, taking care to leave the skin completely dry. If it gets even the tiniest bit soggy, your crackling will be abysmal (and we all know legendary crackling is the benchmark of all good pork). Place in the middle of your swelteringly hot oven for half an hour.

3. After the 30-minute mark, turn the oven down to 130 degrees, and add the rest of the cider and coke to the oven tray. You're afforded a bit of faffing-time doing this, as you'll need to have the door open for a moment to cool the oven down anyway.

4. Set your timer for three and a half hours. Commence sock organising.

5. Once it's up, cover your joint with a layer of foil. Set the timer for a further three and a half hours. Write a short play, or learn a language.

6. And, we're done! Well, nearly. Once your timer has sounded, pull the joint carefully out of the oven. Move to a large plate, and leave to rest with the foil on. Skim the fat from the top of the oven tray (do not chuck this carelessly down your sink. Not only will it probably bugger up your drain, it's also a shameful waste of excellent fat that would much rather be used on a potato one day), and pour all the remaining juices into your favourite bowl.

7. Finely chop your scotch bonnets, and avoid all eye-scratching, tooth-picking and baby-cuddling pursuits until you've thoroughly washed your hands. In your nice bowl, start concocting what is essentially a Jerk seasoning-mix the sugar, grated ginger, ginger powder, allspice, cloves, mashed garlic, lime juice and zest. Don't worry too much about being exact with the quantities, tweak according to your own palate. It needs to taste a lot stronger than you'd think, as it has a rather large heap of meat to cover.

8. Remove the layer of crackling from the pork. If it isn't quite up to scratch, pop it under a hot grill for a few minutes. Scrape off the white, flobbery layer of fat from underneath, and discard. Now, start the shredding- the meat should fall 'aaahhh-' inducingly apart- in slow motion, just like a Marks and Spencer advert. Pull it all apart with two forks, and then toss in the jerk seasoning. 

Pile onto your favourite serving plate, and let everyone dig in. It's best served with something that can mop up the juices adequately, so I tend to do mine with sweet potato mash and lots of hot greens. As I mentioned, unless you really are feeding the five thousand there should be a fair bit of meat leftover. Just cover this up and stick it in the fridge to await further instructions...!

Merry Christmas/Happy Hannukah/Jolly New Year and all that malarkey...

mrs hunt.x