We don’t need them, but life wouldn’t be quite as sweet without. Most of us love the occasional pudding or slice of cake, or just a couple of biscuits with a cup of coffee or tea. They don’t have to be grand or complex, but even the most homely of sugary treats is a bonus. Creating a fabulous pudding, or divinely moist cake, is a true labour of love (or is it just greed…?), the kind of thing that you know will bring smiles to the faces of everyone who gets a taste. Build up a basic repertoire of favourites that you can fall back on at a moment’s notice, and you’ll swiftly earn a reputation as a fine and generous cook.
Apparently, placing a picture of a chocolate pudding or cake on the front of a food magazine increases the sales instantly. That puts it up there with the late Diana, Princess of Wales, and a few other rare individuals. Chocolate is the new sex? Well, maybe, but given the choice I’d rather have both.
The moral, as far as I see it, is that every cook should have at least two fantastic chocolate recipes up their sleeve. They don’t have to be complicated or exotic to hit the mark time and time again. In fact, I’ve always found that the simpler, more fundamental chocolate puddings (chocolate mousse, vanilla ice-cream with chocolate sauce, chocolate cake, even chocolate cornflake crispies) are the ones that give more pleasure than any others.
The general rule is to cook only with good-quality plain chocolate, with a high percentage of cocoa solids. This is easy to pick out from the crowd, as bars of plain chocolate almost invariably have this percentage printed on them. It should be at the very least over 60 per cent and, better still, over 70 per cent. Good-quality chocolate does not contain vegetable fat or vast amounts of sugar. Once you start noticing these things, you’ll be amazed at how low the percentage of cocoa solids is in a cheap bar of chocolate.
Classy chocolate, with its full 70 per cent or more of cocoa solids, has an intense and penetrating flavour that is perfect for most cooking as it will be softened by other ingredients. However, I’ve found that when making something as minimalist as a chocolate mousse, the flavour can be too strong for many people, especially children. Two possible solutions – either add cream to the mousse, or use a really tip-top milk chocolate made without vegetable fats, instead of the plain chocolate.
With white chocolate, the first thing to check is that you are actually buying white chocolate. There’s a good deal of white chocolate flavour stuff hanging around, and that is not what you want. Price is your best guide in this instance.
Melting chocolate is easy, but it can go wrong. I speak from bitter experience. I will try to guide you away from disaster, but it is likely to happen to you at least once, when your attention is caught by something else just at the wrong moment. Don’t let all of this put you off cooking with chocolate, but just make sure that you know the way it works.
The first thing to do is find a heatproof bowl that will sit comfortably on top of a small or medium-sized saucepan, with the base suspended a fair way from the bottom of the pan. Now put about 2.5cm (1in) water into the pan, and sit the bowl on it again. Check the base of the bowl. If it is damp, tip out some of the water, or replace the pan with a slightly smaller one.
Next, put the pan with its water on the hob to heat up. The bowl meanwhile sits on the table, while you break your chocolate up into squares and drop them into it. This is the point to add butter, or brandy, or concentrated coffee, or other liquid flavourings. Once the water in the pan is simmering, turn the heat off, then sit the bowl on the pan. Leave it there for 2–3 minutes, then lift the bowl off the pan, and stir. Let it stand for 3 or 4 minutes. The heat of the bowl will carry on melting the chocolate. Stir again – if the chocolate has all melted, but the base of the bowl is still hot, stand it in cold water to help cool it down. If there are still some smallish lumps of chocolate, keep on stirring – they will soon melt. If absolutely necessary (for instance, when melting a considerable amount of chocolate), repeat the whole process.
The reason for all this on/off business is that it takes no more than a few seconds for chocolate to go from the state of ‘melting nicely’ to the state of ‘ruinously over-heated’. Better to err on the side of caution. When chocolate is over-heated, it seizes up like concrete and nothing much can be done to restore it to the divine, smooth runny state that you are after.
You can also melt chocolate in the microwave. Break it up into a microwave-proof bowl, cover tightly with clingfilm, and then heat on low-medium power in short bursts of about 1 minute, stirring between each burst. Don’t overdo it, and remember that often you need do no more than stir to dissolve residual lumps of chocolate.
Once your chocolate has melted nicely, leave it to cool down until tepid. Never ever mix it with anything colder (e.g. yolks of eggs straight from the fridge). This, too, makes it seize up. Never ever let any water or watery liquid get into it at this stage. This also makes it seize up. After that, it is all plain sailing.
There are few chocolate recipes more elementary than chocolate mousse, but it always thrills people, unless they are from that very weird clan of oddballs who don’t like chocolate.
Incidentally, should you want to make this for more people, or perhaps even just for you on your own, you need 60g (2oz) chocolate for each egg. Multiply up as you will. Note, too, that the eggs in chocolate mousse are uncooked, so it is not suitable for very young children, pregnant women, elderly souls or serious invalids (see page 43).
Serve the mousses with single cream or, if you prefer, top each one once set with a swirl of whipped cream. You could also scatter on something like flaked almonds and chopped stem ginger as in the photograph.
Serves 4
110g (4oz) plain chocolate
2 room-temperature eggs, separated
1 Break up the chocolate and melt over a pan of simmering water (see pages 200-1). Cool until tepid.
2 Beat the egg yolks into the chocolate one by one.
3 Whisk the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Stir one spoonful straight into the chocolate to loosen the mixture, then fold the rest of the whites in until no specks of white remain.
4 Spoon into either four individual ramekins, or one larger bowl. Chill until set (allow a good 4 hours for this).
To give Simple Chocolate Mousse an extra, grown-up sort of a kick, add 2 tablespoons of something strong and alcoholic to the broken-up chocolate before you start to melt it. The traditional addition is brandy, but you could use any number of other spirits or liqueurs – try whisky, rum, Malibu, Tia Maria, Grand Marnier or Cointreau.
Make the mousse as on page 202, and top each pot with a generous helping of lightly toasted flaked almonds (see page 156). A mutually enhancing pairing of tastes and textures.
Make either a plain chocolate mousse (see page 202), or a boozy mousse laced with Malibu (see above). Toast either ordinary desiccated coconut or coconut flakes as if they were flaked almonds (see page 156), and sprinkle over the top of each mousse just before serving.
Mocha indicates a mixture of coffee and chocolate, and that’s exactly what this is. Make the Simple Chocolate Mousse on page 202, adding a teaspoon of best-quality instant coffee granules to the chocolate as it melts.
For those with a taste for preserved stem ginger, melt the chocolate (see page 202) with a tablespoon of the syrup from the ginger jar. Once you have folded the whites into the chocolate, fold in 1 sphere of stem ginger that has been very finely chopped.
As smooth and rich as chocolate mousse is foamy, these little pots of chocolate are another brilliantly simple chocolate pudding.
You can leave them plain – just a devastating blend of chocolate, cream and a touch of egg – or you can add complementary flavours, as you can with a mousse.
Serves 5–6
450ml (15fl oz) single cream
150g (5oz) plain chocolate, roughly chopped
4 egg yolks
45g (11/2oz) caster sugar
1 Preheat the oven to 130°C/270°F/Gas Mark 1.
2 Bring the cream gently up to the boil, then take off the heat.
3 Mix the egg yolks and sugar.
4 Stir the chocolate into the hot cream until completely melted in. Pour into the egg yolk mixture and whisk together.
5 Strain the mixture into a jug, and pour into five to six small custard cups or ramekins or even small espresso cups if you have enough of these.
6 Stand the cups in a roasting tin and pour enough boiling water around them to come almost halfway up their sides. Slide into the preheated oven and cook for 40–60 minutes until just set, but still slightly soft in the centre. Lift out of the roasting tin and leave to cool, then slide them into the fridge to chill.
7 Bring back to room temperature before serving.
Pare the zest off half an orange and add to the pan with the cream. Bring up to the boil, then take off the heat, cover and leave in a warm place for 10 minutes or so to infuse. Heat up again, take off the heat, and stir in the chocolate. Carry on with the recipe as above, but stir in 2 tablespoons Grand Marnier or Cointreau before straining into the ramekins.
‘Romarin’ is rosemary, which goes amazingly well with chocolate. To add a subtle rosemary scent to your petits pots, infuse the rosemary in the cream as for the orange (see page 205), then carry on with the basic recipe from page 205 (no added booze).
As quick puddings go, there is little to beat a few scoops of rich vanilla ice-cream smothered in an unctuous and decadent sauce. Not that it has to be vanilla ice-cream, though vanilla does show off the glory of practically any sweet sauce to great effect. Still, if you’ve got a penchant for ginger ice-cream or strawberry ice-cream to the exclusion of all else, that’s fine. It will still taste glorious with a sexy drizzle of hot chocolate sauce melting down into it.
Made with water, this sauce is pretty devastating, but it becomes richer if you make it with milk. For something truly epic, replace half the milk with single cream. Wow!
It can be made in advance, and reheated when you’re ready to indulge.
Serves 4–6
175g (6oz) plain chocolate, broken into squares
30g (1oz) cocoa powder
175g (6oz) caster sugar
300ml (10fl oz) water or milk
1 Put all the ingredients into a saucepan and stir over a low heat until the sugar and chocolate have completely dissolved.
2 Raise the heat and bring to the boil, then reduce the heat again and simmer for 8 minutes, stirring occasionally. That’s it. Now it’s ready to pour.
Butterscotch sauce has no scotch in it, but it does contain butter! The major ingredients, however, are cream and light muscovado sugar, which is what gives most of the flavour. It is devastatingly sweet, so a little goes a long way.
Serves 4–6
175g (6oz) light muscovado sugar
60g (2oz) unsalted butter
2 tablespoons golden syrup
a pinch of salt
150ml (5fl oz) double cream
1 Put all the ingredients into a saucepan and stir over a low heat until the sugar has completely dissolved.
2 Bring up to the boil, stirring, then take off the heat. All done, and ready to go.
TO MEASURE GOLDEN SYRUP Hold your tablespoon in the flame of a gas hob, or dip the bowl end into boiling water, then quickly slide it down into the can of golden syrup. If it is really hot the syrup will sizzle in a satisfying manner. Scoop out the tablespoonful you need, then watch as it slides off the spoon straight into the pan. Repeat for however many spoonfuls the recipe demands.
This is what is known in restaurant circles as a ‘raspberry coulis’ – a smart name for something made speedily from just three ingredients. It is best made in the summer with fresh raspberries, but when the season is over, you’ll find that frozen raspberries can be used very successfully instead.
ripe raspberries (thawed if frozen) lemon juice icing sugar
1 Rub the raspberries through a sieve, to make a purée and to remove the seeds.
2 Stir in a few squeezes of lemon juice (as well as improving the flavour, it also helps to keep the colour bright and true), and icing sugar to taste.
Hull and quarter ripe strawberries. Mash with a fork, then rub through a sieve. Sharpen with lemon juice and sweeten with icing sugar as for Raspberry Sauce (see page 207).
When blueberries are cooked, their flavour becomes quite superior – almost perfumed – and twice as nice as when raw. They still need a little lime or lemon juice to make up for their natural lack of acidity, but even so, it takes very little time to make a superb, dark purple sauce that is good served hot or cold.
Serves 4
250g (9oz) blueberries
1 cinnamon stick
85g (3oz) caster sugar
1 tablespoon lime or lemon juice
2 tablespoons water
1 Put all the ingredients into a small saucepan and bring up to the boil. Simmer for 5 minutes.
2 Taste and add more sugar or lime juice as needed. Stir well. Serve hot or cold.
The fruit crumble is one of the most formidable institutions of Great Britain. What self-respecting household would do without it? Economical, seasonal, open to endless variation, and always welcome, a crumble is hardly a work of art, but it is a thing of considerable beauty. The pleasure one gets from pulling a perfectly browned crumble out of the oven, fruit juices bubbling up around the edges, is surely almost equal to that derived from actually eating it.
Once you know how to make one crumble, you can turn your hand to any number of variations. Blackberry and apple is an absolute classic, but autumn is also a high time for pear and ginger crumble. Rhubarb crumble is the stuff of legends, but I’m incredibly partial to damson crumble, or gooseberry crumble, or apricot or…and so the list goes on.
I’m never quite sure whether I prefer to eat my crumble with cream or custard, but there’s no doubt that one or other is necessary. Cream should be honest single or double and runny, not extra thick, and custard should definitely be home-made, so turn to page 220.
• The layer of fruit under the crumble needs to have a touch of acidity to balance the sweetness. This is why fruits like rhubarb, gooseberry, plums and cooking apples are so good in crumbles. If you use fruits lacking acidity (e.g. bananas or blueberries), add some lemon juice or lime juice to compensate.
• The layer of fruit under the crumble shouldn’t be too acidic. This is largely a matter of trial and error. Use more sugar with sourer fruits, less with sweeter ones.
• Don’t pack down the layer of crumble. Just scatter it on lightly, so that the texture remains crumbly when cooked. If you pat it down enthusiastically, it will become too heavy and soggy.
• The crumble mixture can be made a day or two in advance and stored in the fridge, if it makes life any easier. Or if you want your own personal crumble, make up the whole batch, use just enough for yourself and freeze the rest for a later occasion.
It almost goes without saying that the best blackberry and apple crumble is made with wild blackberries, gathered on a chilly September afternoon. Their taste is so very superior to that of cultivated blackberries, spiced also by being free for the taking.
The proportion of blackberries to apples is variable, depending on how many blackberries you’ve gathered and how many got eaten on the way home.
Serves 6
600g (1lb 6oz) more or less cooking apples
400g (14oz) more or less blackberries
110–150g (4–5oz) caster sugar
CRUMBLE
225g (8oz) plain flour
a pinch of salt
110g (4oz) caster sugar
175g (6oz) chilled unsalted butter, diced
1 Begin by making the crumble mixture. Mix the flour, salt and caster sugar in a bowl and add the butter. Rub in using the tips of your fingers, until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Chill until needed.
2 Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4. Peel, core and slice the apples. Mix with the blackberries and caster sugar in a pie dish. Smooth down lightly.
3 Scatter the crumble thickly over the surface of the fruit, without pressing it down. Bake for some 35–40 minutes until golden brown, with the juices bubbling up around the edges. Serve hot or warm with custard (see page 220), cream or vanilla ice-cream.
Here comes the mix-and-match section. Lots of ideas to play around with, so that no two crumbles are ever identical, unless you want them to be.
• Replace one-third of the flour (see page 210) with the same weight of ground almonds – almonds and fruit go notoriously well together. Or try the same thing with ground hazelnuts.
• Stir a handful of desiccated coconut into the made-up crumble.
• Replace half the caster sugar (see page 210) with light muscovado sugar to give a butterscotch taste.
• Sift a teaspoon of cinnamon or mixed spice or ground ginger together with the flour.
• Stir the finely ground zest of 1 orange or 1 lemon into the crumble mixture. Squeeze some of the juice (especially orange) over the fruit.
• Mix a handful of pine nuts, or roughly chopped pecans, walnuts or hazelnuts, in with the crumble topping.
• Once you have put the crumble on top of the fruit, scatter flaked almonds over the top of the crumble.
• Combine different fruits to create an infinite number of possibilities: apple and blueberry; or mixed summer-pudding fruits – raspberries, redcurrants, gooseberries, tayberries; apricot and redcurrant; pineapple and rhubarb; plums and blackberries; cherries and blueberries, greengages, purple plums and golden plums; plum and peach.
• Mix sliced or chopped preserved stem ginger with slices of ripe pear, or short lengths of rhubarb.
• Sprinkle 1 or 2 tablespoons sloe gin or crème de mûre or crème de cassis over red fruits.
• Use vanilla sugar, or light muscovado or demerara sugar, to sweeten the fruit.
• At Christmas, mix cranberries, mincemeat, orange zest, a slug of brandy, and sugar for the base of your crumble.
Choose firm large bananas for this pudding and be prepared for a surge of ecstasy at first mouthful. And second, and third…The flavour of cooked bananas is just amazing, particularly when doused in sticky sauce.
Weigh out the ingredients and squeeze the orange juice in advance, but peeling the bananas and the cooking are definitely last-minute processes.
Serves 2–3
3 bananas
30g (1oz) unsalted butter
150g (5oz) caster sugar
juice of 1 large orange
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
scoops of vanilla ice-cream, or double cream, to serve
1 Peel the bananas and cut into 1cm (1/2in) thick slices, on the diagonal, so that they turn out as stretched ovals.
2 Melt the butter in a wide frying pan over a medium heat. When it is foaming add the banana slices. Fry until beginning to patch with brown underneath. Turn over and fry for 2 or 3 more minutes.
3 Now sprinkle over the caster sugar. Turn the pieces so that they are nicely coated, then pour in the orange juice and the vanilla extract. Stir the bananas, turning gently, until the orange and sugar have melded together to form a thick, sticky, irresistibly scented sauce.
4 Serve immediately, with ice-cream or a little double cream.
Most fun you can have with a frying pan? It’s got to be a spot of flambéing. There is nothing more dramatic than a sudden burst of flames rocketing up out of the pan, shimmering blue and gold and red for a minute or so until they die down. The taste is as good as the show. So, for these brandy-flamed apples, crowd the whole gang into the kitchen to watch the spectacle, before tucking into the richly sauced, tender slices of fruit.
Again, measure everything out in advance, but leave the preparation of the apples and the cooking until the last minute. I use a mixture of butter and oil here, as apples take a little longer to cook than bananas or pineapple, and it reduces the risk of burning the butter. Don’t peel the apples. The peel not only looks good, but also prevents the softening slices collapsing to a mush.
Incidentally, this is also very good made with pears instead of apples. You might want to emphasise the pear flavour by using Poire William, a clear pear-scented spirit from France, instead of the Calvados or brandy.
Serves 4
30g (1oz) butter
1 tablespoon sunflower oil
5 eating apples, cored and cut into eighths
150g (5oz) light muscovado sugar
4 tablespoons Calvados or brandy
200ml (7fl oz) double cream or 200g (7oz) crème fraîche
1 Melt the butter with the oil in a wide, heavy frying pan. When it is foaming, add the apple slices. Fry over a moderate heat, turning occasionally, until golden brown on both sides.
2 Spoon over the sugar, then turn the apples so that they all get doused in sweetness. Next tip in the Calvados. Stir, then give it a few seconds to warm through.
3 Now for the fun. If you cook on gas, just tip the pan gently towards the flame. Before the liquid spills out, it will whoosh up very dramatically in flames. Do not be taken aback. This is flambéing. Just let it flame away, shaking the pan gently, until the flames die down of their own accord. If you cook on an electric hob, light the Calvados with a match, at arm’s length.
4 Now stir in the cream or crème fraîche. Let the whole lot bubble down for a few seconds until the cream has thickened to a sexy, saucy consistency. Serve at once.
I discovered this many years ago, and it has remained a favourite quick pudding. Like the lemon posset overleaf, it seems so easy that it hardly counts as a recipe. Make it a day in advance so that it has time to freeze.
Although it is good all on its own, I love it served either with a raspberry or strawberry sauce (see page 208) to make it look more dressy. Or, when I’m feeling extra generous, I serve it Venetian style. In other words, I put a scoop of lemon ice-cream in each person’s glass, drizzle over some strawberry sauce, and then top the whole lot up with Italian prosecco, or Spanish cava (sparkling white wines). A kind of grown-up ice-cream soda.
Serves 6–8
5 lemons
1 x 400g can sweetened condensed milk
1 Squeeze the juice out of all five lemons, then strain to remove stray pips and pulp.
2 Scrape the condensed milk into a bowl and gradually whisk in the lemon juice. Spoon into a shallow freezer container and cover.
3 Slide into the freezer and leave until frozen.
4 Transfer the ice-cream from the freezer to the fridge about 20 minutes before serving so that it has time to soften a little.
This is a pudding that has been around for decades, but still delights and indeed surprises people who have never come across it before. The surprise element…I hesitate as this feels a bit like giving away the end of a film…the surprise element is that as it cooks, the pudding separates into two distinct layers. On the top is a light lemony sponge that gradually morphs into a tart lemon custard hidden underneath.
Serves 6 people
100g (31/2oz) unsalted butter, plus a little extra for greasing
200g (7 oz) vanilla sugar or plain caster sugar
3 lemons, juice of all 3, finely grated rind of 2
4 medium eggs, separated
75g (21/2oz) plain flour
500ml (18fl oz) milk
1 Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4. Butter a 2 litre (31/2 pint) shallow, oven-to-table dish.
2 Cream the butter with the sugar and lemon zest. Beat in the egg yolks one by one. Don’t panic if the mixture curdles.
3 Next beat in the flour, a spoonful at a time, alternating with slurps of milk and then lemon juice.
4 Once that is all in, whisk the egg whites until they form stiff peaks, and fold lightly into the lemon batter.
5 Pour the mixture into the baking dish, and then stand the dish in a roasting tin. Pour enough boiling water around the dish to come about halfway up the sides. Bake for 40–45 minutes until golden brown. Serve hot, warm or cold.
Lemon posset is quite the most extraordinary pudding I know. Three simple ingredients, three minutes’ cooking and hey presto, an exquisite lemon cream.
Serves 8–10
1 litre (13/4 pints) double cream
275g (10oz) caster sugar
juice of 4 lemons
1 Bring the cream and sugar slowly up to the boil in a large heavy-based pan, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Let the cream boil for exactly 3 minutes.
2 Draw off the heat and stir in the lemon juice. Strain into a bowl and then pour into eight to ten small ramekins. Leave to cool, then chill for at least 4 hours, before serving.
This is the very best rice pudding ever. It is cooked very, very, very slowly, so that the rice guzzles up nearly all the milk, forming a golden brown crust on the top, tasting of caramel and childhood.
It only works if you use proper short-grained pudding rice and full-cream milk. I’ve tried it with skimmed and it is nowhere near as good. When I was little, rice pudding was always served with a dollop of red jam perched jauntily on top, and being something of a traditionalist, that’s how I still like to do it. For a change, however, try it with a blueberry sauce instead (see page 208).
The vanilla pod, though expensive, is well worth including. After all, it can be re-used as long as you rinse it thoroughly after the meal.
Serves 4–5
30g (1oz) unsalted butter
85g (3oz) pudding rice
45g (11/2oz) caster sugar
1 vanilla pod (optional)
a pinch of salt
700ml (11/4 pints) creamy milk
TO SERVE
strawberry jam, raspberry jam or coarse-cut marmalade
1 Preheat the oven to 140°C/275°F/Gas Mark 1. Smear the butter around the base and sides of a sturdy ovenproof dish.
2 Pile in the rice, sugar, vanilla pod (if using), salt and 500ml (18fl oz) of the milk. Stir, then place in the oven and leave for 1 hour.
3 Stir in half the remaining milk and cook for another 1 hour.
4 Stir in the last of the milk and return to the oven for a final hour, until the mixture has thickened and a golden brown skin has formed on the surface.
5 Serve the pudding hot or warm, each helping topped with a spoonful of jam or marmalade.
VANILLA PODS These should be regarded as investments, as they can be used five or six times over, as well as producing a good supply of vanilla sugar. To give a strong flavour to a custard or other mixture, slit the vanilla pod along its length, and with the tip of a sharp knife, scrape out the tiny black, paste-like seeds into your liquid. Add the split pods as well.
Once the vanilla pod has been used, rinse it really well in warm water, dry thoroughly, then bury it in an airtight jar of sugar. Tuck it in the cupboard for at least four days, and lo and behold, you have made your own vanilla sugar to be used in cakes and puddings, imparting a light scent of vanilla. Leave the pod in the jar until next time you need to use it.
These apple tartlets are made of little more than shop-bought puff pastry, apples and sugar, but they look a million dollars and taste divine. Serve with cream or ice-cream. There’s no need to peel the apples – the tartes will look prettier if you don’t.
Serves 4
500g (18oz) puff pastry
plain flour for dusting
2-3 good, juicy eating apples
15g (1/2oz) unsalted butter, melted
3–4 tablespoons caster sugar
2 tablespoons apricot jam
1 Roll the pastry out on a lightly floured board, to a thickness of 3mm (1/8in). Cut out four 15cm (6in) circles, using a side plate as a template. Lay on a lightly greased baking sheet, without overlapping. Using the side of a knife, tap all the way around the edges of each circle, pushing the pastry very slightly inwards. This is called ‘knocking up’ and will encourage the puff pastry to rise. Chill in the fridge for 20–30 minutes.
2 Preheat the oven to 220°C/425°F/Gas Mark 7. Place a second baking sheet in the oven to heat up.
3 Quarter each apple, then core and slice each quarter thinly. Fan the apple slices out in a circle on the pastry as shown in the photograph. Repeat with the remaining apples and pastry.
4 Brush the bare edges of the pastry lightly with melted butter. Sprinkle a quarter of the caster sugar over each circle of pastry.
5 Place the baking sheet with the tartes on it directly on the hot baking sheet in the oven to give an instant blast of heat to the bases. Bake for 5 minutes, then reduce the heat to 190°C/375°F/Gas Mark 5 and continue cooking for another 15 minutes. Check after 10 and cover lightly with foil if the pastries are threatening to burn.
6 Some 3 or 4 minutes before the tartes are done, heat the apricot jam gently with 1 tablespoon water, stirring until evenly mixed and runny. As soon as the tartes come out of the oven, brush the apple slices lightly with the runny jam – you’re bound to dislodge a few as you do this, but just nudge them back into position. Serve hot or warm.
The finest pouring custard is made with egg yolks, milk or cream and sugar and perhaps a drop or two of vanilla. The rub is that the minute it is over-heated it will curdle. So, I usually opt for second-best pouring custard, adding a spoonful of cornflour to stabilise the mixture. The consistency is not quite so perfect, but all anxiety is dispelled, and that to my mind is worth a great deal.
Remember that a pouring custard does not have to be very thick. The idea is to aim for a slightly thickened mixture, not a stand-your-spoon-up-in-it sauce. Using an extra egg yolk will produce a slightly thicker custard.
Makes about 300ml (10fl oz)
300ml (10fl oz) full-cream milk, or half and half milk and single cream, or all single cream
1 vanilla pod, or 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
15g (1/2oz) caster sugar
3 egg yolks
1/2 tablespoon cornflour
1 Heat the milk and/or cream with the vanilla pod if using, until it boils.
2 Meanwhile beat the caster sugar with the egg yolks and cornflour in a bowl until smooth.
3 Pour the hot cream into the egg mixture, stirring constantly.
4 Rinse out the saucepan, and pour the custard back into it. Set over a very low heat, stirring all the time, until the custard has thickened enough to coat the back of the spoon (see opposite). Try not to let it boil. Serve hot or warm.
5 In the miserable event that it should get too hot and start to curdle, take it swiftly off the heat and beat vigorously until smooth.
COATING THE BACK OF THE SPOON Means just what it says. Look at the back of the spoon you are stirring the custard with. It should be coated thinly in custard. Double-check by running your finger down it. It will leave a clear trail through the custard when it has thickened enough.
Whilst they are not the stuff of everyday cooking, cakes and biscuits are undoubtedly a good thing. You can buy them ready-made but there’s much to be gained from a spot of baking, and I’m not just talking calories. Taste is inevitably the first bonus. Commercial cakes cannot hold a candle to the plainest, freshly baked cake, all light, moist golden crumb and buttery sweetness. And as for a finger of shortbread, so meltingly short and crumbly that it almost breaks your heart to swallow the last morsel – sorry, but the packeted version is a miserable pastiche.
Another mega-plus is the unparalleled satisfaction to be had from baking your own cakes and biscuits. There’s a kind of warm glow, stemming perhaps from nostalgia for childhood, or a natural human instinct to cosset and nurture, or perhaps just because they look so very appealing and promise such pleasure. And you can’t possibly ignore the fact that friends and family lucky enough to be invited to share your lovingly crafted efforts will be impressed and suffused with gratitude. Not bad going, really.
The point is that it is worth acquiring a small repertoire of basic baked goods that you can turn out at the drop of a hat. Tea parties (anything from a slice of cake and a cup of tea with your best mate, to a full-blown spread complete with lacy doilies and cucumber sandwiches) are a fantastically easy way to entertain. Far less time-consuming than a proper dinner party, the tea party also comes garnished with a delightful air of frivolity.
Who could resist?
Begin with the best. Cakes are all about pleasure and indulgence, not about nutrition or survival. You will be baking them occasionally, as a treat, so when the moment comes, splash out on the best ingredients. That means the very best unsalted butter, not the bargain basement pack (and don’t even think margarine); the freshest, organic or free-range eggs; unrefined sugar with its delicate modicum of extra taste; golden Jersey cream; jam packed with real fruit; expensive darkest plain chocolate (more on that on page 199) and so on. Yes, you’ll have to shell out a few pence more, but there’s absolutely no doubt that it will show from the moment the first bite is taken.
Size matters. It is asking for trouble to use the wrong-sized tin. Even a measly 1 or 2.5cm (1/2 or 1in) difference in diameter can wreak havoc. Use a tin that is too big and you may well find that you end up with a large biscuit instead of the plump cake you were aiming at; with a tin that is too small, the mixture will take far longer to cook than it should, and is more likely to burn on top long before the inside is set. Sorry, but there is no way round this one.
So, before you set your heart on baking the stunning cake of your dreams, check that you own the right-sized tin. If not you must either borrow or buy it, or switch to a recipe that matches your bake-ware. Guesswork is risky with cakes, so if in doubt get out the ruler and double-check.
When buying a cake tin, choose one with a removable base to make extracting the cake an easy affair. Non-stick tins are a good idea but by no means necessary as it takes no more than a couple of minutes to line a tin with non-stick baking parchment, or to grease and flour it.
The first thing to do when baking a cake is to turn on the oven. The second is to prepare the tin. Most recipes will begin with instructions on how to do this: greasing, flouring, lining base and sides and so on. I happen to be a complete coward in this respect, but a lazy coward, so my advice is nearly always to ‘base-line’ the tin and grease the sides. This involves minimum fiddle, whilst at the same time ensuring that you will be able to turn the cake out.
1 Make sure you buy a roll of baking parchment – this non-stick paper is the saving of amateur bakers. Greaseproof paper is not the same thing, so don’t use it instead.
2 Unroll a length of baking parchment, and place the removeable base of the tin on it. Hold it down firmly with one hand, and draw a circle around the edge. Return the base to the tin. Cut out the circle of baking parchment.
3 Using either a butter paper (i.e. the wrapper from a pack of butter) or a knob of butter and a wad of kitchen paper, grease the base of the tin lightly (this helps to hold the baking parchment in place), and the sides of the tin thoroughly.
4 Lay the circle of baking parchment in the base of the tin, centring it exactly, and press down lightly. The tin is now ready for use.
Baking cakes and biscuits is the one area where measurements must be 100 per cent accurate. The exact ratio of sugar to butter to eggs to flour is critical to success. Guesswork, improvisation or mere approximation are totally unadvisable.
The aim when making a cake batter is to create a structure that will capture lots of air. As it bakes, the bubbles of air expand, the cake rises and everyone is happy. There is no doubt that traditional methods of making cakes, by which I mean creaming butter and sugar or whisking yolks and sugar, whisking and folding in whites, produce the finest, lightest cakes of all. You can cut corners, saving time and reducing washing up, by using the all-in-one method, in other words by piling all the ingredients into the mixing bowl, adding extra baking powder to make up for the loss of air, and beating everything together until smooth. The result is more than acceptable but falls a few paces short of perfection. In the cake recipes below, I offer both options – it’s up to you to decide which way to go.
If you decide to tread the traditional route, this is what you will need to know:
Creaming butter and sugar Put softened butter (i.e. butter at room temperature) and sugar in a large bowl. Using a large wooden spoon, start mashing them together, then beat hard until the two have combined to make a light, fluffy mixture, granules of sugar no longer visible. The idea is to dissolve the sugar into the butter and begin to bring air into the mixture. If you have a food processor or, better still, a food mixer or a hand-held mixer, this can be achieved in seconds. Allow some 5 minutes for this when powered by human elbow-power alone.
Whisking eggs/egg yolks and sugar Put whole eggs, or yolks as the recipe tells you, into a bowl and whisk together with a balloon whisk or spoon whisk. Keep going until the mixture becomes very, very pale and thick. Lift the whisk out and drizzle a figure of eight on the surface. If it disappears instantly, keep right on whisking. If it remains visible on the surface, the eggs and sugar have been perfectly amalgamated. As with the creaming, the purpose is to dissolve the sugar and incorporate air.
Whisking and folding in egg whites In some cake recipes the eggs need to be separated carefully (see page 44). Once the rest of the batter has been made, and not before, whisk the egg whites until they reach soft peak stage (see page 46). Stir a tablespoonful of the whites into the batter to slacken the mixture, then fold in the remainder with a large metal spoon. Once again your aim is to get as much air as possible into the cake; a metal spoon crushes out less air than a wooden one. Slide the edge of the spoon down into the whites and batter, right down to the bottom of the bowl, then through and up, turning the spoon to fold the mixture back on top of itself. Keep on doing this, working swiftly but smoothly, until the whites have been completely mixed into the batter, with no flecks of white spotting the mixture.
Dropping consistency For most cakes, the batter needs to have a good dropping consistency. This means that the batter drops off the spoon easily when it is tapped on the side off the bowl.
Cooking the cake The oven must be thoroughly preheated. If using a fan oven, the temperature should be set 10 degrees lower than the standard temperature. Arrange the shelves so that the cake can sit right in the centre of the oven, where it will cook more evenly. Slide the cake in, close the door, set the timer to 5 minutes less than the given time (to allow for the vagaries of individual ovens) and walk away. Do not disturb the cake while it cooks, unless you smell burning.
When the timer rings, open the oven door and pull the cake out. The surface should have coloured to a golden brown. Press the centre gently. If the cake feels firm, the dip bounces back swiftly, and the edges are pulling away from the sides of the tin, then it is most likely done. Double-check by plunging a skewer right down into the centre of the cake. If it comes out clean and dry, then the cake is baked.
When the cake feels squidgy, the dip stays dipped, and the skewer emerges sticky with cake batter, return the cake instantly to the oven and give it another 5–10 minutes’ baking before checking again. If necessary, cover the surface of the cake with a loose sheet of silver foil or baking parchment to prevent the surface darkening.
Turning out Once the cake is cooked, leave it in its tin on a wire rack for 5–10 minutes to firm up. Some extra-delicate cakes may even need to cool completely in the tin, but be guided by your recipe. Run a knife around the sides, hugging it close to the tin. Stand a jam jar on the work surface, then centre the cake tin on top of the jam jar. Ease the sides down, leaving the cake and base of the tin perched on the jar. Return to the wire rack to finish cooling, then slide the cake off the base of the tin on to a serving plate.
Admire your handiwork.
Equipment The two items of kitchen paraphernalia that are essential for biscuit making are solid, flat baking trays or sheets (which don’t have sides at all), and non-stick baking parchment. As for the rest – biscuit cutters, wire cooling racks, palette knives and so on – you can always improvise. I often use a small or medium glass as a biscuit cutter, or simply cut dough into squares or rectangles with a knife, instead. The grill rack can stand in as a cooling rack (as long as it is thoroughly clean), and any wideish table knife or fish slice can replace a broad-bladed palette knife.
Doughs Biscuit doughs are many and various and it is extraordinary how small changes in quantities of one or other of the ingredients can change the whole nature of the biscuit. The base of most biscuits, however, is a substantial blend of butter, flour and sugar. Don’t over-work the dough, or it will produce a tougher biscuit.
Most biscuit doughs freeze well. This is handy if you only want a few biscuits at a time. Cut out and bake what you need, then wrap the remainder in clingfilm and freeze for a later date. The dough is best used within the next month.
Biscuit doughs often spread in the heat of the oven, so always leave plenty of room between biscuits on the baking tray (which will, of course, be lined with non-stick baking parchment). It’s better to bake several batches than to try to squeeze too many on to the tray at the beginning.
Baking biscuits This is the make-or-break sector of home-biscuit production; timing is all. With their high sugar and fat content, biscuits speed swiftly from brown to burnt. Just 2 or 3 excess minutes can be all it takes to do serious damage. Indeed most biscuits are best removed from the oven when they have reached no more than a pale hint of a tan. All those luscious American-style cookies lose their melting texture if they are at all over-cooked.
So, you must check your biscuits regularly as they cook, and never, ever, ever rely on cooking times given in recipes. All ovens vary a little, and for most cooking purposes it doesn’t matter too much. With biscuits, it does. Start checking your biscuits several minutes before they are due to emerge from the oven, and keep a careful eye on them if they need to go back.
Are they done? This is not necessarily an easy question to answer. It’s fine if the biscuit in question is meant to brown, but for something like shortbread, which barely turns a few shades darker, it is largely a matter of guesswork. There is no reliable test, and often biscuits that seem soft and crumbly as they come out of the oven, firm up beautifully as they cool. Not helpful, I know. Just be guided by descriptions of colour in the recipe and do your best. Experience will make matters easier, and while you are waiting to gain it, be comforted by the fact that marginally under-cooked biscuits still taste pretty good, even if the texture is all wrong.
Cooling Unless a recipe deliberately instructs you to whip the biscuits straight off the baking tray on to a wire cooling rack, it is a good idea to leave them on the tray, undisturbed, for some 5 minutes or so to firm up and settle, before transferring to the rack to cool completely.
Always store cake and biscuits in airtight containers, but not the same one. Cake and biscuits should be kept apart so that the biscuits do not absorb the inherent moisture in the cake and go soggy.
You don’t need a fancy storage tin – a plastic ice-cream tub will do, as long as there are no gaps around the sides.
The apex of plain cake-making, the Victoria sponge is always a winner. It can be dressed up and dressed down, but remains welcome at every tea party, from the church fête (‘Would you care for another slice, Vicar?’) onwards. What more can you ask of a cake?
The lightest Victoria sponge is creamed and whisked properly, but a very creditable one can be turned out using the all-in-one method.
Serves 6–8
175g (6oz) softened butter
175g (6oz) caster sugar
3 large eggs, beaten
175g (6oz) plain flour
2 teaspoons baking powder (all-in-one method only)
FILLING AND TOPPING
raspberry or strawberry jam or lemon curd lightly whipped fresh cream (optional) icing sugar
1 Preheat the oven to 170°C/325°F/Gas Mark 3. Base-line two 20cm (8in) cake tins (see page 223).
2 Put all the ingredients for the cake, including the baking powder, into a large mixing bowl. Beat together incredibly energetically until smoothly mixed. The final batter should be of dropping consistency, but if it is a little too thick, beat in a tablespoon or two of water or milk.
3 Divide the mixture between the two cake tins and smooth down lightly. Bake for approximately 30 minutes, until the surface springs back when lightly pressed with a finger. Cool for 5 minutes in their tins, then turn out and finish cooling on a rack.
4 Place one of the cakes, curved side down, on a serving plate. Spread jam or lemon curd over the flat upper side, followed by whipped cream if using, and sit the second cake neatly on top, curved side upwards.
5 Dust lightly with icing sugar and your Victoria sponge is ready to serve.
DUSTING If you want to dust the top of a cake or pudding with icing sugar, and you don’t own an icing sugar shaker (and why should you?), use a small sieve. Hold the sieve over the cake and spoon some icing sugar into it. Tap the side of the sieve gently, moving it around above the cake until evenly coated in icing sugar.
1 Cream the butter and the sugar together until light and fluffy.
2 Beat in the egg, a teaspoon at a time, until about half of it is incorporated, gradually adding a little more at a time afterwards. The idea here is to prevent the mixture curdling. Not the end of the world, but your cake won’t rise quite so well if it does.
3 Sift in roughly a quarter of the flour, then fold in carefully with a metal spoon. Repeat until all the flour has been incorporated. Test for dropping consistency (see page 225). If the batter is too firm, beat in a tablespoon of hot water.
4 Divide between the two prepared cake tins and smooth down lightly. Bake for 25–30 minutes until the cakes spring back when the top is pressed gently. Cool for 5 minutes in the tins, then turn out and finish cooling on a wire rack.
5 Sandwich together and finish as for the all-in-one Victoria sponge.
Fold the finely grated zest of 1 large orange or lemon into the Victoria Sponge batter. Sandwich the cakes together with lemon curd, or fine-cut marmalade.
LEMONS are irreplaceable in the kitchen. It’s always worth keeping a few in your fruit bowl, or in the vegetable drawer of your fridge, because you just never know when you’ll need them. Especially when it comes to cakes and puddings. The penetrating sharpness of lemon juice slashes through the intensity of sugar, and the richness of cream. Lemon juice also seems to work a sort of alchemy, often producing unexpected results. No doubt the laws of chemistry and physics could explain them, but I prefer to believe in magic.
Always zest a lemon before squeezing the juice – never the other way round!
This chocolate cake boasts a double helping of chocolate (in the form of real chocolate and cocoa powder) for a wildly big hit of chocolate heaven. Swathed in a fudgy chocolate cream all over the outside and the inside, it becomes a king amongst chocolate cakes.
Serves 8–10
110g (4oz) plain chocolate, broken into squares
200g (7oz) self-raising flour
30g (1oz) cocoa powder
a pinch of salt
175g (6oz) unsalted butter, softened
60g (2oz) light muscovado sugar
110g (4oz) caster sugar
4 eggs, separated
3 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon baking powder (all-in-one method only)
CHOCOLATE FUDGE CREAM
200g (7oz) plain chocolate, broken into pieces
175ml (6fl oz) double cream
225g (8oz) icing sugar
1 Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4. Grease and base-line (see page 223) two 20cm (8in) sandwich tins (shallow cake tins).
2 Melt the chocolate in a bowl (see page 200-201), and cool until tepid. Sift the flour with the cocoa and salt.
3 Cream the butter with the two sugars. Beat in the melted chocolate and then the egg yolks, one at a time.
4 Fold in one-third of the flour, then 1 tablespoon milk. Repeat until all of the flour and milk have been used up.
5 Whisk the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Beat a tablespoonful into the chocolate batter, then fold the remainder in lightly with a metal spoon. Now go to step 6.
3 Beat the melted chocolate, flour mixture and all remaining cake ingredients together until smooth. Now go to step 6.
6 Divide the mixture between the two cake tins and smooth down lightly. Bake for 30 minutes until just firm. Test with a skewer. Let them cool in the tins for 5 minutes, then turn out and finish cooling on a wire rack.
7 While the cake is baking, make the chocolate fudge cream. Melt the chocolate in a bowl. Put it back over the heat, and gradually beat in the cream. Once it is all in, take off the heat. Sift the icing sugar and beat into the chocolate and cream mixture, to get a smooth, fudgy blend.
8 Sandwich the two cakes together with one-third of the chocolate fudge cream. Spread the rest over the top and sides, roughing it up here and there with a fork.
The brownie is one of America’s great gifts to the world. I imagine that they were discovered by accident one wet Sunday afternoon, when someone whisked the chocolate cake out of the oven a mite too early. ‘Disaster – the cake has sunk! Too late now. I’ll have to cut it up and pretend that it was meant to be like that.’ Everyone loved it and begged for more.
This illustrates the most important principle of brownie-making (apart from using tip-top quality chocolate (see page 200); unlike cake, it must never be cooked until a skewer comes out totally clean! Over-cooking produces an over-chewy brownie instead of an immorally fudgy one.
Makes around 16
110g (4oz) plain chocolate, broken into squares
110g (4oz) unsalted butter
125g (41/2oz) caster sugar
175g (6oz) light muscovado sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs, beaten
150g (5oz) plain flour
a generous pinch of salt
110g (4oz) shelled pecan nuts, chopped
1 Preheat the oven to 170°C/325°F/Gas Mark 3. Base-line a 20cm (8in) square shallow baking tin (see page 223).
2 Put the chocolate and the butter into a bowl and melt gently over a pan of barely simmering water (see pages 200–201). Stir in the two sugars and the vanilla extract.
3 Beat in the eggs, one at a time, and then mix in the flour, salt and the pecans. Don’t over-do the mixing. Oddly, but successfully, a brownie batter is better if it is a little unevenly mixed. And you really don’t want to get too much air into the mixture. Think fudgy all the way.
4 Scrape into the prepared tin. Bake in the centre of the oven for about 30-40 minutes until set but not solid. Cool in the tin, then cut into squares. Store those squares that are not gobbled up within the next hour in an airtight tin.
To turn your latest batch of brownies into a highly fashionable and wicked pudding, pile a couple of still warm squares of brownie on to each person’s plate, or into bowls. Top with a scoop of ice-cream, and spoon over some freshly made Raspberry Sauce (see page 207). Top with a few whole raspberries and hand round.
One of the best of all biscuits, shortbread should be buttery and very short or, in other words, firm to the touch yet meltingly crumbly in the mouth. It is easy to make and requires only four ingredients – flour, cornflour, butter and sugar.
Makes 10–15 fingers
175g (6oz) plain flour
100g (31/2oz) cornflour
85g (3oz) caster sugar
175g (6oz) unsalted butter, softened
1 Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4.
2 Mix the flour, cornflour and sugar, then work in the butter to give a soft dough. Alternatively, just put everything in the bowl of the processor and process until the mixture forms a ball.
3 Press the dough into an 18cm (7in) square baking tin with your fingers as evenly as possible. Prick all over with the tines of a fork. Bake for 30-35 minutes, until the surface is lightly coloured but not brown.
4 Take out of the oven, and cut straightaway into fingers, then leave to cool in the tin. When cold, break the fingers apart. Store in an airtight container.
This is the pretty name for wedges of shortbread cut from a circle. If you don’t have the right-sized tin to make the fingers as above, this is the best alternative. Roll or press the dough out directly on a baking tray to form a circle around 1cm (1/2in) thick. Neaten it up around the edges and prick all over with a fork. Bake as above. As soon as it comes out of the oven, divide it into 12 wedges, then leave to cool. Break up into individual ‘petticoat tails’ and store in an airtight tin.
To make chocolate shortbread, replace 30g (1oz) of the cornflour (see above) with cocoa.
To make orange shortbread, mix the finely grated zest of 2 oranges into the dough opposite.
American cookies are sweet and soft and slightly chewy, at their best still a mite warm from the oven. The trick here, as with American brownies (see page 232), is not to over-cook them – too long in the oven and they crisp up into biscuits. They should never darken to more than a pale, pale tan.
The gentle sharpness of dried apricot balances the insistent sweetness of white chocolate. Do make sure that you buy real white chocolate buttons (or use real white chocolate, roughly chopped) not a second-rate, cheap white candy.
Makes 20 x 7.5cm (3in) cookies
150g (5oz) butter, softened
150g (5oz) caster sugar
225g (8oz) self-raising flour
1 tablespoon milk
60g (2oz) shelled pecan nuts, roughly chopped
100g (31/2oz) white chocolate drops
100g (31/2oz) ready-to-eat dried apricots, roughly chopped
1 Preheat the oven to 190°C/375°F/Gas Mark 5. Line two baking trays or sheets with non-stick baking parchment.
2 Beat the butter and sugar with a wooden spoon until light and fluffy, then work in the flour and milk to make a stiff dough.
3 Mix in the pecans, chocolate and apricots.
4 Roll dessertspoonfuls of the mixture into balls, then place on the baking trays, leaving a 7.5cm (3in) gap between each ball, to allow for spreading. Use the prongs of a fork to gently press each ball down to form a rough disc, about 1cm (1/2in) thick.
5 Place both trays in the oven and bake for 10–14 minutes, swapping the trays around halfway through the cooking time. Take the trays of biscuits out of the oven when they have turned slightly more coloured, but are still barely brown. Cool for 5 minutes on the tray, then transfer to a rack to finish cooling.
Milk chocolate and raisin cookies Replace the white chocolate (see page 235) with 110g (4oz) roughly chopped milk chocolate, and replace the apricots with 110g (4oz) raisins (for a real kick, soak them in rum or brandy for an hour or two before using, but drain them well before adding to the dough). Leave out the pecans, or replace with chopped roasted hazelnuts.
Dark chocolate and raspberry cookies A sophisticated cookie, for those of you with dark tastes. Replace the white chocolate with 110g (4oz) best dark chocolate, roughly chopped, and replace the apricots with 150g (5oz) raspberries. Omit the pecans.
Angelica, apricot and almond cookies – the three ‘As’ Replace the white chocolate with 85g (3oz) candied angelica, roughly chopped, and replace the pecans with nibbed, or halved almonds. Leave the apricot just as it is.
Smarty-arty cookies Replace the chocolate with 175g (6oz) Smarties or chocolate M & Ms. Leave out the apricots and pecans altogether.
Toffee and dried cranberry cookies Replace the chocolate with hard toffees, each one quartered, and replace the apricots with dried cranberries. No need for nuts.
And more
You get the picture, don’t you? Raid the larder, the sweetie counter, the squirrel’s hoard, and even the fruit bushes to add variety to your cookies. As well as all the above, what about trying a handful of chopped preserved stem ginger, or some sultanas, or a few chopped dates? Dried or fresh blueberries are good in the mix as well, but never add too many as the juices will run while cooking and could turn your gorgeous cookies into purple-blue flops.