VIRGINIA
‘Virginia my dear, I think we’ve arrived,’ the Colonel said as they stepped out of their car and walked to the front gate of Number Four, a large, bow-fronted Victorian house with a FOR SALE sign nailed to the post-box. The gate creaked loudly as they pushed it open and Lily hurried over from the house opposite.
‘Yoo-hoo! I was just having tea on my stoep when I happened to see you.’ She put out her hand. ‘I’m Lily from over the way.’
‘Blake-Sampson,’ said the Colonel. ‘My wife, Virginia.’
Lily pumped their hands. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you. Are you buyers? I do hope so. The place has been empty for ages. You’ll probably get it for a song. Come.’
Without waiting for a reply, Lily ushered them along the pavement. ‘I’ll take you straight to Daleen. She’s the agent you know, and her office is right over there above the Corner Shop.’
‘Well, my dear,’ the Colonel remarked to Virginia later that day as they sat in the lounge of the Corriebush Boarding House, sipping gin and tonic, ‘that was a piece of cake, wasn’t it? Talk about a song! I’d call it a gift.’
‘Precisely what we wanted, William, and it just fell into our laps. I can’t wait to move in so that you can get started. When do you think the furniture will arrive?’
‘Should be here the day after tomorrow. Port Elizabeth isn’t far away after all.’
‘It’s coming in one of those big vans,’ Lily told Herman, her husband.
‘Been sitting there in storage ever since they arrived. Came with them on the ship from London. They’re English, you know.’
‘How do you know this?’ he asked
‘Because they told me, that’s how. I called on them this morning.’
‘So soon already?’
Lily gave a pained sigh. ‘Ag, Herman. When a person’s sitting in a boarding house in a strange town, a friendly face is a welcome sight.’
‘Not sticking your nose into their business, are you?’
Lily ignored him. ‘They’ll be moving in tomorrow, and I’ll be lending a a hand.’
Herman sniffed. ‘And asking a lot of questions no doubt.’
‘Not a lot, just one thing really, because we’re neighbours after all. I’d like to know what they’re doing here. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?’
‘That’s reasonable, but don’t ask it straight. Don’t say: “What are you doing here?” Let them rather tell you. It’s more polite that way.’
Lily gave nothing away when she returned from her day of helping.
‘Sjoe! The dust!’ she exclaimed and went off to have a bath. Herman waited. Powdered and changed, she went to the kitchen to make the supper. He put his head round the door. She was peeling potatoes.
‘Lovely fresh ones,’ she remarked. ‘I think they’re Van der Planks.’
Some time later, Lily tinkled the bell, Herman came in from the stoep, and they sat down to eat. Still she said nothing.
‘Dammit Lily. What are they doing here?’
‘Herman, you should have seen the furniture! Grand isn’t the word. Even a piano, never mind all the silver and pictures and stuff. And the books! Never seen so many books outside a library.’
‘So what are they doing here, Lily?’
‘They even brought a cat basket.’
‘LILY!’
‘Salt and pepper?’ she asked, and when Herman did not reply, she put down her knife and fork, dabbed her lips with a napkin, shooed the dog from under her feet and took several sips of water.
‘You are going to be very, very surprised.’
Herman raised an eyebrow, but carried on eating. ‘Well, don’t you want to hear?’ she asked.
‘Ja, I’m waiting. Get on with it now, old woman.’
‘Just let me fill the kettle.’
‘Ag, come on Lily, enough is enough.’
‘Well then, as you know I’m never one to beat about the bush, so I’ll tell you straight. The Colonel is writing a book.’
‘He’s come to Corriebush to write a book?’
‘He’s come here to write a book.’
‘What’s wrong with England, then?’
‘Nothing wrong with England.’
‘Then why does he come to write a book in Corriebush with all his stuff?’
Lily shrugged. ‘You said I mustn’t ask a lot of questions, so I didn’t,’ she replied smugly. ‘So that’s all I know. For the present.’
William Rupert Blake-Sampson was just eighteen years old when the Anglo-Boer War broke out. His application to read English at Oxford had just been approved, but his father had been a Colonel in the army in India, and William and his older brother would never have missed a chance to fight for the glory of the Empire. They signed up right away, confident that the war would be over in a matter of months, maybe even weeks. A handful of Boer farmers would hardly be a match for the English army. William felt supremely confident and invulnerable, standing on the deck of the troopship as it left Southampton on a bleak December day in l899. Several thousand voices sang lustily as the ship slipped its moorings and headed into the Channel. ‘Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye…’
Shortly after his arrival at the Cape, William was posted as a mounted infantryman – one of about 100 000 men under Lord Roberts’ command, who set out on a march from Bloemfontein to their target up north – Pretoria. William did not get far. Just six days later, in the veld beyond Smaldeel, his horse went lame. He dismounted, and discovered a gash on the horse’s right back leg, probably caused by shrapnel when they had come under fire the previous day. It was a shallow wound, but already it was infected, with green flies clustering around and burrowing into the flesh. The men closest to William had stopped when he did, but he’d waved them on, saying he would clean it up as quickly as he could and follow on slowly. He should never have stopped, and they should never have ridden on. In this war, in this country, the enemy fought from the hills, appeared from behind kopjes, sheltered in kloofs and valleys, and could ambush a whole regiment by hiding in a donga, or ditch. The terrain was totally unfamiliar to the British, but it was home to these Boer men of the veld and they used it to brilliant advantage.
William spoke soothingly to his horse while he used his pocket knife to remove as much of the shrapnel as he could. It was when he was about to disinfect the wound that he began to feel giddy. It was the month of May, but the cruel summer heat had not yet given way to autumn’s cooler weather. The humidity was unbearable, the veld bleached to a lifeless, dust-choked desert. Sweat poured down his face, his neck, his back, down his legs in their baggy breeches and into his boots, and above him the sky began to spin in pale, dizzying circles. He felt his way to a rock, sank down and reached for his water bottle.
The rifle was pushed in between his shoulder blades with such force that William’s head snapped backwards.
‘Stand up Tommy, and don’t turn round. Put up your hands and don’t move or I might just miss the fatal spot, and then you’ll die here slowly, lying in the dust like a helpless, grovelling worm.’
For one insane moment William thought of ducking and turning and fighting the Boer with his fists, but his body was shaking uncontrollably. He could not even lift his arms. His tongue was thick and his voice was a strangled gasp. ‘Shoot,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Just shoot and get it done.’
‘Don’t be in such a hurry man,’ the voice behind him said. ‘Suffer first. Perhaps you were the one who burnt down my father’s house? Set fire to everything we owned, even our sheepdogs? Or were you one of those who stood and smiled as my mother and sisters were carted off in a wagon to the concentration camp? Tell me Tommy, was it you?
Were you one of those bastards? Take your time, Tommy, take your time before you answer. I can wait, while I decide on the best punishment for a scavenging coward.’
William stood, still trembling, vaguely aware of the red ants swarming around his boots in the livid, hot red dust. And then suddenly his fear turned to rage, and he heard himself shouting defiantly.
‘I saw four of my friends shot to pieces by you Boers!’ he shouted. ‘Shot and bleeding and left to die while you ran back to your hills to hide!’
His anger made him reckless and he started to turn round, but the rifle bit deeper into his back.
‘Bloody fool,’ the man said. ‘Tell me how old are you Tommy? I’m standing right behind you and I see there’s still a bit of green behind your ears.’
William remained silent.
‘Tommy, HOW OLD ARE YOU?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘Child. Poor, ridiculous child fighting a war you cannot win. Why don’t you go home to your mother? Eighteen years old and already a thief and a bastard. Poor, ridiculous child.’
Suddenly the aching thrust of the rifle ceased. A hand gripped William’s shoulder and spun him round.
Facing him was a young, powerfully built Boer, with thick black eyebrows and a dark beard, not yet fully grown. They stood there, the two soldiers, and looked at each other for an eternity, blue eyes staring straight into brown, both unwavering. And then the Boer put out his hand.
‘Gideon Loots,’ he said. ‘Now give me your water bottle, your rifle and your bandolier. Your boots too. Take your lame animal, it’s no good to me. But I’ll have that stupid helmet of yours, I’ll turn it over and use it to water my horse. Why don’t you wear a real man’s hat like we do? And now voetsek! Go! And run before I change my mind. If you go up that road you’ll find your foolish comrades somewhere near Welgelegen.’
Lily repeated the whole story to Herman, exactly as she had heard it from Virginia.
‘And now the Colonel has come to find Gideon Loots. All his life he has remembered this man, and he wants to shake him by the hand and thank him. And now that he’s retired, he wants to write books about his military experiences, and especially the one about Gideon, and the war.’
‘But why must he write it in Corriebush?’
‘Because it’s small and quiet and far away from the battlefields, so he will be able to think fairly and clearly. That’s what Virginia says. Also, he thinks Gideon Loots might have come from these parts. He’s done some enquiring.’
‘But Lily, that war was a terrible thing. They were our enemies, remember, and now they want to come and live with us?’
‘Now you’re being really stupid, Herman. What’s past is past, I say. Every nation makes terrible mistakes. One doesn’t forget, but one has to forgive. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. It’s the way of the world, and if it isn’t it should be.’
‘You’re always right, old woman.’
‘Yes I am. And all of us are going to make them as happy as can be, especially Virginia. She’s rather quiet, a private sort if you know what I mean, and she could get a bit lonely with him being busy at his desk all day. The Colonel told me he thought if they brought some of their furniture she might settle down more easily.’
‘Hmmph. Not much for the poor lady to do in Corriebush.’
‘Nonsense. We’ve already planned a welcome picnic by the river. You can’t come, it’s for women only, so we can really let our hair down.’
Nellie and Maria, Sophia and Anna, Amelia and Lily all contributed to a giant picnic hamper. The day was soft and sunny and they had just settled onto the rugs and started on the chicken when Virginia drank half a bottle of wine.
The group stared in astonishment, especially Sophia, who prided herself on never touching a drop.
‘Not since the day I fell out of the plum tree and my mother gave me brandy to steady my nerves and it made me so tight I took a knife and chopped off a fowl’s head.’
Sophia told the story whenever there was liquor around, but this time she just sat and watched, horrified, as Virginia tossed back three glasses of wine in a few gulps. After which she started talking.
‘She totally ignored my chippolatas,’ Lily told Herman later, ‘but, poor woman, she had to get it all out, because underneath the silk blouses and shoes from Italy, she’s really a very shy and lonely person.’
‘So the wine loosened her tongue.’
‘Loosened her tongue, and helped her tell us everything. She sat there on the rug, drained the last drop in her glass, hugged her knees and off she went. Like this.’
‘It’s the Colonel,’ Virginia began.
The women started to fidget with embarrassment, afraid of what they might be going to hear.
‘No no, it’s not what you think,’ Virginia went on hurriedly. ‘I adore my William. He’s the kindest, most loving gentleman on earth. The trouble is, he fell in love with a Red Cross nurse, coming home on a ship. You know how things are on a ship.’
They nodded.
‘We know how it is on a ship.’
‘And especially after a war, when people have been fighting and frightened and desperately missing their families, they tend to fall in love very quickly. But William says he found out she was engaged to a man in St Ives, and so he quickly ended the relationship.’
‘Then he married you?’
‘Well, not right away, but you could say he was looking to settle down. We met in London. I was helping out in a soup kitchen, and one day there he was, so handsome and charming and brave, and you could say it was love at first sight.’
‘Over the soup?’ asked Maria.
‘Over the soup. He said he liked my youthful freshness and that I was exactly the charming, bonny girl he could see in his solemn old home.’
‘Well, let me tell you, that solemn old home is a very large and grand place on the Blake-Sampson estate, Erin Park, and I – well, I had grown up in a small village in Yorkshire and Erin Park really took me by surprise. Suddenly I was mistress of a huge estate and there was so much I had to learn. William was terribly kind of course. He tried to teach me to shoot grouse, but it upset me too much, shooting those lovely birds. He tried to teach me to play bridge, but I kept trumping my partner’s ace. As you know, that’s something you must never do.’
‘No. You must never trump your partner’s ace,’ they agreed.
He did not like me to work in the garden. He said that was the groundsman’s job. And he didn’t like to see me in the kitchen, either, even though I’m a good cook; learnt at my mother’s knee, as they say. But he said that’s what he employed two cooks for. And then there were all those house parties. We entertained often. He said I looked so beautiful in the clothes and jewellery he had bought me and he loved watching me chatting to his guests over our candle-lit dinners. For a while this was fine, he was such a caring husband, but then I began to feel just useless.’
‘Babies?’ Amelia asked.
‘Old war injury,’ Virginia explained, and they nodded understandingly.
‘When he went away to the First World War I thought I would die. But after a while I learnt I could have fun in the kitchen – I did learn a lot from my mother, as I said, and William’s cooks taught me a great deal more, especially the one from France. But when he came back from the war, all full of medals, he once again wanted me by his side all the time. He really loves me you know, but I long to do something to make him really proud of me so that people don’t always speak of me as the Colonel’s sweet but rather useless little wife. And now here in Corriebush, I see no chance of that. Nothing to do. I just don’t know how I’m going to last until he finishes this book.’ Virginia started to cry. ‘And now I’ve gone and hurt all you kind, sweet ladies and I feel awful and I’m so sorry. Nellie, have you a pill? My head is starting to ache.’
‘Have something to eat, it will help,’ said Maria, offering her a buttered bun.
On the whole, the picnic had been a success because Virginia had got a big weight off her chest, they all felt closer, and lending a helping hand was really what the Corriebush women liked best.
‘But we have to bring back some confidence there,’ said Anna, when they were discussing the whole business the following day.
‘Give her a chance to show off her talents.’
‘But she said she was useless.’
‘But she also said she liked to cook.’
‘And there’s the Annual Baking Competition coming up soon. This year the theme is Chocolate Cake.’
‘I know, I know!’ Nellie was beside herself with excitement.
‘We’ll give her our favourite recipes – yours and mine and everyone else’s, they’re all a little bit different – and encourage her to enter. And then…’
She needed explain no further. Already six pairs of eyes were beginning to sparkle.
During the week of the competition, the very air in Corriebush was thick with the aroma of baking: chocolate and cocoa, butter and vanilla, and sponges rising in ovens all over the town, while the constant clatter of spoons and tins and whisks tinkled out from every kitchen.
‘Sounds as if a whole flock of guineafowl has come to town,’ Herman remarked.
On the morning of the big day, they all gathered at Amelia’s house with their bounteous, beautiful chocolate cakes.
‘Bless my soul, Maria, you’ve really done it this time!’
‘Too good to eat, Anna!’
‘Nellie, yours simply takes the cake. I’ve never seen such a smelter of icing.’
‘You mean welter, Sophia.’
‘Smelter, welter, what’s the difference? It’s a beauty!’
‘Poor Virginia, she wouldn’t have stood a chance if we hadn’t thought of our plan.’
And gleefully they put it into action. First they lovingly set their cakes out on Amelia’s large kitchen table and then carried out the operation, one by one. A deep breath, and there they went, without a single shudder or flinch. First Anna turned her back on her offering, and sat on it. Then Maria carefully positioned six dead flies among her beautiful little chocolate rosettes. Lily threw a cup of tea over hers. Sophia picked hers up and dropped it on the floor. Nellie cut a slice out of hers and ate it. Amelia burst into tears and left her crumpled handkerchief pressed deeply into the top. Then they took them to the hall.
‘Whatever Virginia has come up with, it will definitely be better than this lot,’ they all agreed, as they marched up the steps.
Virginia arrived soon after. Shyly she placed her cake at one end of the table. Maria nudged Lily, who nudged Sophia, who nudged Anna, who was already tugging at the others. They were knocked speechless.
Virginia had made a chocolate truffle gâteau. Four layers of chocolate sponge, sandwiched with chocolate melted with double cream; over the top she had poured a layer of rich glacé icing; and on this she had spelt out the name CORRIEBUSH with miniature rum truffles and maraschino cherries. The whole glorious affair sat poised on a crystal cake stand, surrounded by candied violets.
‘A work of art!’ the judges exclaimed.
‘A work of art!’ the women repeated, shaking their heads in disbelief.
Virginia blushed with embarrassment. ‘To me it looks rather like a Caribbean sunhat.’
‘That too,’ they nodded.
‘The recipe comes from a French book,’ Virginia explained, feeling really awkward now that she had seen their cakes at the other end of the table. ‘I just dolled it up a bit.’
When the judges placed the red card reading First Prize in front of Virginia’s cake, all the women clapped, and Amelia told her she was a dark horse and that she should take it home quickly, before they all started nibbling, and share it with the Colonel for tea.
The rest of them carried their cakes home, quite happily. For several blocks, however, no one spoke. Then Anna broke the silence.
‘Needn’t have sat on mine.’
‘Put flies on mine.’
‘Thrown tea over mine.’
‘Dropped mine.’
‘Eaten half mine.’
‘Never seen a cake like that. I wish she would show us how.’
‘That’s it! That’s it! Yoo-hoo!’ Anna called to Virginia, who was trying to push open the gate to Number Four with her knee, while carefully balancing her cake in both hands. ‘Listen, we’ve got a lovely plan.’
They wasted no time in getting it off the ground.
Every Monday morning for the following three months, they all gathered in Maria’s big kitchen, while Virginia led them through some English Country Cooking.
‘She’s showing us a thing or two about fancy foreign food,’ Anna told Herman, proudly setting a perfectly roasted sirloin of beef before him, with Yorkshire pudding, crisp and puffed up and golden brown on the side.
Virginia followed up with English Rhubarb Crumble, Bubble and Squeak and Wiltshire Tatties, then continued with slightly more sophisticated recipes like English Cider Cake and Fig Pudding with Brandy Butter, which of course Sophia wouldn’t touch because of the brandy.
Every Wednesday morning it was the Corriebush ladies’ turn, when Virginia learnt all about koeksisters and sosaties, tomato bredie, pumpkin fritters, watermelon preserve, apricot chutney, mealie bread, even boerewors and biltong. At the end of the lessons all the note-books were bulging with recipes, tips and new ideas.
The final class was a happy celebration, with sparkling wine and butternut soup, roast turkey and soetpatats, trifle and malva pudding. After which, they all rose to show each other how much weight they had gained.
‘Just watch when I pinch here, under my belt. See how thick?’
‘It’s my backside that’s got it.’
‘When I nod, my neck looks just like a turkey’s dangle.’
‘Crop, Sophia, you mean crop.’
‘Crop.’
All the husbands were delighted with the new menus and the Colonel was as pleased as punch. He had never seen Virginia so happy, and he had finished his book, although he had not managed to get news of Gideon Loots.
‘We’ll just have to come back again,’ Virginia remarked, as the TO RENT sign was nailed to the front gate. ‘I think we should leave some of our furniture here, then we’ll feel quite at home when we return.’
‘Jolly good idea, old girl,’ William agreed. ‘Perhaps for a few months next summer. But now I must get to my publisher, he’s waiting for this manuscript and I’ve already drafted my next one. Got some good ideas. And in any case it will be nice to be back at Erin Park for a while.’
‘Yes. Yes it will,’ Virginia replied. ‘I’m looking forward to it because I’m going to be very busy. I have a plan.’
William raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m going to start a cookery school in Chipping Hampton!’
‘Good gracious, Ginny, you are full of surprises!’
‘And that’s not all. When we return to Corriebush you can write your next book and I’m going to write mine. A cookery book!’
‘Bingo old girl!’ exclaimed the Colonel.
‘Bingo William!’
Virginia waved and waved through the passenger window as her husband slid behind the wheel.
‘She’s a changed woman,’ remarked Lily. ‘Happy as a lark.’
‘Found her feet in Corriebush, that’s for sure!’
‘And didn’t she have the time of her life with those cookery lessons!’
‘Simply fell into the idea like a croûton into soup.’
‘I’m really so sad to see her go, even though they have promised to come back.’
‘Oh my hat, my blerrie hat!’
‘What now, Sophia?’
‘We forgot to buy her a farewell present! How could we? After all she’s taught us!’
‘Don’t worry ladies,’ Anna reassured them. ‘I’ve got something that will keep her smiling all the way to Port Elizabeth.’
And she slid a steaming Cornish Pasty through the window.
Virginia laughed delightedly. ‘Right size, right shape, good pastry, smells gorgeous. Ten out of ten Anna!’
The Colonel accelerated, and they were gone.
Due to the variety of culinary influences in her life, Virginia was a trifle confused as to where her tastes and talents lay. She was perfectly confident cooking traditional English food, of course, but then there was William’s father who came home from his years in India with a great fondness for spices and kept dropping hints whenever he came to visit.
He would dab at his moustache at the end of a meal and say ‘Very good, my dear, but do you know, over in the East they would have given this a bit of a lift. Not too hot, the children won’t like it, but just a nip of this and that. Try it next time.’
And so she did.
And then there were the two chefs at Erin Park – one French, and the other a Yorkshireman. Goodness knows how they kept the peace in the kitchen, but they seemed to fuse quite well, and because they often invited Virginia to watch while they were working, they had a profound influence on her culinary knowledge. As a result, Virginia found it quite difficult to single out any one cuisine in her classes, and in the end she simply went for a delicious, eclectic mix.
Chilled Beetroot Soup with Avocado Cream
Cauliflower Vichyssoise with Nutmeg and Lemon
Cucumber and Avocado Soup on Ice
Fish with Lime-Chive Butter and Glazed Mushrooms
Chilled Smoked Salmon Patties with Dilly Mayo and Walnut Bread
Spicy Indian-style Butter Chicken
Tarragon and Lemon Cream Chicken Breasts
Buckingham Chicken with Litchis and Almonds
Fillet of Beef with Port and Mushrooms
Braised Lamb Steaks with Wine and Herbs
Pork Chops with Cider, Apples and Sage
CHILLED BEETROOT SOUP WITH AVOCADO CREAM
Imagine a bowl of incredibly vivid, magenta-coloured soup, floated with avocado and swirled with cream, and you’ve got this colourful wonder. It’s the sort of soup photographers love to shoot, set out in white bowls on a table on a patio. Blue sky, bougainvillea, beautiful people, beetroot soup. It’s a fun soup, and easy as pie to make because the ingredients are so basic.
15 ml (1 Tbsp) each oil and butter
1 medium onion, sliced into thin rings
2 large leeks, white parts only, well washed and chopped
15 ml (1 Tbsp) water
450–500 g potatoes, peeled and cubed
2 ml (½ tsp) each grated nutmeg and paprika
1 litre (4 cups) hot chicken stock
2 bay leaves
a little sea salt
a good pinch of sugar
2 medium, raw beetroot, peeled and coarsely grated (about 230 g peeled weight)
125 ml (½ cup) milk
a little fresh lemon juice
white vermouth (optional)
cubed or balled avocado, and softly whipped cream (or thick sour cream or creamy Greek yoghurt), and milled black pepper – these are not just garnishes, they are essentials
Heat the oil and butter in a really large saucepan (because grated beetroot is bulky), and add the onion and leeks. Toss until coated, then add the water and sweat, covered, over very low heat until soft and golden; do not brown. Add the potatoes, nutmeg and paprika, toss to mix, then add the stock, bay leaves, seasoning and beetroot. Cover and simmer very gently until the vegetables are cooked – about 25 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in the milk and, when reasonably cool, whizz in a blender, in batches, until smooth. Check the seasoning – if it needs a little oomph, shake in a few drops of lemon juice. Refrigerate. To serve, ladle into the soup bowls. If using vermouth, it goes in before the garnish – just a dash. Spoon a large dollop of cream on top, gently mix in a generous helping of the cubed or balled avocado, then grind over a little black pepper. Serves 6–8.
CAULIFLOWER VICHYSSOISE WITH NUTMEG AND LEMON
This is a slightly different version of the classic creamy potato and leek soup, offering a new taste without altogether changing the character of the original, and a good choice when you need a soup that’s unfailingly popular, quick to make, and doesn’t require a shopping trip because the ingredients are already in your pantry. Although vichyssoise is traditionally served cold, chilling does tend to dull the flavour, and this one is best served hot.
30 ml (2 Tbsp) each oil and butter
2 medium onions, chopped
4 large leeks, white parts only, chopped
700 g potatoes, peeled and cubed
500 g cauliflower florets
7 ml (1½ tsp) grated nutmeg
4 x 4 cm strips lemon peel
2 litres (8 cups) hot chicken stock
4 bay leaves sea salt to taste
125 ml (½ cup) each milk and thick cream
lemon juice (optional)
snipped chives to garnish
Heat the oil and butter in a large saucepan, add the onions and leeks and sweat over low heat, shaking the pan occasionally and taking care that the vegetables do not brown. When soft and pale, add the potatoes, cauliflower and nutmeg and toss to mix, then add the remaining ingredients except the milk and cream. Cover and simmer until the vegetables are soft, about 25 minutes. Leave to cool down a bit, remove the bay leaves and lemon peel, then purée in a blender, in batches, until smooth. Return to the saucepan, add the milk and cream and reheat, stirring, without boiling. Check seasoning – the soup might need a little more salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice to sharpen the flavour. Ladle into warmed soup bowls and sprinkle with chives. Serves 8–10.
CUCUMBER AND AVOCADO SOUP ON ICE
This is a thick and gorgeous soup, so smooth and rich that it needs no extras, not even a cobweb of cream. The garnish, so to speak, comes in the form of little dill fronds frozen in ice cubes. It’s altogether a smashing combination, amazingly easy to make and the fresh, funky colour is stunning.
1 x 550–600 g English cucumber (that’s a big one)
15 ml (1 Tbsp) each oil and butter
2 medium leeks, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
500 ml (2 cups) hot chicken stock
a small clutch of parsley tufts
2 bay leaves
a little sea salt
2 medium or 1 jumbo avocado, diced (300 g flesh, once peeled and pipped)
2–3 small fronds of fresh dill
15 ml (1 Tbsp) fresh lime juice
finely grated rind of ½ small lime
Pare the cucumber, cut in half and remove the seeds, then dice. Heat the oil and butter in a deep saucepan, add the leeks and onion and cook slowly until soft and transparent. Mix in the cucumber and cook briefly until it has started to shrink a little. Add the stock, parsley, bay leaves and salt, then cover and simmer for about 25 minutes until the vegetables are very soft. Leave to cool, then remove the bay leaves, add the avocado flesh, the dill, lime juice and rind, and whizz in a blender until beautifully thick and smooth. Pour into a large glass jug, drop in the avocado pip, then cover and refrigerate for at least 6 hours, or even overnight.
During this time, make the DILLED ICE CUBES. Empty an ice cube tray and, in the hollows, place a small frond of dill, fill up with water, and freeze. Use a tray with small, round hollows or, if yours makes large cubes, only half-fill them with water, otherwise the cubes will take too long to melt. Check the seasoning, give the soup a good stir, remove the avo pip and pour into small bowls (not soup plates). Drop two dilly ice cubes into each bowl, then go away for a few minutes to allow them to just start melting before serving. Serves 6–8.
FISH WITH LIME-CHIVE BUTTER AND GLAZED MUSHROOMS
Kabeljou (kob), with its firm, succulent flesh, is the perfect choice for this recipe. Fish often responds best when fiddled with least, and this is a fine example of just how good it can be when given the easy, no-fuss treatment. The mushrooms make a fabulous (also dead easy) accompaniment.
1 smallish lime
60 g soft butter
30 ml (2 Tbsp) finely snipped chives
a dash of Pernod (optional)
4 large, skinless fish fillets, preferably kabeljou (about 700 g)
oil and sea salt
Start by making the butter. Use a zester or a coarse grater for the lime, and then chop the peel finely, or snip with a pair of kitchen scissors. Reserve the shaved lime to use for juice later on. Mix the peel with the butter, chives and Pernod, if using. Roll into a long sausage, wrap in greaseproof paper and refrigerate until firm.
Shortly before you want to eat, line a shallow baking dish with greaseproof paper and brush with oil. Place the fish fillets on the paper, brush the tops very lightly with oil, sprinkle with salt and drizzle with lime juice. Bake at 180 °C until cooked through – the time depends on the thickness of the fish – probably 25 minutes. While the fish is baking, slice the butter into coins and, just before serving, place one or two coins on top of each fillet. Return to the oven until they just start to melt and spread, then serve, using a spatula to lift out onto serving plates. Serves 4.
Glazed mushrooms
These little nuggets can be prepared in advance, spooned into a baking dish, and reheated in the oven shortly before the fish is done.
250 g white mushrooms
45 ml (3 Tbsp) medium-sweet sherry
45 ml (3 Tbsp) chicken stock
15 ml (1 Tbsp) soy sauce
10 ml (2 tsp) tomato paste
5 ml (1 tsp) treacle sugar
a little chopped parsley
Wipe the mushrooms with damp kitchen paper and, if the mushrooms are large, slice into halves or quarters. Place in a wide-based frying pan in a single layer as far as possible. Mix the sherry, stock, soy sauce and tomato paste together and pour over the mushrooms, then sprinkle with the sugar. Bring to the boil and cook over high heat, tossing and stirring. The mushrooms will release a lot of liquid at first, but as the liquid reduces they will start to sizzle in their own juices – watch for burning. Remove from the heat as soon as the liquid evaporates into caramelly bubbles. Spoon into a shallow baking dish, rinse out the frying pan with just a dash of water, drizzle over the mushrooms to keep them moist, sprinkle with parsley and reheat briefly, as suggested above.
CHILLED SMOKED SALMON PATTIES WITH DILLY MAYO AND WALNUT BREAD
These make the most elegant and enticing starters: plump little patties, a drizzle of light mayonnaise, and crunchy brown walnut bread speckled with red pepper. Not too rich, not too expensive (the salmon is padded out with other things), not at all tricky to make, and everything tied up in advance – you can even make them a day ahead and refrigerate overnight. Present prettily on small plates.
160 g smoked salmon, finely snipped (off-cuts are fine to use)
1 hard-boiled free-range egg, chopped
4 slim spring onions, chopped
30 ml (2 Tbsp) finely chopped parsley
5 ml (1 tsp) capers, rinsed and chopped
5 ml (1 tsp) Dijon mustard
10 ml (2 tsp) lime juice (or lemon, but use a little less)
200 g smooth, fat-free cottage cheese
milled black pepper and a little sea salt and sugar to taste
DILLY MAYO
30 ml (2 Tbsp) mayonnaise, preferably home-made
30 ml (2 Tbsp) thick, plain yoghurt
10 ml (2 tsp) chopped fresh dill
2 ml (½ tsp) Dijon mustard
a small trickle of honey
For the salmon patties, mix everything together. To mould, you will need 4 to 6 small ramekins – flattish and shallow – 6 cm in diameter and 3 cm deep is just right. Four ramekins will give you really generous patties; six will provide small appetite-whetters – the better option if a good dinner is to follow. Line each with clingfilm, with enough overhang to cover the tops. Divide the mixture between the ramekins, pressing in gently to make a flat cake. Cover with the overhanging clingfilm and refrigerate for several hours or overnight. When needed, simply lift out of the ramekin, remove the clingfilm and out should plop a perfect patty.
For the mayonnaise, stir everything together until mixed, then cover and refrigerate. Makes just enough to spoon alongside 6 patties. Serves 4–6.
Walnut and red pepper batter bread
A savoury, wholesome quick-mix bread, perfect with the patties. Serve lightly buttered, sliced into fingers.
500 ml (2 cups) white bread flour
500 ml (2 cups) wholewheat flour
7 ml (1½ tsp) sea salt
15 ml (1 Tbsp) instant dry yeast (not quite a 10 g sachet)
1 small red pepper, finely diced
a little chopped parsley for colour
15 ml (1 Tbsp) light brown sugar
50–60 g walnuts, chopped
15 ml (1 Tbsp) soft butter
about 500 ml (2 cups) very warm (but not hot) water
Mix together the flours, salt, yeast, red pepper, parsley, sugar and walnuts. Stir the butter into 250 ml (1 cup) very warm water and, when melted, mix into the dry ingredients. Slowly add the remaining water (or just enough) to make a soft, sticky batter. Turn into a 26 x 9 x 7 cm loaf tin, first oiling the base and sides and then lining with baking paper. Cover lightly, and leave to rise in a warm place until the batter reaches the top of the tin – 45 minutes to 1 hour, depending on room temperature. Bake at 200 °C for 30 minutes, then at 180 °C for a further 20–30 minutes until firm and brown. Stand for 5 minutes before turning out onto a rack, remove baking paper, and leave to cool.
SPICY INDIAN-STYLE BUTTER CHICKEN
This dish really does taste as good as it looks: tender nuggets of chicken in a smooth red sauce, fresh green coriander and saffron-tinted basmati rice – the colour combination is brilliant. Skinless thigh fillets are just perfect here – they’re not bulky or greasy and, unlike breast fillets, they won’t dry out despite the long, slow simmer. This dish may be made a day ahead and chilled overnight in a suitable container.
2 x 410 g cans Indian Diced Tomatoes (with curry leaves and spices)
45 ml (3 Tbsp) oil
1.2 kg skinless chicken thigh fillets
60 ml (4 Tbsp) butter
10 ml (2 tsp) each ground cumin, curry powder and paprika
5 ml (1 tsp) ground cinnamon
about 20 ml (4 tsp) finely chopped, peeled root ginger
a pinch of crushed dried chillies (optional)
about 10 ml (2 tsp) sea salt
15 ml (1 Tbsp) sugar
a little fresh lemon juice, if necessary
90 ml (6 Tbsp) thick, plain yoghurt
10 ml (2 tsp) garam masala and a handful of fresh coriander leaves to garnish
Empty the cans of tomatoes into a blender and whizz until smooth, then set aside. Heat the oil in a wide, deep saucepan. Add the chicken, toss until just sealed and pale beige on both sides, then remove and set aside. Immediately reduce the heat to very low, add the butter and, when melted, sprinkle in the ground spices and ginger. Sizzle briefly until aromatic, then return the chicken and mix in the blended tomatoes, as well as the chillies, salt and sugar. At this stage the mixture will seem too thick, but don’t add any liquid, the sauce will soon thin out sufficiently. Cover and simmer very gently, stirring now and then for 50–60 minutes, or until the chicken is very tender and the sauce medium-thick and richly coloured. If the flavour needs a little lift, add a dash of lemon juice, then swirl in the yoghurt, sprinkle with the garnishes, and heat through without boiling. Ladle the chicken and sauce alongside servings of saffron basmati rice, and accompany with a bright green vegetable or salad. Serves 6–8.
TARRAGON AND LEMON CREAM CHICKEN BREASTS
Subtly flavoured and richly sauced, this is stove-top chicken at it’s elegant best. Surprisingly few ingredients are required, and the chief players – lemon grass, honey and crème fraîche – combine quite brilliantly.
4 skinless chicken breast fillets (about 400 g)
15 ml (1 Tbsp) oil and a small pat of butter
375 ml (1½ cups) chicken stock (home-made makes a huge difference)
4–6 spring onions, chopped
5 ml (1 tsp) dried tarragon
5 ml (1 tsp) very finely grated lemon rind
2 stalks lemon grass (whole, white, lower stems, outer layer peeled)
15 ml (1 Tbsp) runny honey
2 ml (½ tsp) sea salt
75–90 ml (5–6 Tbsp) crème fraîche*
Make a few shallow slashes on the skinned side of the chicken, then flatten the breasts slightly by thumping gently with a rolling pin – be careful not to tear them. Heat the oil and butter in a large frying pan and seal the chicken on both sides; do this quickly – they must not brown at all. Remove from the pan and set aside. Lower the heat and add the stock, spring onions, tarragon (crush this with your fingers as you sprinkle it in), lemon rind, lemon grass, honey and salt to the pan. Stir to mix, then simmer, half covered, for 12–15 minutes until slightly thickened and reduced. Discard the lemon grass and stir in 75 ml (5 Tbsp) of the crème fraîche and, when smoothly combined, return the chicken to the pan. Cover and simmer very gently until the chicken is just cooked through – about 6 minutes. Now check. The sauce should be medium-thick and fairly generous, so if it reduced too much at the start, you might want to add more crème fraîche, or a little extra stock – at this stage you have to play it by ear, at the same time being careful not to mask the delicate flavour of the sauce. When you’re happy, serve. Rice timbales (rice cooked in stock with bright things added, like parsley and chopped red pepper, then moulded and unmoulded) are not much trouble to make, and suit the dish well. Serves 4.
* A French-style, smooth, very rich, thick cultured cream. If unobtainable, substitute cultured sour cream.
BUCKINGHAM CHICKEN WITH LITCHIS AND ALMONDS
Everyone knows and loves Coronation Chicken. This is a new take on the theme. It’s quicker, easier and somewhat lighter, without compromising on the splendid flavour of cold chicken in a creamy curry sauce.
4 large free-range chicken breasts (about 900 g), with bone and skin
500 ml (2 cups) water
a few slices of onion
a few sprigs of parsley
5 ml (1 tsp) turmeric
2–3 bay leaves
a sprinkling of sea salt
1 large bunch spring onions, chopped
1 x 410 g can pitted litchis, drained, slivered and patted dry
toasted almond flakes to garnish
DRESSING
250 ml (1 cup) low-fat or fat-free thick, plain yoghurt
250 ml (1 cup) choice, thick mayonnaise
45–60 ml (3–4 Tbsp) curry paste (not powder) e.g. Pakco
about 5 ml (1 tsp) honey
Poach the chicken in the water with the onion, parsley, turmeric, bay leaves and salt. Cook gently, turning once and, when done, leave to cool in the stock. Remove the flesh by pulling it off with your fingers, shredding it into pieces and discarding the skin, bone and gristle. Place in a large bowl, mix in the spring onions and litchis, then slowly drizzle over about 125 ml (½ cup) of the strained stock. The chicken flesh will slowly absorb the stock; when it starts to run to the base of the bowl, add no more.
To make the dressing, mix the yoghurt, mayonnaise and curry paste (start with 45 ml) with the honey (even a touch of honey really rounds out the flavour, particularly if you have used fat-free yoghurt). Taste and add more curry paste if wanted, then pour two-thirds of the dressing over the chicken, tossing gently until thoroughly combined. Cover and refrigerate for a few hours, or overnight; refrigerate the extra dressing as well. To serve, spoon the chicken onto a large, flat platter, pour the extra dressing over the top (or serve it separately), and finish off with the almonds. Serve with chutney, a rice or couscous salad, and something fresh and green. Serves 6.
FILLET OF BEEF WITH PORT AND MUSHROOMS
This is a special occasion, rather extravagant and sensually rich dish, with redcurrant jelly and crème fraîche adding a gourmet touch. It’s also very quick to prepare, and has to be served immediately, so have everything ready and waiting because once you’ve started cooking you’ll have nearly finished.
30 ml (2 Tbsp) oil
20 ml (4 tsp) butter
4 slices beef fillet of equal size and thickness, weighing about 125 g each
sea salt and milled black pepper
6 slim spring onions, chopped
200 g brown mushrooms, wiped and sliced
90 ml (6 Tbsp) port
300 ml (11/5 cups) hot beef stock
7 ml (1½ tsp) Dijon mustard
10 ml (2 tsp) redcurrant jelly
45–60 ml (3–4 Tbsp) crème fraîche (or thick sour cream)
Heat the oil and butter and, when sizzling, add the steaks. When deeply browned on one side, turn and do the other. If you don’t want them rare, reduce the heat to medium and cook just until they’re done to your liking, then remove, season lightly and keep warm. Add the onions, mushrooms and port to the pan juices and cook for a few minutes until almost dry, then add the stock, mustard, jelly and crème fraîche. Simmer uncovered until slightly reduced and thickened, check the seasoning, and then either nap the waiting steaks with the sauce, or serve it alongside, or make a pool on warmed plates and place the steaks on top. It might sound strange, but simple mashed potatoes are really good with this steak; alternatively, use tiny jacket potatoes, and bright vegetables. Serves 4.
BRAISED LAMB STEAKS WITH WINE AND HERBS
The ‘proper’ meat to use here would be stewing mutton, which requires long, slow cooking, but there’s nothing wrong with treating steaks in the same way – they won’t turn out pink, but that matters not when it comes to the taste test: savoury, succulent lamb stew to serve with sprouts and spuds in fine British tradition.
4 lamb steaks (about 600 g)
30 ml (2 Tbsp) oil and a nut of butter
1 large onion, finely chopped
30 ml (2 Tbsp) red wine
a pinch of sugar
2 leeks, thinly sliced
4 slender carrots, diced
30 ml (2 Tbsp) flour
1 sprig of fresh rosemary and 4 sprigs of fresh thyme
125 ml (½ cup) extra red wine
250 ml (1 cup) hot beef stock
5 ml (1 tsp) Worcestershire sauce
2 bay leaves
a little sea salt
125 g brown mushrooms, wiped and sliced
20 ml (4 tsp) redcurrant jelly
Carefully pull off the thin outer rind from each steak and then slice each into four. Heat the oil and butter in a large, deep saucepan (unless you have a very large, deep frying pan), and brown the lamb well on each side, then remove from the pan. Add the onion, the 30 ml (2 Tbsp) red wine and the sugar to the pan, and cook until the wine has evaporated and the onion has started to brown. Add the leeks and carrots (if there’s no more fat left, add a dash of water to prevent burning). Stir for a few minutes, then return the meat to the pan, sprinkle with the flour and, when that’s absorbed, add the herbs, the extra red wine, the stock, Worcestershire sauce, bay leaves and salt. Cover securely and simmer over very low heat for 1 hour, shaking the pan (or giving the contents a gentle stir) occasionally. After an hour the meat should be tender and the gravy thickened. Remove the bay leaves and herb stalks – the leaves will have fallen off – and add the mushrooms. Cover again and simmer for 15 minutes while they release their juices, then stir in the jelly and allow to melt. If time allows, cool the stew for a while and then reheat gently, for the finest flavour. Makes 4 generous servings.
PORK CHOPS WITH CIDER, APPLES AND SAGE
Cider crops up frequently in British cooking. There’s cider cake, cider pears, cider with brisket, cider with duck, cider with mussels – but in the end the marriage that seems most natural is that of cider with pork. Add in some apples, fresh sage and a few other bits and bobs, give it all a slow-bake, and out comes a homely but very good casserole to serve with cabbage and mash.
15 ml (1 Tbsp) oil and a dab of butter
1 really large onion, sliced into thin rings
4 large pork leg chops (650–700 g), 2–2.5 cm thick, rind and excess fat removed
a little sea salt and ground cinnamon
30 ml (2 Tbsp) flour
125 ml (½ cup) hot, seasoned chicken stock
250 ml (1 cup) extra-dry cider
about 6 fresh sage leaves, roughly torn
10 ml (2 tsp) Dijon mustard
a few rinsed and chopped capers (optional)
15 ml (1 Tbsp) light honey
2 medium dessert apples (not Grannies), peeled and chopped
Heat the oil and butter in a wide frying pan. Add the onion and cook until just beginning to colour – adding a pinch of sugar helps. Transfer to a baking dish just big enough to take the chops in a single layer, and deep enough to hold the sauce. Spread the onions over the base. In the pan, fry the chops on both sides; keep the heat to medium (high heat toughens pork chops) and remove when they’re lightly toasted in colour. Place on top of the onions and sprinkle with salt and a little cinnamon. Stir the flour into the pan drippings (if there aren’t any, add a spoon of oil or butter) and, when it starts to colour, add the stock and the cider. Bring to the boil, stirring vigorously to smooth out any lumps, then remove from the heat. Add the remaining ingredients and slowly pour over the chops, tucking the diced apples wherever there’s room in between. Cover the dish with greaseproof (not waxed) paper and then with foil, and bake just below the centre of the oven at 160 °C. (Bake the potatoes for the mash at the same time.) Leave the casserole alone for 1½ hours, then turn the chops. Re-cover, and bake for a further 30 minutes, or until the chops are very tender in a savoury gravy, remembering that they’re thick, and have little bone to conduct the heat, so they might take longer than you would expect. Serves 4.
There was a time when, in order to make syllabub, you had to milk a cow into a bowl. There’s a lot more to the story, but suffice it to say that dozens of new versions of this dessert have evolved over the years, both in and outside of England, and you no longer need a cow in order to make it. But the basics are almost always a tipple of alcohol and a lot of cream, and this version, incorporating berries and liqueur, is superb. Presentation is important, but apart from that it’s one of the easiest, most luscious, do-ahead desserts imaginable.
400–450 g sweet, ripe strawberries
60 ml (¼ cup) castor sugar
60 ml (¼ cup) Amaretto liqueur
a squeeze, about 5 ml (1 tsp), fresh lemon juice
a little milled black pepper (optional)
250 ml (1 cup) thick cream
15 ml (1 Tbsp) icing sugar
toasted almond flakes for topping
Rinse, hull and dry the strawberries, then thinly slice them. Spread out in a large, shallow bowl, sprinkle with the castor sugar, liqueur and lemon juice, and cover and macerate for about 1 hour. By this time lovely juices will have been drawn. Carefully pour them off – you should have almost 125 ml (½ cup) – and set aside. Spoon the strawberries into 6 red wine glasses – use glasses (or goblets for that matter) that are roundish rather than longish. If using the pepper, give a quick twist over each nest of berries – just a little. Whip the cream lightly, adding the icing sugar as you go. Slowly drizzle in the reserved juices and whip until thickish – firmer than floppy, but not stiff. Spoon over the berries; there’s heaps of cream so you’ll be able to pile it high. (In fact, there’s enough for another helping of berries.) Sprinkle generously with almond flakes. Place the glasses on a flat tray so that they don’t fall over, and transfer to the coldest part of the fridge for the rest of the day (6–8 hours). By serving time, the cream should have just started to melt and trickle down to the berries. Eat with small spoons. Serves 6.
This is neither a mousse nor a trifle, but there are elements of both in this dreamy combination of chocolate and cream softly set on a base of sliced swiss roll moistened with coffee and liqueur. It makes a special-occasion, party-sized dessert, to serve in wedges with ribbons of a fruity coulis as the perfect foil. Fresh strawberries whizzed with a touch of sugar are super, while lightly poached pears blended to a smooth purée are just as good with the chocolate-coffee flavours.
1 jam-filled chocolate swiss roll (about 450 g)
125 ml (½ cup) warm, medium-strength black coffee
20 ml (4 tsp) quality coffee liqueur, e.g. Kahlúa
200 g dark chocolate
3 XL free-range egg whites
45 ml (3 Tbsp) castor sugar
250 ml (1 cup) cream
30 ml (2 Tbsp) icing sugar
a few drops of vanilla essence
chocolate scrolls to decorate (optional)
Cut the swiss roll into 1.5 cm thick slices and squish them in to fit tightly into a large, 25 cm diameter pie dish. Mix the coffee and liqueur and drizzle over evenly. Smear a small heatproof bowl with butter, add the broken-up chocolate and place over simmering water. Don’t try to melt the chocolate; the blocks should just soften completely. Cool slightly. Meanwhile, whisk the egg whites until stiff, slowly add the castor sugar and whisk to a stiff meringue. Slowly add the soft chocolate in small dollops, whisking all the time. By the time it has all been incorporated, the meringue will have deflated somewhat – this is correct. Without washing the beaters, whisk the cream, icing sugar and vanilla essence until stiff. Gently fold into the chocolate-meringue, and pour over the swiss roll base. Use a spatula to spread evenly, then immediately place in the coldest part of the refrigerator and leave to firm up, loosely covered, for 24 hours before serving. Sprinkle with chocolate scrolls, if using, slice into thin wedges and use a spatula to transfer to serving plates. Drizzle coulis alongside, and serve immediately. Serves 10–12.
This is a sweetly nostalgic pud, closely related to Eve’s Pudding – the traditional, homely, sponge-topped apple dessert – but presented here with a few twists: pears with the apples, cinnamon and almonds in the topping. Serve warm, after supper, with thick cream, crème fraîche or vanilla ice cream, or at room temperature, sliced into wedges, for high tea.
500 g ripe Golden Delicious apples, peeled and chunkily chopped*
500 g ripe Packham’s pears, peeled and chopped*
100 ml (2/5 cup) light brown sugar
seeds from 1 vanilla pod, or a few drops of vanilla essence
30 ml (2 Tbsp) water
125 g soft butter
100 ml (2/5 cup) castor sugar
2 large free-range eggs
250 ml (1 cup) self-raising flour
a pinch of sea salt
7 ml (1½ tsp) ground cinnamon
60 ml (4 Tbsp) ground almonds
30 ml (2 Tbsp) hot water
Stew the apples and pears with the brown sugar and vanilla in 30 ml (2 Tbsp) water until soft. Keep the heat low so that the fruit will release its juices – about 12 minutes should do if the fruit is sweet and ripe. Spoon into a lightly buttered pie dish, 23 cm in diameter and about 5 cm deep, adding any juices. Cream the butter and castor sugar until pale and fluffy, then whisk in the eggs, one at a time, adding a pinch of flour with each egg. Sift in the flour, salt and cinnamon, and fold into the butter mixture along with the almonds. The batter will be thick and should now be lightened by folding in the hot water. Don’t try to spread this over the fruit, just drop it all over, in big dollops – it will spread during the baking. Bake at 180 °C for 35–40 minutes until golden brown and puffed up, with just a hole or a crack here and there with a bit of fruit peeking through. Serve warm, rather than hot. If serving at room temperature it will be easy to slice into wedges, as the sponge gradually absorbs the juices. Serves 6–8.
* Try to use these varieties, as they provide the correct texture and sweetness.
This is not simply your ordinary boiled fruit cake. The marriage between Earl Grey and nature’s nectar from the mountains of the Cape makes it just that little bit different. It’s a sweet, dense, almond-topped cake which – for a boiled cake – looks quite grand.
125 g butter, cubed
250 ml (1 cup) light brown sugar
250 ml (1 cup) water
500 g fruit cake mix
juice and grated rind of 1 lime or ½ small lemon
5 ml (1 tsp) bicarbonate of soda
3 Importers Rooibos Earl Grey sachets
2 XL free-range eggs
5 ml (1 tsp) vanilla essence
30 ml (2 Tbsp) brandy
60 ml (¼ cup) chopped glacé cherries
250 ml (1 cup) cake flour
250 ml (1 cup) self-raising flour
1 ml (¼ tsp) sea salt
2 ml (½ tsp) each ground cinnamon, mixed spice and grated nutmeg
whole blanched almonds for topping
Place the butter, sugar, water, fruit cake mix, lime juice and rind, bicarbonate of soda and tea sachets into a large, deep saucepan (because the bicarb fizzes). Bring to the boil, stirring, then simmer gently, half-covered, for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the stove, then use a wooden spoon to press down gently on the sachets in order to release all the flavour (being careful not to break them). Leave the mixture to cool completely. Discard the tea sachets. Whisk the eggs with the vanilla and brandy and add, with the cherries, to the cold fruit mixture. Sift the flours, salt and spices, then fold into the fruit mixture. (Use a large mixing bowl to combine everything properly.) Turn the mixture into a 22 x 6 cm cake tin*, first oiled and then lined, base and sides, with baking paper. Spread evenly, and then top with almonds, like a Dundee cake. Bake on the middle shelf of the oven at 160 °C for 1¼ hours. The cake won’t rise much due to the abundance of fruit, but should be richly browned. Test with a skewer and, if done, stand for 30 minutes before turning out carefully. Remove the paper and cool, almond side up. Store in an airtight container for a day or two before cutting.
* For a plumper cake, use a 20 cm tin, and allow extra baking time.