The solstice fruitcake offensive

E suggested the title of this post because it has felt like making my solstice cake has been like planning a military operation. We ate it yesterday after it had sat in the cupboard for 2 long weeks. It feels like this cake has required much more preparation than my usual cakes. It has been helped unexpectedly by my purchase of both new and secondhand books.

When AOF asked bloggers to bake a solstice cake, I knew this was a great chance to try my hand at a proper fruit cake. My mum has made fruit cakes since I can remember but I thought they were a bit boring compared to other cakes (ie chocolate!). Fruit cakes were merely about decoration. But times have changed and I have grown to love the complexity in a rich soft fruit cake packed with dried fruit. I recommend that you read AOF’s delightful post about putting on her apron and immersing herself in the ritual. It really is about process as much as taste. And feeling like a domestic goddess.

The only time I have made a proper fruit cake was when I was 14 years old. We baked a fruit cake in our home economics class at high school and then decorated it. I mainly remember the decoration and that our cake had to have flat surfaces and square corners so that the icing would hold. I learnt tricks about patching the holes and wrinkles with a little icing. A layer of marzipan and then of royal icing – from the shops – must result in a smooth white expanse like a blank artist's canvas, waiting to be decorated. To do this well takes a little skill and a lot of patience. We were taught some basic piping, moulding and flooding techniques.

I loved it so much that for years I would ice my mother’s Christmas cakes. While she baked goodies for the holiday season, I would happily busy myself at the kitchen table with my piping equipment, my colours and new ideas. As my life got busier I struggled to find time to quickly slap some layers of icing onto the cake and place a few plastic decorations on top. But my mum always baked the fruit cake (and continues to do so each year).

So the idea of baking my own fruit cake was a little intimidating. I have vague memories of problems I needed to watch for. I remember that lining the tin in important. Proper fruit cake bakes a lot longer than my usual cakes and I was aware that it is all too easy for them to be too dry on the outside and too soft inside. I discussed lining the tin with my mum and my grandmother. We consulted Cookery the Australian Way (which was my home economics text book but my mother’s beloved copy is more modern).

After these consultations, I decided a couple of layers of newspaper outside, and a couple of layers of brown paper (which I got by cutting up a brown paper bag from favourite local bookstore, Readings) and couple of baking paper in the tin. If you are a cake decorator, the lining the tin is also important to make sure there are no creases in the paper. It was quite tricky lining a round tin and I partly chose a square tin because it is so much easier. As I was not planning to ice it, my main problem was tying the newspaper around the outside of the tin. Luckily E was on hand to help as it was a two person job, holding the paper on and tying it.

Finding a recipe was easy. I have a chocolate fruit cake recipe I wrote out a few years ago which looked delicious. It uses real chocolate not cocoa (unlike Nigella). Next challenge was the fruit. Firstly buying it and then remembering to soak it. One thing about fruit cake that doesn’t interest me is that combination of sultanas, raisins and glace cherries.

I found a recipe by David Lebowitz for Chocolate Cherry Fruit Cake which is not really fruit cake but did make me decide to use dried cherries rather than glace. This prompted a search which I have already written about but since making the cake I have found local unsweetened dried cherries being sold in the health food shop at Cowes in Philip Island.

I did use some raisins and sultanas but also raided my kitchen cupboards to use up some dried fruit hanging around like blueberries, figs, prunes and apricots. But any dried fruit would be fine. I also took the opportunity to use up the last of my glace orange and some cocoa nibs and still used a little less fruit than the recipe required. Similarly any fortified alcohol can be used. I used up some very expensive whisky, some cheap port and duty free Cointreau from our liqueur collection, rather than heading out to buy brandy or rum.

Baking the cake was a delight. Once the fruit is soaked, it is easy to do if you are used to baking cake - cream butter and sugar, breaking eggs, melting chocolate and folding in flour are fairly common techniques. The only difference between this and other cake recipes is the huge amount of fruit. Then you just bake it for hours which means the kitchen smells heavenly. It took great self-discipline to wrap it up and store it for two weeks before eating. But I managed it.

My plan was to serve it at a solstice dinner party. Yarrow came over to help cook and so I enlisted his help with decoration. I didn’t want to do marzipan and royal icing because while they are fun to play with, I don’t like the taste much (but I would love marzipan in a fruit cake like Lucy’s). I saw Hippolyra’s chocolate covered candied orange peel and thought it would look wonderful piled on my cake. But it is very time consuming to make.

Yaz found a couple of candied kumquats while shopping so we used them and we took our inspiration from a Marguerite Patten book that I bought for $1 at the Trash and Treasure in Cowes on our break in Philip Island. We halved the kumquats and cut each half into into five wedges which we used to make a flower with a glace cherry (making me thankful I didn’t put them in the cake) into the middle of each flower. We also cut a star and some glints of shining light. A more traditional type would do this on the snowy whiteness of royal icing but I like the darkness of our design with just a little icing sugar sifted around the edges.

Finally after the long wait, we tasted it after dinner last night. Traditionally a fruit cake is served in small slices with a cuppa for afternoon tea or for supper. But as part of a meal, it seemed to need something else. Yarrow and E agreed with each other that it would be great served with custard but I thought this would make it a pudding. I had decided it should be served with a wintery fruit platter. I had mandarin, pear, persimmon and half a pomegranate. Yarrow did the design work. After turning up their noses at the idea of fruit, E and Yaz found it pleasing.

And the verdict? Did the cake taste as good as it smelled? Was it worth the effort? Oh yes! It was rich, dark, moist and melt-in-the-mouth as good fruit cakes are. I almost wondered if it should have been longer in the oven but it does not taste uncooked. It had the tartness of dried apricots, the seediness of figs and the occasional crunch of cocoa nibs. We couldn’t taste the chocolate so Yaz accused me of squandering it. But I disagreed. I believe it contributed to the richness and depth of flavours. I did wonder if it was a good use of costly dried cherries and blueberries as they didn’t jump out at me but again I think they added to the complexity of textures and flavours.

This is a cake for sharing. It is too large and rich to be eaten all alone so I am glad to have those who are eager to partake. E has declared he will happily eat a piece after dinner. Yaz took away a slab. Next weekend when I go to Geelong I will take some to my mum and dad. Apparently, it will last for months if wrapped properly, but who wants to wait that long.

I am grateful to AOF for the inspiration to make such a wonderful cake. I probably wouldn’t make it often because it is more expensive and time consuming than usual. But it is great for a special occasion. Head over to Confessions of a Food Nazi after 25 June to drool over the round up of 2008 Solstice Cakes.

Chocolate Fruit Cake
(adapted from a Sunbeam advertisement)

375g raisins*
295g sultanas*
250g prunes, chopped*
170g dried figs, chopped*
145g dried apricots, chopped*
80g dried cherries*
80g currants*
75g dried blueberries*
35g cocoa nibs*
20g glaced orange, chopped*
125ml Cointreau*
100ml cup port*
25ml whisky*
250g butter
1½ cups dark brown sugar
2 tsp vanilla
4 x 60g eggs
200g dark chocolate
½ cup apricot nectar
½ cup apricot jam
2 cup plain white flour
½ cup self raising wholemeal flour
1 tsp cinnamon
2 tsp mixed spice

* Use any combination of dried fruit and alcohol depending on personal taste and what is in your pantry.

Mix dried fruit and alcohol in a large mixing bowl and cover (with a dinner plate). Leave to soak at least 1 hour but preferably overnight.

Once fruit is soaked, line a square 23cm cake tin (or two smaller tins) with a double layer of brown paper (I find brown paper bags useful as I don’t have a roll of brown paper in my house) and a double layer of baking paper. Use string to tie two layers of newspaper around the outside of the tin. Preheat oven to 160 C.

In a medium mixing bowl, beat butter, sugar and vanilla til creamy. Add eggs one at a time and beat after each addition. Pour eggy mixture into the large bowl of boozy dried fruit and mix well.

Melt chocolate. Stir in jam and nectar. Pour into fruit mixture and stir well. Fold in flours and spices til combined.

Tip cake mixture into the prepared tin. Smooth top and tap tin to remove air bubbles. Bake for 2½ to 3½ hours (2 – 3 for smaller tins) til a skewer comes out clean. I turned off the oven and cooled in the oven in the tin overnight.

To store wrap in clingfilm or foil and place in an airtight container in the fridge or cupboard for months. (Mine has been in tissue paper and a teatowel in the cupboard for two weeks – but my mum says tissue paper can soak up the moisture.) Marguerite Patten also advises that a fruit cake will remain moist if you keep a piece of apple in the tin with it.

The recipe says to serve with a dusting of icing sugar. This cake would be fine to cover in marzipan and royal icing. We used candied fruit to decorate, brushed the cake with the sticky syrup from the fruit and dusted the corners with icing sugar.

On the stereo:
Black Angel – Live! Death in June

Pumpkin in a Smoothie!

Recently stumbled across the idea of pumpkin in a smoothie. Crazy idea but it just might work.

Apricot nectar leftover from making my solstice cake. Must be used.

Picked up frozen raspberries at the supermarket. Wish they were in season.

Yaz visits for lunch bringing some of his haul of cheap bananas. Might as well throw one in.

Served in one of the new neofolk glasses I received from Will a few weeks back. Love them!

Deliciously sweet and thick. Highly recommended.

Raspberry, Apricot and Pumpkin Smoothie
Serves 3

Blend:

125g pumpkin, peeled, microwaved til soft and cooled
1 cup apricot nectar
1 cup frozen raspberries
1 banana, peeled and broken up

I am sending this to Jeanne at Cooksister for Waiter There's Something in My ... Berries.

On the Stereo:
Son of Evil Reindeer: The Reindeer Selection

Novel Food 4: Drowned Broccoli

Food is so integral to our lives that it is easy to not even notice it. A self-confessed bibliophile, I find it difficult to rise to the challenge of cooking something relating to the literary world because I often don’t remember the food.

But when I saw that Simona of Briciole and Lisa of Champaign Taste are holding the Novel Food event again this month, I kept thinking about a moment in a novel I read some months ago, a moment that illustrated just what it is about literary food that makes it so easy to overlook.

The book is the Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards. It is a beautifully written novel that tells the story of twins being born in 1964. The father, David, a doctor who delivers the twins, sees that his daughter has Down’s Syndrome and asks his nurse to take her to a home. Instead the nurse takes her to another town to raise as her own. David tells his wife, Nora, that their daughter has died.

Early in the novel, the sorrow of the mother’s loss has an impact on the relationship with her husband and her surviving son. The joy of new life and the depths of her grief are tangled up in confusion that means that nothing can be straightforward any more:

She kept on driving on the same narrow rainy streets, back to their old house, where she had decorated the nursery with such innocent hope, where she’d sat nursing Paul in the dark. She and David had agreed about the wisdom of moving away, but the truth was she could not bear the idea of selling this place. She still went there almost every day. Whatever life her daughter had known, whatever Nora had experienced of her daughter, had happened in that house. (p 83)

On their wedding anniversary, Nora cooks David his favourite meal but he gets caught up at work and is late home. She has organized for her sister to babysit and finds herself alone in the house, waiting to serve dinner that is growing cold and drying out:

It was after eight o’clock. The world had softened at the edges. She went back to the kitchen and stood at the stove, picking at the dried pork. She ate one of the potatoes straight from the pan, smashing it into the drippings with her fork. The broccoli cheese dish had curdled and was beginning to dry. (p 80)

The abandoned dinner has more meaning that just an empty stomach. It is not enough to just eat it. Nora is waiting to share it with her husband because the meal was made in search of romance and connection. To fail to arrive home for dinner shows a disregard for the woman’s cooking, her homemaking and her love. The food symbolises a hunger for attention and love. But it is the minute details of what she is eating that makes Nora seems real to the reader because it helps to create such a vivid picture of a moment in time.

As a vegetarian, I wouldn’t cook a traditional roast pork dinner but I was struck by the broccoli cheese and decided I would cook this for the event. However I have already posted about cauliflower cheese which is a standard side dish from my childhood. I wanted something a bit different to a cheese sauce poured over broccoli. After browsing some cookbooks, the options were broccoli with breadcrumbs and brie, broccoli cooked with a sauce made from a campbells’ soup and a Sicilian drowned broccoli. The last one piqued my interest.

I found it on a website called FX Cuisine.Com that had some interesting dishes. This one is from Catania in Sicily where it is called broccoli affogati, which translates as drowned broccoli. The broccoli is drowned in red wine. I was particularly delighted with the onions in the dish that turn a pleasing purple.

My version was a little lacking in seasoning. Fortunately I served it with some pumpkin chutney that perked it up but I have added a little sugar in the recipe to compensate. When I re-read the comments I noticed some discussion on how different type of wine affected the taste and thought maybe the cheap cab sav lacked a certain Silician style.

I would recommend this as an interesting way to eat broccoli. I suspect that Nora would have found it an exotic dish. But as in many of the older recipes I have encountered in looking at historic cookbooks recently, this is a traditional recipe with measurements that should be altered to suit each person. I suspect Nora would have understood this. After all, one of the messages of the Memory Keeper’s Daughter is that each individual is different. We all react to sorrow and hardship differently and similarly we find strength in different ways to help us cope.

Sicilian Drowned Broccoli
(from FX Cuisine)
Serves 2

1 tbsp olive oil
1 head of broccoli, cut into florets
1 small red onion, thinly sliced
½ cup water
½ cup red wine (preferably Sicilian but I used a cab sav)
¼ tsp sugar or sweetener (optional)
100g shaved or grated pecorino or parmesan cheese

Heat oil in a medium saucepan and fry onions until soft but not brown. Add broccoli and stir one minute. Add water and bring to boil (I think this is what ‘ebullition’ means). Add wine and bring to boil. Cover and simmer about 15 minutes or til broccoli is just tender. Remove from the heat. Add cheese and toss with broccoli til cheese is just melting. Taste and add some sugar or more salty cheese as required. Serve as light meal with good toast, or as side dish or over pasta or crepes.

On the Stereo:
Scavenger: Walkabouts

Great Stew of Darkness!

As we approach the winter solstice, I delight in the nights getting darker earlier. It is as irrational as my sister’s love of nighttime traffic jams, but I love the gleam of the streetlight emerging from the gloom of a wet road. Leaving work, I rush home to burn the lights brightly and feel the warm blast of the heater. Peering out the window, all is formless and black. Ugliness fades. Beauty surrenders. The shadows are full of mysteries. Darkness hides a myriad of faults and promises many wonders.

So too does dark food fascinate us. Only in the depths of winter do we really crave food that is unbelievably rich and complex in flavour. A slice of pumpernickel bread, a lick of promite, a glass of port and a slab of rich chocolate cake fill a need. Reluctant to venture outdoors, we embrace such comforts.

For me, such winter food brings to mind the dark rich meaty stews simmering gently in my mum’s oven when we came in from school. The house would fill with the intense aromas. As a vegetarian, it is harder to find such dark pleasures in winter stews. But after years of eschewing meat that I have started to discover pleasingly rich stews of vegetables and legumes.

The key agents of darkness seem to be molasses, cocoa and mushrooms. All were present in the stew I made last night upon returning from holidays in grave need of vegetables and protein. It was simple, nutritious, intensely flavoured and black as the night. Most pleasing was taking it out of the oven and finding a dark stew which was starting to crust around the edges. It is full of vegetables but many dissolve into the murky undercurrents. I have been told by E that not only is it delicious but it is also very neofolk!

I am sending this stew to Carrie at Ginger Lemon Girl who is hosting this month's "Go Ahead Honey It's Gluten Free" blogging event, started by Naomi at Straight into Bed Cakefree and Dried. The theme is one pot meals. In the spirit of the event, I have tried to note the ingredients to watch are gluten free if cooking for a GF diet.

Dark Lentil and Vegetable Stew
(adapted from Vegan by Tony Weston and Yvonne Bishop via Zlamushka’s Spicy Kitchen)
serves 4

- 2 medium potatoes, cut into chunks
- 20 g dried mushroom (I used shitake but would like to try porcini) broken in pieces
- 190 g lentils (I used green lentils)
- 900 ml vegetable stock*
- 125 g mushroom (I used button mushrooms), sliced
- 1 red onion, sliced
- 1 carrot, diced
- 1 parsnip, diced
- 170 g cabbage (I used red cabbage), diced
- 1 zucchini, diced
- 140 g frozen peas
- bouquet garni (I tied together bay leave, sprig of thyme and sprig of parsley but this is optional)
- 2 heaped tsp cornflour*
- 2 tsp cocoa
- 2 tsp vegetable stock powder*
- 1 tbsp blackstrap molasses
- 1 tsp yeast extract* or flakes (I used promite but vegemite would also work)
- 2 tbsp tomato puree
- 125 ml dry sherry (or dry red wine)
- Lots of black pepper
- Small handful fresh parsley, chopped, to serve
- Nutritional yeast flakes or grated parmesan cheese, to serve
* For gluten free diets, check these items are gluten free

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees (350F).

Place all vegies, lentils, bouquet garni and vegetable stock into a large stockpot (preferably ovenproof). Bring to the boil and simmer for 15 minutes.

While vegetables are simmering, mix the cornflour, stock powder, yeast extract, cocoa in a small bowl. Gradually mix in the molasses, tomato sauce and then the wine.

Mix molasses mixture into the vegetables and bring to the boil. The stew should thicken slightly. If not then simmer for a few minutes til it does thicken. Remove from the heat. If you are not using an ovenproof dish, pour into a baking dish. Check seasoning (I found it a little on the sweet side and needed lots of pepper and some added salt).

Bake for 30 minutes. Remove bouquet garni if using. Garnish with parsley and yeast flakes or cheese. Serve as is or with mashed vegetables, rice or toast.

On the stereo:The Great Rock and Roll Swindle: The Sex Pistols

The pitfalls of pumpkin bread

We are returned from a relaxing break on Philip Island (which I will write about soon). It was not a foodie paradise and I am yearning for some nice bread. When I went over the street for groceries when we returned I refused to buy bread from the supermarket because I feel like I have been deprived and need something special. I am hoping I might find something suitably pleasing at lunchtime tomorrow.

But meanwhile I have happy memories of a pumpkin bread I made a couple of weekends ago. Like many of my bread-making adventures lately, making it caused much angst and wonder at the recipe, but proved to be most enjoyable to eat.

I feel a bit vague in posting it because I think I jotted down the recipe from Cranks Bible but it is a few years ago now so I am not quite sure. And I thought I made some notes about making it but they have disappeared so I am straining my memory.

My main memory is of the problems. Firstly boiling the milk was a challenge. Sounds so simple. Perhaps because it is connected to my childhood when things were so much less complicated than today. In winter my mum would heat milk to serve on our weetbix (cereal). I particularly loved brown sugar on mine so that when the milk was poured over it, the sugar went brown and gooey and reminded me of chocolate. Some things never change. But I hated milk skin. I am sure you know the skin that forms over boiled milk which reminded me of ripping skin off a sunburnt back. (I might still love chocolate but I get sunburnt much less these days, I am happy to report.)

So boiling the milk brought back some good childhood memories and also a few phobias. But I decided I would need to just cope with the milk skin. In fact, once the milk boiled down, the skin seemed to have become part of it. But I will be avoiding such reducing of milk by simmering in future, if possible. I did it just after I had cleaned the stovetop and the milk kept boiling over onto my clean stove. Grrrr! I actually cleaned around the gas burners a few times while reducing the milk in an effort to keep the stove clean. Makes me wonder why they call these little saucepans 'milk saucepans'. Seems cruelly misleading to unwitting bakers like myself with nice clean stoves.

I found the dough firstly too dry and had to add more liquid than suggested in the recipe. Then it was too soft once I started kneading it due to the chunks of cooked pumpkin in the dough. My hands were a mess by the time I finished the kneading.

All was forgiven once we had the lovely fresh, slightly orange coloured bread. Not huge loaves but delicious. I have tried to write a few of my personal notes in the recipe as a reminder to me and a warning to others.

I have also included photos of the loaf freshly cut and when it was cut when cold to show that it is my impatience rather than my ineptitude that makes it look soggy in the middle. And while I am telling you about my photos, you might notice the difference in colour which is because one is taken in a warm cosy night night and then other the next morning in cool wintery daylight. Plus, I can tell you that taking a photo of the milk boiling was risking it running over onto my clean stovetop yet again but the lacy bubbles were delightful to watch.

Lastly, I admit this recipe has hung around too long because I find bread recipes are quite complicated to write up. So I kept going onto the next recipe that was speedy to write. But I am really loving baking more bread than usual this winter and hope to continue to do so. I dream of finding a perfect bread recipe I can do again and again but my reality is that I am always finding something new to interest me so I anticipate writing a few more lengthy recipes before spring arrives. And that isn’t such a bad thing!

Pumpkin bread
(from Cranks Bible)
Makes 2 medium loaves

600g pumpkin, peeled ad cut into 2cm pieces
Olive oil
400ml milk
20g fresh yeast or 3 tsp dried yeast
50-175ml warm water
200g strong wholemeal flour
600g strong white flour
1 tsp sea salt
Fresh ground pepper
Pumpkin seeds for topping

Preheat oven to 200 C. Place pumpkin in a roasting dish and drizzle with a little olive oil and sprinkle with a pinch of salt. Roast for about 30-60 minutes till tender and just starting to brown. Set aside to cool a little. If desired mash roughly before adding to flour (I will be tempted to do this next time I think).

While pumpkin is roasting, bring milk to boil in a small saucepan. The saucepan shouldn’t be too small as the milk boils over very easily. Reduce heat and softly simmer until milk has reduced by half. This took me quite a while and I had to tip it into my measuring jug to check how much it had reduced and then back to saucepan to simmer a bit more. Cool to lukewarm.

Dissolve yeast in water and mix into milk. Place flours, salt and pepper in a large mixing bowl and add milk mixture and roasted pumpkin. Add enough water (recipe said 50ml but I needed about 175ml) to make a soft dough and knead for 5 minutes. The recipe says to knead but leave some chunks of pumpkin. (This just didn’t work well for me but I did like the idea of chunks of pumpkin in a bread and may try again.) Add more flour if needed as you knead, especially if you have chunks of pumpkin squishing into your hands as you knead.

Place in oiled bowl, cover and leave in a warm place to double in size for about 1 hour. When risen, punch down and divide in two. Make into long sausages and place in two greased loaf tins.

Cover, place in a warm place to rise for about 40-60 minutes until doubled in size. Preheat oven to 180 C. Brush loaves with water or milk and sprinkle with pumpkin seeds. Bake 20 minutes or until golden and hollow when tapped. (Mine took about 30 minutes). Cool on a wire rack.

On the stereo
Pulp Intro: Pulp

Choc Honey Muffins

I had these muffins at Yarrow’s place a few weeks back when we were baking bagels. We whipped them up while we were waiting for the dough to rise. They were so easy that I didn’t wonder he didn’t bother to collect other muffin recipes! These tasted so good – soft moist cake without being fudgy. I asked for the recipe and made them this week with equally pleasing results.

What surprised me was how flavorsome and intense the honey was. As a child it was a treat to have honey on fresh white bread and butter. I still indulge in it from time and time and get so amazed that honey is so delicious that I find myself licking it off my finger. But it is more than that. Honey also brings back my childhood.

Thinking about it, it is not only that it we ate it on bread or toast, but that it is such an integral part of our culture. The song that keeps coming to mind is ‘Honey Honey’ by Abba. The lines ‘I don't wanna hurt you, baby, I don't wanna see you cry / So stay on the ground, girl, you better not get too high’ always made me think of a father talking to a little girl climbing a tree. (Now that I am older and more cynical, it sounds a bit like a sleazy old man.)

‘Honey’ is a common endearment because sweet is not just about taste but about temperament. This is why musos love the word. The Archies also sang ‘sugar, ah honey honey, you are my candygirl..’ One of Billie Piper’s hits in the UK was ‘Honey from the Bee’. Jesus and Mary Chain sang ‘Just Like Honey’. The Beatles had a song called Honey Pie’. And Van Morrison sang the weirdly named ‘Tupelo Honey’. E is very helpful in thinking about honey in song lyrics and even tells me that Tupelo is a place but I digress.

As a child, references to honey were common. We all knew that the Queen was in the parlour / eating bread and honey. Trixie Belden’s best friend was called Honey. And Lucy recently reminded me of everyone’s favourite honey lover, Pooh Bear.

So I believe that these muffins appealed to me not just for their wonderful taste, but also because they touched on a seam of nostalgia that runs through my dietary landscape. The only warning I will give about them is to beware the temptation to have more than one. Yaz tells me I am not the only one to fall into this trap. They are so very very good. I will be making these again and E is already looking forward to it.

[NB - the top photo is of one of Yaz's muffins which were so good. In my excitment about the freshly baked muffins most of the photos I took were blurry. I also wanted to say I will probably be a bit quiet for a few days because we are having holidays for a few days. I had intended to post something else tomorrow morning but am feeling too disorganised to think I will find the time.]

PS - while on holiday I kept thinking of The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton and the Pop Biscuits which go pop and fill your mouth with honey. Yet another childhood comfort connected to honey!

Choc Honey Muffins
Makes 48 mini muffins

½ cup (125g) butter
½ cup honey
2 eggs
1 cup plain yoghurt
Not quite two cups self-raising flour
¼ cup of cocoa
200g (1 generous cup) dark choc chips

Melt butter and honey together. I did this in the microwave in a large microwave proof bowl. You can also do this on the stovetop in a medium saucepan. Add yoghurt and beaten eggs. Gently fold in flour and cocoa, and then stir in choc chips towards the end of mixing. Bake in lined muffin trays at 200 degrees for twenty minutes, or fifteen if using mini muffins trays.

On the stereo:Twilight Rituals: T.A.C.

The Best Rice Pudding Ever!

Recently I found an enticing recipe for a rich Nigel Slater recipe in the Observer Food Monthly, a baked creamy pudding that took my fancy. It is just his sort of British comfort food. In Toast he write of his love for his mother’s version which had to be sipped like a broth rather than a creamy risotto texture: ‘Warm sweet milk was what a mother should smell of,’ he writes.

When I was little, my mum frequently made sweet milky, soft rice pudding with plump raisins. She served it with cold milk and granular sugar. I thought it was what everyone ate. Then I discovered Chocolate Rice Pudding.

This is not rice pudding the way your mother made it. It is not cozy cottages, hot water bottles and slippers warming by the fire. You wouldn’t find it in an Enid Blyton story or an Ealing comedy. No one would be mumbling ‘mustn’t grumble’ because they’d be too busy telling each other it was ‘fabulous dahling, mwah mwah!’

Everything tastes better with chocolate and when you make this the proof is indeed in the pudding. This is dark, rich, creamy and better than I ever could have imagined rice pudding could be.

This is a fine choice for when your vegan and gluten free friends dine with you. My advice is: don’t serve this with a mole-style chilli non carne, don’t buy cream to serve it with but forget to buy milk, and don’t feel the need to be generous with this rich dessert. Be creative with garnishes. It is a great way to use cocoa nibs if you have some about. I would love to serve it with baked fruit. But however you serve it, you won’t regret encountering this delicious, indulgent and surprisingly easy dessert.

Chocolate rice pudding
(adapted from The New Vegan Cookbook by Lorna Sass)
Serves 4

1¾ cup water
pinch salt
½ cup arborio rice (or white short grain rice)
1¼ cup soy milk (I used ¾ cup low fat milk, ¼ cup water, ¼ cup cream)
¼ cup plus 1 tbsp cocoa (I used dutch cocoa)
¼ cup packed brown sugar
2 tbsp almond or cashew nut butter
1 tsp ground wattleseed (or instant coffee) – optional
pinch cinnamon
optional garnishes – blueberries, cocoa nibs, choc bits

Bring water and to the boil in a small-medium saucepan. Add rice and simmer on low heat with the lid on for about 20-30 minutes (it took me 20) or til rice is soft and water is absorbed.

While rice is cooking blend milk, cocoa, sugar, nut butter, wattleseed and cinnamon til smooth. Taste and add more sugar or more cocoa as desired. (The recipe heeds that the sweetness is slightly diminished when the mixture is added to the rice.)

Stir the chocolate mixture into the cooked rice. Bring to boil, being careful that it doesn’t boil over, and simmer on low heat for about 5 – 10 minutes (it took me 5), stirring frequently. The recipe says to cook til pudding thickens and some rice is visible on the surface but warns it will be soupy and thicken more as it cools. I didn’t think it needed much simmering but was happy for it to be quite liquidly.

Serve immediately, or cool slightly while you eat dinner and then reheat briefly, or store in the fridge up to 4 days and reheat when ready to use. Serve garnished with blueberries, cocoa nibs and choc chips if you feel like being fancy.

On the stereo:
Under the Covers 1: 60s Pop Primer - Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs