MAB – Page 15 – Deja Food

Tunbridge Cakes

Here’s another recipe resurrection, but I’ll give you fair warning, it’s a little caraway-heavy. If you’re not a fan of the taste of caraway, then you’re not going to have a fun time.

The solution to that, of course, would be to substitute a different flavouring for the caraway – easy-peasy – aniseed or cumin if you want to keep it seedy, or lemon/orange zest to make it fresh but really, anything that appeals is fine.

ANYHOO – back to the cakes.

Despite the name, Tunbridge Cakes are actually a biscuit. In the mid nineteenth century, Alfred Romary set up a biscuit factory in the town and the biscuits were manufactured for over a hundred years. Queen Victoria was so delighted with them she awarded a royal warrant and the royal connection continued until the final batch was baked for the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer in 1981.

The advertisements for the biscuits described them as being “As thin as lace, of a flavour so delicate as to be indefinable. The clubs serve them with port, but they are also excellent with ices or at afternoon tea. Many people prefer them to sweets and chocolate. In two flavours, Sweet and Ginger.” Interestingly, there’s no mention of caraway, nor does it appear on the ingredients list on the tins, which mention only flour, butter, shortening, sugar and salt. George Read’s “The complete biscuit and gingerbread baker’s assistant” (1854) makes a distinction between ‘Water Cakes with Caraways’ and ‘Tunbridge Water Cakes’, though whether these bear any resemblance to the Romary biscuits is unclear.

Tunbridge Cakes actually go back much further than mere Victorian times. Recipe books from the early half of the nineteenth century contain several mentions of Tunbridge Cakes, although, on closer examination. they all appear to be plagiarised copies of Mrs Eliza Rundell’s 1806 recipe. The earliest printed recipe I could find just managed to sidle into the eighteenth century – John Perkins’ 1796 recipe for Tunbridge Wafer Cakes. However, in my favourite recipe collection, that of the manuscripts of The Wellcome Library, I found not one but four recipes more than one hundred years older than any I could find in print.

Sample Recipe — Source: MSMSL2, Wellcome Library Collection

Since the recipes were so similar, with only slight variations in proportions of flour, butter, sugar, eggs and seeds, baking a batch of each was the only way they could be fairly compared. I managed to scale down the recipes to a common quantity of flour, and then mixed and baked a batch of each.

It was immediately apparent that two of the batches stood out as being superior, but for different reasons. Batch A was incredibly light and delicate, friable and crumbly in texture, whilst the flavour of Batch B had that elusive je ne sais quoi deliciousness that was difficult to place, without knowing what the ingredients were. My dilemma was: I couldn’t decide which I liked better. Batch B was very heavy on the caraway seeds, but the background spices kept me coming back to nibble. The delicate texture of Batch A was a delight.

In the end I added the extra flavourings from Batch B to the mix of Batch A and baked a hybrid that seemed to being the best of both batches. If you want to try the original recipe, simply omit the optional flavourings in the ingredients listed below.

“Yes, but even after all the yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, they still don’t look very interesting” I hear you say. I know. They’ve not got much wow factor to look at, and if you’ve read this far, you might even be wondering why you should bother with them at all. So allow me to try and convince you. Firstly, their taste – the most basic quality for a recipe – they are delicious, and this should be reason enough. If you need further convincing, it would be their delicate texture: crisp, crumbly and friable. And lastly, and for me this is their most enchanting quality, their age. Late 17th century. To put this in context, contemporaneous events include the English civil war, Roundheads & Cavaliers, Oliver Cromwell, the Great Fire of London, Peter The Great crowned Czar of Russia and the Salem witch trials are conducted in Massachusetts. And this is a delicious biscuit from those times. As Sue Perkins so eloquently put it in her Foreword for my first book, it’s taste-bud time travel!

Apart from the flavourings, the other key aspect of these biscuits is their thinness. And I mean thin. Really, really thin. Like 2mm. Even though the quantity of dough is small, I strongly suggest working with just half of it at a time, so that you can really concentrate on getting the dough as thin as possible. It will become translucent when rolled thinly enough. The biscuits will then take only minutes to bake.

Tunbridge Cakes

Based on recipes in The Wellcome Library 17th century manuscripts, dated 1650-1700

113g plain flour
23g unsalted butter
34g powdered sugar
1 large egg yolk
½tsp caraway seeds
½tsp ground ginger – optional
¼tsp salt – optional
50-70ml double cream to mix

Put the flour, butter, sugar and egg yolk into a food processor and blitz together to mix.
Tip mixture into a bowl and add the caraway seeds, ginger and salt, if using.
Stir together.
Gradually add the cream until the mixture comes together into a stiff paste.,
Tip the paste out of the bowl and knead smooth. The texture should be like a firm shortcrust pastry.
Wrap in plastic and chill for 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 180°C, 160°C Fan.
Retrieve the paste from the fridge, divide in half and put one half back into the fridge to stay cool.
Lightly flour the work surface and a rolling pin and roll out the dough extremely thinly, until translucent and the work surface is visible through it.
Using a fork, dock (i.e. poke holes in) the whole surface of the paste. This is a little time consuming, but infinitely better than trying to dock the biscuits once they have been cut out.
Cut out biscuits using a plain, 8cm cutter.
Transfer the biscuits to baking sheets lined with parchment paper.
Bake for 4-6 minutes, until the edges are just beginning to brown. Check after 3 minutes and turn the baking sheet around if the biscuits are colouring unevenly.
Remove the biscuits from the baking sheet and cool on a wire rack.
Store in an airtight container.

Whitsun Cake

19th century, 20th century, Yeast

Wotchers!

Time was, we used to mark the passing of the year with festivals and their associated foods. The list of celebrations that have continued into the 21st century is a lot shorter than it used to be: pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, Simnel Cake on Mothering Sunday, Cross Buns on Good Friday are about all that remain in national consciousness.

Regionally, there are still pockets of celebration peculiar to that particular area. Whilst researching my book (shameless plug) Great British Bakes, I discovered two such celebrations with which I have a personal connection.

The first was that of Pax Cakes at King’s Capel, near Ross-on-Wye, where my father spend his final years and is now buried. Under the terms of the sixteenth century will of Lady Scudamore, cakes and ale were to be distributed to the parishioners of Hentland, Sellack and King’s Capel on Palm Sunday, to be consumed in church with the aim of fostering good will and letting the grievances of the past year be forgotten. The cakes became known as Pax Cakes and the toast/blessing was “Peace and good neighbourhood”.

The second was the celebration at Kidderminster, where I now live, held on Midsummer Eve, for all residents of Church Street. A bequest left by John Brecknell in 1778 added to an earlier bequest and provided cake for each child or unmarried woman born or living in the street. The men-folk were to gather together to oversee the distribution, and for this meeting both beer and tobacco were paid for by the bequest. Old quarrels had to be set aside in order for the meeting to proceed. Over the years, the celebration evolved into a Midsummer’s Even dinner for residents of the street, where the toast was “Peace and good neighbourhood”.

All of which leads me to this week’s recipe found in my grandmother’s cookery book. It’s for a cake to celebrate Whitsun, originating from Lincolnshire. The recipe was very insistent that, after baking, the cake be wrapped and carefully stored for “several days” in order for the flavours to mingle. The first time I made it, I dismissed this notion, as the aroma was so tantalising, and indeed, it was absolutely delicious, warm from the oven. This time I decided to follow the instructions as written, purely to compare taste. Long story short, although the cake I unwrapped this morning was nice, I still prefer the cake fresh and warm. The flavour is akin to an Eccles or Banbury cake, but with an enriched dough taking the place of pastry.

This recipe makes two, 20cm cakes. You can either do your own taste test, by eating one warm and trying the second several days later, or make just one cake by halving the recipe.

There’s no indication, other than the recipe title, what exactly this cake was meant to symbolise or celebrate, so whether you choose to make one cake or two, Peace and Good Neighbourhood to you!

Lincolnshire Whitsun Cake

Makes two 20cm diameter cakes.

170g unsalted butter
¼tsp salt
625g strong plain flour
2 sachets fast-action yeast

170g unsalted butter
300ml milk

450g currants
450g soft light brown sugar
60g butter
1 large egg yolk
2 tsp grated nutmeg
1 tsp allspice

1 large egg white for glazing
caster sugar

Grease and line with parchment paper two 20cm loose-bottom or spring-form cake tins. Tart tins are not suitable, as the sides need to be relatively high because of the cakes rising both before and during cooking.
Put the first four ingredients into the bowl of a food processor and blitz until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
Tip the mixture into a bowl.
Gently warm the butter and milk together until the butter has melted.
Allow to cool to blood temperature, then add to the flour mixture. It will form a very soft dough.
Knead for 10 minutes, then set aside to rise for 30 minutes.
Mix the fruit, sugar, yolk, butter and spices together in a saucepan and warm through until moist and the fruit soft.
After 30 minutes, divide the dough into two and then each half into four equal pieces.
Divide the fruit filling into six
Pat each piece of dough into a circle of diameter 20cm and place in the prepared tins, alternating with layers of the fruit mixture. The top layer will be of dough.
Set tins aside to rise for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 180°C, 160°C Fan.
Bake the cakes for 30 minutes, then remove and quickly brush them with the beaten egg-white and sprinkle with caster sugar.
Return to the oven and bake for a further 25-30 minutes, until the top is browned and the cakes have shrunk away from the sides of the tin a little.
Cool in the tins for 10 minutes, then remove and cool on a wire rack.
Eat warm, or wait until completely cold before wrapping tightly in foil and storing in a tin, or wrap in plastic and freeze for later.

Easter Simnel

17th century, Yeast

Wotchers!

We’re back to the history books this week, with an original Simnel recipe from the 1650s. And yes, I’m exactly a week late, since they were originally enjoyed on Mid-Lent Sunday, which has, over the years, segued into Mothering Sunday/Mothers’ Day. Still, they were popular throughout the Easter celebrations, so there’s still time to rustle some up if you feel inspired.

Three regions of Britain lay claim to strong Simnel traditions: Devizes in Wiltshire, Bury in Lancashire and Shrewsbury in Shropshire. The Devises Simnel is recorded as being star-shaped and without a crust, and the Bury Simnel is traditionally flat, but the Shrewsbury Simnel was the most popular and which went on to develop into the Easter cake we know today.

The Shrewsbury Simnel of 350 years ago was much different to the traditional almond-paste-filled cake made today. Originally, it was an enriched and fruited yeast dough wrapped in a plain, yeasted dough,and then boiled before being baked, in a method similar to the way modern bagels are made. There are similarities with today’s Scottish Black Bun, the difference being both the use of unleavened pastry and the much richer filling of the northern version.

simnel cakes — Shrewsbury Simnels, from The Book of Days, Robert Chambers, 1863, Volume 1, p3

15thC simnels — Sketches of an early Tudor Symnelle (from A Pictorial Vocabulary of the 15th Century, in “A Volume of Vocabularies! by Thomas Wright, 1857, p266)

Whilst descriptions and images of what Simnels looked like are well known, recipes have, to a great extent, been either extremely vague or pretty much guess-work, as all the original recipes have vanished over the years.

Until now.

For, as I was browsing through the digitised 17th century manuscripts of The Wellcome Library, I found a recipe for a Simnell. It’s made in the traditional manner of first boiling then baking, and someone has subsequently crossed it out, but it’s still legible and much older than anything I’ve been able to find until now, so in terms of authenticity, that’s good enough for me.

SimnelRecipe — Simnel recipe from The Wellcome Library’s digitised 17th century manuscripts collection

It’s a little sparse on quantities and details such as cooking times and temperatures, but there was enough for me to muddle along with my own interpretation. Interestingly, there’s no mention of the traditional saffron flavouring, these cakes being ‘gilded’ with egg-yolk glaze only, so maybe the use of this spice was a later development.

It also fails to mention what size these festive cakes were. There’s anecdotal evidence from several 19th century sources, that claim Shrewsbury Simnels were made in all sizes from miniature up to cushion size, and also of them being sent all over the country as gifts. One account tells of a bemused recipient using hers as a footstool, not being aware that there was a delicious cake within the double-cooked crust. I opted for pork-pie-sized cakes for a couple of reasons:

The recipe says to “take it upon the back of your hand and pinch it” – difficult for a large sized cake.
The baking instructions are “bake them as cakes or small bread” – so bread roll size rather than loaf sized.
Mention I found of cymlings or simnels in the notes of early American settlers on the local vegetation.
- In 1690, the Reverend John Banister recorded in his Natural History [of Virginia]
We plant also Cucumbers & Pompions, the common, & the Indian kind with a long narrow neck, which from them we call a Cushaw. Of Melopepones or the lesser sort of Pompions there is also great variety, all which go by the Indian name of Macocks; yet the Clypeatae are sometimes called Simnels & because these others also from the Lenten Cake of that name which some of them very much resemble.
- Earlier, in A Description of New Albion (1648), Beauchamp Plantagenet (what an AWESOME name!) observed “strawberries, mulberries, symnels, maycocks, and horns, like cucumbers” on Palmer’s Isle (now called Garrett Island) at the northern end of Chesapeake Bay.

The vegetable they both refer to is nowadays more commonly called the pattypan squash.

The recipe below will make four, individual-sized Simnels. Feel free to enrich the filling for the dough even more by adding extra fruit, spice peel, sugar, butter and eggs. The mix below, however, will make a delicately spiced and fruited tea bread that is delicious on its own as well as spread with butter and/or toasted. Provided your Simnels don’t burst their seams during baking, the hard outer dough will ensure that they keep very well for a couple of weeks.

Shrewsbury Simnels

For the plain dough:

250g white bread flour
0.5tsp salt
0.5tsp mace
0.5tsp nutmeg
0.25tsp cloves
1/2 sachet easy-blend, fast-action yeast
warm water to mix

Sift the flour, salt, spices and yeast into a bowl.
Slowly add enough warm water to bring the ingredients together into a firm dough.
Knead for 10 minutes.
Put into an oiled bowl and cover with plastic film.
Set aside to rise for 1 hour.

For the filling dough:

250g white bread flour
0.5tsp salt
0.5tsp mace
0.5tsp nutmeg
0.25tsp cloves
1/2 sachet easy-blend, fast-action yeast
1 large egg
60ml double cream
50g butter
2tbs sugar

100g raisins
100g currants

2 large egg yolks for glazing.

Sift the flour, salt, spices and yeast into a bowl.
Cut the butter into small pieces and put into a pan with the cream and the sugar.
Warm gently until the butter has melted and the sugar has dissolved
Whisk the egg and add to the warmed ingredients. NB Make sure they aren’t so hot that they cook the egg.
Add the liquid ingredients to the flour mixture and knead for 10 minutes.
Put into an oiled bowl and cover with plastic film.
Set aside to rise for 1 hour.
Put a large pan of water on the cooker to boil. I use my preserving pan. Do it now because it will take practically the whole hour to come to heat up.
When the dough has doubled in size, knead in the raisins and currants.

To assemble the cakes:

Divide the plain dough into 8 even pieces and roll each piece out thinly (3mm).
Line 4 small deep pie/tart tins with cling film. This will help turn out the finished cakes.
Use 4 pieces of plain dough to line the tart tins. Leave the excess dough hanging over the edge of the tins, as it will help in forming a good seal around the cake dough.
Chill in the fridge together with the remaining pieces of dough, which will form the lids, for 20 minutes. This chilling will firm up the dough and make it easier to form the crust on the cakes.
Divide the fruit dough into four and knead until firm and smooth. If you’ve added extra fruit or your tins are on the small side, you may need to reduce the size of the dough balls.
Remove the chilled dough from the fridge. It is best to form one cake and then place it in the hot water immediately. If left to one side while you make the other cakes, the dough will warm up, rise and potentially burst its seals.
Place a ball of fruit dough in each tin.
Moisten the edges of the dough with water and cover with one of the dough lids.
Press firmly and pinch together to form a seal around the fruit filling. Trim any excess dough.
Crimp the edges of the cake according to your own design.
Fill a large bowl with cold water.
When the water is simmering, place each cake on a skimmer and slowly lower into the water. It will sink to the bottom of the pan initially. When the cake rises, use a skimmer to gently turn it over so that the lid cooks for about a minute.
Lift the cake from the hot water and lower it gently into the bowl of cold water.
When cooled, set the cake onto a silicon sheet (so that it doesn’t stick) to dry.
Repeat for the remaining cakes.
Preheat the oven to 170°C, 150°C Fan.
Line a baking sheet with parchment.
Place the Simnels onto the baking sheet.
Brush with beaten egg-yolk to glaze.
Bake for 45-50 minutes until firm and golden. They should sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Don’t be tempted to take them out too early, even with the dip in the hot water, these will take a relatively long time to bake.
Cool on a wire rack.

Honey Bunnies

17th century, Yeast

The recipe for this dough comes from one of the many digital manuscripts made available by The Wellcome Library, and dates from 1699. The original was a bit sparse in some of the instructions (“add honey to sweeten” “what spice you will”), but I’ve experimented and come up with a version that is rich, not too sweet and delicately spiced. I specifically wanted a recipe that did not contain fruit, but feel free to throw some in if you like. Additionally, mix it up with your own spice blends.

Bun recipe from MS.3107, p28, dated circa1699, Wellcome Collection.

Honey Bunnies

Makes 12 bunny buns

450g strong, white flour – plus extra for kneading.
1 sachet easy-blend yeast
2tsp ground cinnamon
2tsp ground nutmeg
1tsp ground allspice
250ml whole milk
113g honey
113g unsalted butter
2 large eggs

Put the honey, butter and milk into a small pan and warm gently until the butter has melted and the honey dissolved.
Whisk the eggs in a bowl.
When the milk mixture has cooled to blood temperature, pour into the whisked eggs, stirring briskly.
Add the remaining ingredients to a large bowl and stir to combine.
Make a well in the centre and pour in the wet ingredients.
Stir together until the mixture comes together in a soft dough. Important: The texture of the dough depends on the moisture content of the ingredients, including that of the flour, eggs, butter and honey. It is probably going to look too wet. Don’t panic. Knead in extra flour to bring it back to a consistency with which you’re happy. It is better to have it slightly too soft, than too dry.
Knead for 10 minutes until smooth.
Cover and set to rise until doubled in size. The butter and the honey will mean that it will take longer to rise than regular bread dough, so think more in terms of 2-3 hours than just a single hour.
When risen, tip out from the bowl and press out the air.
Fold the dough together loosely and weigh it.
Cut into 12 portions. Using a digital scale will give you the greatest accuracy and therefore a more even batch overall.
Shape into buns. To help you shape the dough into bunnies, I’ve prepared a photographic how-to:

dough tail head — Divide each portion of dough into 3 – about 5g for the tail, 1/3 for the head/ears, and 2/3 for the body. Roll all three into smooth balls. Roll the medium ball into a sausage shape as above.

forming ears — Hold your hand as if you were going to do a karate chop, and roll the bottom edge of it back and forth over the sausage of dough, about 1/3 of the way from the left. The smaller portion of dough will form the head, and the remainder the ears.

Shape the 'ears' portion by flattening it slightly and adding a point at the end. It will be roughly leaf-shaped, whilst the 'head' portion remains rounded. — Shape the ‘ears’ portion by flattening it slightly and adding a point at the end. It will be roughly leaf-shaped, whilst the ‘head’ portion remains rounded.

Using a sharp knife or the edge of a scraper, divide the ears by cutting down the middle of the dough.

Shape the body. I pondered long and hard how to describe the shaping of this piece of dough, until I had a brainwave: make it into the shape of a computer mouse. Vaguely oval, with the back end higher and rounded and the front sloping downwards.

Using a little dab of water, attach the tail. Shape the two front paws by cutting approx. 1/3 of the length of the dough, dividing the front part into 2, just like with the ears.

Raw honey dough bunny — Add another dab of water to moisten and lay the head/ears onto the body.

Set the buns onto a baking sheet lined with baking parchment while the oven heats up.
Heat the oven to 180°C, 160°C Fan.
I opted not to glaze the dough, but if you prefer to, brush with milk and/or egg yolk.
Bake for 20 minutes, turning the baking tray around 180 degrees after 10 minutes to ensure even baking.
Leave cooked buns on the baking sheet and cover with a clean cloth to cool. This will help to keep the crust soft.
Eat warm, either as is or with butter.

Radnor Cranberry Tart

19th century, 20th century, Savoury Pastry

If you have an extended social life in the run-up to Christmas, and sample nothing but mince pies throughout December, by the time you get to the 25th, what with the Christmas Cake and Christmas Pudding, you can be all mince-pied out.

Also, sometimes you find yourself fancying something a little savoury at the end of a meal, and this is why this recipe is perfect. It’s simple and straightforward – just two main ingredients of fresh cranberries and juicy raisins. The raisins take the edge off the sometimes eye-popping sharpness of the cranberries and the little dash of vanilla also gives the aroma of sweetness, so only the merest sprinkle of sugar is required. It’s festively reminiscent enough of a mince pie to deserve a place on the table, its fresh-tasting, palate-cleansing, sweet but not too sweet, can be served hot or cold, but ALWAYS with a slice of cheese. I’m thinking some vintage cheddar, crumbly white Cheshire or even one of the fruited cheeses – white Stilton and apricot anyone?

It is a traditional (Welsh) border tart, ideal for Christmas – just look at that glorious colour! The original 1930s recipe in Mrs Arthur Webb’s Farmhouse Cookery didn’t specify any particular pastry, so I’m taking the opportunity to offer for your delectation and amusement, a new pastry recipe! Yes, I know I love the cornflour pastry – and I really do, both sweet and savoury versions – but I can’t resist something that has the potential to add a new arrow to my pastry quiver, as it were, and in this case, I’m really glad that I did.

It’s Eliza Acton’s 1845 recipe for cream pastry and it has my seal of approval for several reasons:

Simplicity – in its basic form, it can be whisked together with just two ingredients.
Taste – when baked, it is crisp and dry, without any hint of greasiness or stodginess.
It can be enriched with butter, but at a ratio of just 1/4 fat-to-flour, it is not as indulgent as it tastes. When enriched with butter, the texture is moving towards the flakiness of flaky pastry, yet with the ‘dryness’ and crispness of the cornflour pastry – Nom!
And on the practical side, it handles and rolls really nicely.

You can, of course, use your own favourite pastry instead.

Radnor Cranberry Tart

Eliza Acton’s Cream Pastry
This quantity makes enough for a 20cm pie.

225g plain flour
0.5tsp salt
300-450ml double cream
56g butter

Put the flour and salt into the bowl of a food processor.
With the motor running, gradually add in the cream, a little at a time, until the mixture comes together.
Tip the mixture out and knead until smooth.
Roll out the pastry into a long rectangle.
Using the same method as for Flaky Pastry, dot over half the butter.
Fold the ends over, turn the pastry 90 degrees and repeat.
Roll out one last time, and fold the ends inwards.
Wrap in plastic and chill in the fridge for 30 minutes.
Make the filling (see below).
Remove the pastry from the fridge and cut into 2 pieces (2/3 + 1/3 is about right).
Roll out the large piece and use it to line a greased, 20cm loose bottomed tart tin. Ease the pastry into the sides, rather than just stretching it by pressing down too hard. Leave the excess hanging over the edge of the tin.
Roll out the smaller piece of pastry to make the lid, and lay it onto a cutting board.
Chill both pieces of pastry in the fridge for 20 minutes. This will make sure it is relaxed and less prone to shrinkage in the oven.
By this time, the filling should be cool enough to use.
Preheat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Remove the two lots of pastry from the fridge.
Fill the lined tin with the cooled filling and smooth over.
Using a pastry brush, wet the edges of the pastry, then lay the lid across the top and press the edges together.
Trim off the excess using the back of a knife.
Crimp the edges to your liking – I used the tines of a fork to make for a good seal.
Brush the surface of the tart with milk and sprinkle with caster sugar.
Cut a steam vent in the middle of the pastry lid using a sharp knife.
Bake for 25-30 minutes until the pastry is crisp and golden brown.
Allow to cool for 10 minutes in the tin, then remove to a wire rack to cool, if not serving warm.
Serve with a nice wedge of cheese.

Filling
450g fresh cranberries
225g raisins
30g sugar
60ml cold water
0.5tsp vanilla extract

Rinse the cranberries and put them in a pan with the raisins, sugar and water.
Cover and warm on a low heat until the mixture comes to the boil and you can hear the cranberries starting to pop.
Simmer for just five minutes, then turn off the heat.
Taste to make sure of the sweetness, but remember, this is not supposed to be a really sweet tart, however, it shouldn’t be too sour either. If you think it needs a little more sugar, add it by all means.
Stir in the vanilla and leave to cool.

Mince Pies Royale

19th century, Sweet Pastry

Here is a great recipe for stretching a small amount of mincemeat into 30+ rich and delicious seasonable bites.

It is adapted from a recipe by Eliza Acton, and I’ve taken the opportunity to pair it with another of her recipes which she refers to as “Superlative Mincemeat”. Taking as an example my adaptation of Hannah Glasse’s Lenten mincemeat, I decided to try making this recipe suet-free. Now I still absolutely love Hannah’s recipe, but I also love discovering new things as well.

The mincemeat recipe is a delight for anyone who loves citrus fruit. It’s also a delight for anyone who loves a healthy slug of booze in their mincemeat. I’ve actually toned down the quantity of brandy because the alcoholic haze rising from the first test batch made my eyes water. Unusually, this mincemeat includes two boiled lemons, chopped finely, which add a real zing to the overall flavour. Once the lemons have been prepared, the method is very similar to the original fat-free mincemeat.

A portion of this mincemeat is then enriched and sweetened with sugar, fresh lemon, egg yolks and butter and used to fill pastry-lined mini tins. The pastry I’ve used is the sweet version of the cornflour shortcrust, flavoured with orange zest, and cut out using a flower cookie cutter. After an initial baking, the pies are topped with meringue and then baked for a further few minutes until nicely browned.

These little pies are extremely rich, which is why baking them in a mini muffin pan is ideal. The filling sets into a dense cross between Christmas pudding and Christmas cake and the crunchy meringue is a great contrast. This quantity makes about 30 mini pies, perfect as petites fours or to serve with coffee. You can keep them in a tin, but the meringues will go a little soft after 24 hours.

You can, of course, use any mincemeat and pastry you have to hand instead.

Citrus mincemeat

Makes about 1kg of mincemeat
2 small lemons (about 170g)
The weight of the lemons in raisins, currants and chopped dates
85g candied orange peel, chopped small
85g candied citron peel, chopped small
30-50g caster sugar
60ml brandy
60ml apple juice
0.5tsp salt
1tsp grated nutmeg
0.5tsp ground mace
1tsp ground ginger

Put the lemons into a small saucepan and cover with cold water.
Bring to the boil and simmer for 15 minutes.
Drain the water and scrub the sides of the pan to remove the bitter lemon oil.
Rinse the lemons also.
Repeat 3 times, until the lemons are tender and a clove can be pushed through the skin.
Cut open the lemons and remove the pips.
Dice the pulp and rind finely.
Put the lemons and the rest of the ingredients into a small pan over a low heat.
Cover and allow the fruit to plump up. Stir occasionally.
If the fruit seems a little dry, add more liquid – your choice whether it’s alcoholic or not.
If the mixture seems too wet, uncover and allow the excess to evaporate.
Set aside to cool.

Orange Cornflour Pastry

225g plain flour
60g cornflour
140g unsalted butter
85g caster sugar
zest of 1 orange
1 large egg

Put everything except the egg into the bowl of a food processor and blitz until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
Whisk the egg and, with the motor running, gradually add to the mixture until it comes together in a ball. You might not require all the egg, or you might need additional liquid if the mix looks a little dry. If you have extra egg-white, tat would be ideal, otherwise use water.
Knead the pastry smooth and wrap in plastic.
Chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes or until required.

Eliza Acton’s Mince Pies Royale

225g mincemeat
3 large eggs
30g clarified butter
juice and zest of 1 lemon
40g caster sugar
pinch of salt
caster sugar

Preheat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Separate the eggs.
Mix together the mincemeat, egg yolks, lemon zest and juice and the sugar.
Warm the butter until just melted and stir in.
Grease a large (24 cup) mini muffin pan.
Roll out the pastry very thinly. It is easier to work with either 1/3 or 1/2 of the pastry at a time.
Cut out pastry and use it to line the mini muffin pan. For a lovely, neat edge to your pies, I recommend using a flower-shaped pastry cutter. The petals help to avoid the dreaded folds which can sometimes be an issue with the pastry for mini tarts.
Add a teaspoon of the enriched mincemeat mixture to each tartlet.
Bake for 7-8 minutes until the middle has set and the pastry is cooked.
If you’ve got filling and pastry left over (and you probably will), use them up first by making a second batch of tartlets before making the meringue. Arrange the cooked tartlets on a baking sheet, ready for the meringue.
While the tarts are baking, make the meringue.
- You won’t need to use all of the egg white, so I suggest using just half.
- Put a bowl onto your scales and set them to zero.
- Pour in the amount of egg-white you will be using and make a note of the weight.
- Measure out an equivalent amount of caster sugar.
- Whisk the egg-whites with a pinch of salt until soft peaks.
- Whisk in the sugar, a spoonful at a time until the meringue is firm and glossy.
- Spoon the meringue into a piping bag. You choose what style of nozzle to fit.
When all the tarts are baked and arranged on a baking sheet, pipe the meringue on top. Make sure the meringue covers all of the filling and goes right to the edge of the pastry.
Return the tarts to the oven for 5-7 minutes until the meringue is nicely browned.
Cool the tartlets on a wire rack.

Honey Curd

20th century, Preserves

This recipe was an absolute delight to discover in an old Women’s Institute recipe book. For a start, the use of honey instead of refined sugar is so much better for you, and it increases the keeping properties immensely. The original recipe claimed that it would keep a year.

I used the cheapest, runny honey to see how much the flavour of the honey impacted on the final result, and it’s not overly intrusive – just a gentle hint at the end.

The real beauty of this recipe is how you can tweak both the honey and the accompanying fruit to give an almost limitless variety – Lime Tree Honey and limes, Orange Blossom Honey and oranges are just a couple of suggestions that sprung into my mind. Update: I have now tried both these flavour combinations, and can honestly say, hand on heart, that they are two of the most sublime-tasting citrus curds I have EVER tasted.

This recipe will make double the quantity of honey, so you’ll need just one extra jar in addition to your jar of honey. Wash both jars and lids and put them into a cold oven. Turn the oven on to 100°C, 80°C Fan until dry and hot.

As for the instructions, they couldn’t be easier. The original recipe contained just one line of instruction, but I’ve managed to pad that out to four!

Honey Curd

340g jar of runny honey[1]
2 large eggs
1 large yolk
zest and juice of 1 lemon
juice of 1 extra lemon
45g clarified butter

Put all of the ingredients into a small pan and whisk together over a low heat until thickened.
Pour into the clean, warm jars and seal.
Set aside to cool.
Use as any other curd – the original recipe recommends it as a filling for little tarts.

[1] Don’t be too precious about being exact – I only specify 340ml because that’s how much honey was in the jar that I used. 300ml-ish is fine.

Sheets and Blankets

19th century, Yeast

This is an unusual and wonderfully quirky recipe.

I’ve adapted it from a description found in John White’s “A Treatise on the Art of Baking” from 1828, free copy available here.

It is made from a mixture of both wheat and rye doughs, but instead of the more usual marbling effect, the doughs are laid on top of one another in layers, so that when the loaf is cut, the contrast between the two doughs is quite striking. This striped effect gives the loaf it’s name of Sheets and Blankets, as it resembles a stack of folded bed-linen.

As a loaf, it was already fading from popularity in 1828, as tastes moved away from the dark rye breads and towards whiter loaves, but not only is it pretty to look at, it is also delicious to eat.

The rye layers are both darkened and slightly sweetened by the addition of a little treacle and delicately flavoured with caraway seeds. Neither is overpowering, and the addition of the white dough layers does much to lighten the crumb. Whilst sturdy, and having a fabulous crust, it is nowhere near as heavy or as dense as an all-rye loaf.

The challenge with this recipe is the proving times of the different flours. Rye is much slower and so reluctant to respond to the yeast, it requires a staggered start, and only when your rye dough is starting it’s main proofing should you start making your wheat dough. I used wholewheat flour as the starter for the rye, otherwise the proving time would have been a much more lengthy process.

I chose to bake this loaf in a tin to accentuate the layers, but you can leave it free-form on a baking sheet if liked. It’d probably be closer to how it was originally baked.

You can also bake this using brown bread flour instead of the white, for a sturdier loaf and a more subtle contrast between the layers. Stoneground wholemeal flour is do-able, but just that bit too heavy on the chew, in my opinion.

Sheets and Blankets

You need to start the rye dough at least 1 hour before your wheat dough. You can use your regular white dough recipe, or follow the method below.

For the rye sponge
100g brown bread flour
15g fresh yeast – crumbled
25g treacle – warmed
180ml warm water

150g rye flour
1tsp caraway seeds
1tsp salt

For the wheat sponge
100g strong white flour
15g fresh yeast – crumbled
200ml warm water

150g strong white flour
1tsp salt

Whisk together the ingredients for the rye sponge, making sure to get plenty of air into the batter.
Mix the other ingredients together and sprinkle onto the yeast mixture.
Cover the bowl with cling film and set aside to prove for 1 hour.
After 1 hour, the sponge will have broken through the dry flour on top, and bubbles should be visible.
Mix everything together into a soft dough and knead for 10 minutes. You may need to add a little extra warm water if it’s looking a bit dry.
Cover the bowl with cling film and set aside to rise.
Whisk together the ingredients for the wheat flour sponge.
Sprinkle the rest of the flour and the salt onto the yeast mixture.
Cover the bowl with cling film and set aside to prove. This will probably take less time than for the rye flour.
After 30-40 minutes, the sponge will have broken through the dry flour on top, and bubbles should be visible.
Mix everything together into a soft dough and knead for 10 minutes.
Cover the bowl with cling film and set aside to rise.
The two doughs should be fully proved at around the same time. Since the wheat dough is going to be more lively, you can deflate it and set it to rise again if the rye dough still needs some time.
When both doughs are risen you can shape them into your loaf.
Tip out each of the doughs and deflate.
Cut off 1/3 of the rye dough and set aside. Divide the remainder into 3 even pieces.
Cut 3 x 100g pieces of the white dough. You will have excess dough, so shape it into rolls or put it in the fridge to use later.
Shape the six pieces of dough into similar shapes, and stack them alternately one on top of the other, starting with a piece of the rye dough on the bottom.
Take the remaining rye dough and roll out thinly. The original recipe recommended having the final layer of the loaf of rye dough, and I chose to roll the remaining dough really thinly and wrapped the whole loaf in a thin layer of rye. This was extremely tricky. Since the bottom layer of the loaf is rye, a much easier approach would be to drape the rolled-out dough over the loaf and either join it to the bottom layer by pinching together, or tuck the edges underneath. I then transferred the loaf to the tin, but if you’re baking the loaf freeform, you can leave it on a baking sheet as is.
Sprinkle the top of the loaf with rye flour to prevent it from drying out and set aside to rise for about 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/180°C Fan.
There’s not much oven-rise, so no urgent need to slash the top of the loaf, but it shows a nice contrast of the white dough beneath the rye if you like.
Bake for between 50 minutes and 1 hour, until the base sounds hollow when tapped.
Set aside to cool on a wire rack.
Do not slice until completely cold.

Orange Blossom Tart

18th century, Pudding, Sweet Pastry

Here’s a wonderfully aromatic and delicious dessert that I have adapted from a recipe that appears in Hannah Glasse’s “The art of cookery, made plain and easy”. It must have been popular, because Hannah gives no fewer than four recipes for Orange Pudding, each slightly different. Copyright infringement back then being rife, it is highly likely that Hannah is not the original author of this recipe, but I have yet to find an older version with these particular ingredients.

Hannah calls this a pudding – and indeed it is certainly something that you might eat after lunch or dinner, but it is in fact what we would term a tart, and I can honestly say it is unlike any tart I’ve ever tasted before, for the very best of reasons.

The most striking aspect is the flavour – a mixture of Seville orange, orange flower water, rosewater and white wine. Rather surprisingly, the word that popped into my head when breathing in its aroma was ice-cream – and that was before it was cooked! Once cooked and chilled, the flavours mingle together and taste extraordinary – the only way I can think to describe it is like plunging your face into a bunch of fresh flowers – but in a good way! This isn’t soapy/perfumed – it’s light and fresh and rounded. None of the flavours overpower, it’s just fantastically floral.

One of the challenges when adapting old recipes, is that specific quantities are sometimes a bit of a challenge. This recipe is a good example, because amongst other things it calls for “the crumb of a halfpenny loaf”. Although food prices were relatively stable before the industrial revolution, wheat, and by extension bread, was especially subject to price fluctuations due to harvest yield. So much so, specific laws were created concerning the manufacture and sale of the various types of bread (The Assize of Bread) and books of tables drawn up specifying the size of loaves depending on the cost of wheat.

Even with the Assize of Bread tables to hand, it’s still not clear which loaf the crumb should come from: white, wheaten or household. Household bread was the coarsest, and therefore unlikely, I reasoned, to have been used for such a delicate dessert. That left either white or wheaten and at just over 6oz and 9oz for a penny loaf, the difference in the quantity of crumb was going to be significant. The only solution was to make two tarts, and try each to see if one quantity was more suited than the other.

The photograph at the top shows the result. The slice on the left was cut from a tart made with 150g fresh white breadcrumbs. The slice on the right from a tart made with just 100g. Personally, I prefer the one on the left – the texture is like baked cheesecake, but not heavy and cloying. The slice on the right has a much softer consistency – if you’re a fan of baked custards, then this is the one for you. For an even more delicate texture, you could even try with just 50g of breadcrumbs – do let me know if you try this!

This is a wonderful springtime tart and I really hope you’ll give it a try.

Orange Blossom Tart

Sweet Shortcrust Pastry
225g plain flour
140g butter
60g cornflour
85g caster sugar
1 large egg
grated zest of 1 lemon
ice cold water
egg-white for glazing

Put all the ingredients except the water into the bowl of a food processor and blitz until the mixture comes together in a ball.
If the mixture is too dry, add some ice cold water 1 tablespoon at a time until the pastry forms a ball.
Tip the mixture onto a floured surface and knead smooth.
Wrap in plastic and chill for at least 30 minutes.
Grease a 22cm fluted, deep, loose-bottom tart tin – a lemon meringue tin if you have one, is ideal.
Remove the chilled pastry from the fridge and place on a floured surface.
Roll out thinly (7-8mm) and line the prepared tin, gently easing the pastry into the sides.
Let the excess pastry hang over the sides of the tin for now.
Prick the bottom of the pastry with a fork and put the lined tin back into the fridge to chill for another 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
Remove the tart from the fridge and trim the excess pastry. Don’t remove too much – allow 3-4cm to overhand the side of the tin – this keeps the pastry from shrinking back into the tin and can be trimmed after cooking.
Line the pastry with baking parchment and fill with baking beads/beans/rice.
Bake for 12 minutes, then remove the parchment and beads and bake for another 5-6 minutes until the pastry is cooked through.
Brush the inside of the pastry with lightly beaten egg-white and return to the oven for 5 minutes. This seems like a faff, but it will ensure you pastry is both cooked AND resistant to the wetness of the filling until it is cooked. *lying* I deliberately undercooked the pastry on the left in the photo to demonstrate.

Filling
150g fresh white breadcrumbs
250ml double cream
75g caster sugar
5 large egg yolks
60ml white wine [1]
1 tablespoon orange flower water [2]
1 teaspoon rose water [2]
zest and juice of a Seville orange [3]
70g clarified butter – melted

Mix all of the ingredients together in a bowl and set aside to let the flavours mingle. It will have the consistency of porridge.
When the pastry base is finally cooked, turn the oven down to 160°C, 140°C Fan.
Cover the top edges of the pastry with tin foil, to prevent them from burning.
Pour the filling into the cooked pastry case and bake for 25-30 minutes until the filling is set. There should be a slight joggle to the middle of the tart, but nothing too fluid.
Set aside to cool for at least 1 hour.
When cold, trim off the excess pastry, remove from the tin and place on a serving plate.
Eat slightly warm or at room temperature. Alternatively (and my own personal preference) chill thoroughly in the fridge for at least 5 hours.

[1] The original recipe called for sack, a fortified wine similar to sweet sherry. You could use sherry, madeira even marsala if you like. Whilst I love the flavours of all three, I thought them a little rich for this recipe, so I chose a regular white wine. A sweet and aromatic dessert wine would also be delightful.

[2]Both of these fragrances are available in the baking aisle at the supermarket. They also tend to vary greatly in strength and aroma according to which brand you use. The original recipe called for equal quantities of both, but the rosewater I use is rather strong. In contrast, the orange flower water that I use is rather lightly perfumed, so I used slightly more. if you use different brands, my advice is to use just 1 teaspoon at a time and taste as you go until you’re happy with the flavourings.

[3] If, like me, you made Seville orange ice cubes with the zest and juice back in January, then all you need is one cube. If not, then use the zest only of a sweet orange, together with the zest of either a lemon or lime for added sharpness.

Hunter’s Biscuits

20th century, Biscuits

As you may know, I have one or two cookbooks lying around and I haven’t actually got around to making absolutely all of the recipes contained therein.

But I’m working my way through slowly – and it’s just fabulous when I discover little gems like the recipe this week, tucked away as it was in a nondescript little booklet from the 1940s.

For a start, I have all the ingredients in the cupboard. I just LOVE it when that happens. It s a great irritation to find something delicious to make, only to discover a trip to the shops is required. So these are a great ‘spur of the moment’ bake.

Second, the recipe doesn’t make a whole mountain of biscuits – I got just twelve out of this batch. And they’re so fast to put together – little bit of melting/warming of liquids, chuck in the dry ingredients and you’re done. Even taking the time to pretty their appearance up doesn’t take long, and with 12 minute cooking time, you can be dunking them in a cup of something hot in not much more than 20 minutes.

Also – oats. LOVE oats in a biscuit – they make them it so crunchy and satisfying. Great energy snacks too. I can just imagine these biscuits being stuffed into pockets to snack on during invigorating afternoons tramping about the countryside.

And then we come to the main reason this recipe caught my eye. The lard. Yes – I did a double take too. But it works beautifully – and deliciously. And for me it also absolutely makes it a biscuit of country origin. Back in the day, not everyone could keep a cow – but most cottagers would have a pig, and once butchered for the winter, a ready and plentiful supply of lard. If you really can’t face it, you could try butter, but I haven’t tried it myself, so do let me know how it goes if you do.

Hunter’s Biscuits

56g golden syrup
56g lard
28g demerera sugar
56g plain flour
56g wholemeal flour
56g medium oatmeal
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2 tsp ground mixed spice
1/2 tsp ground ginger
grated zest of a small lemon – or of half a large lemon
1/2 tsp salt
6 almonds – halved

Preheat the oven to 175°C, 150°C Fan.
Put the lard and the golden syrup into a small pan over a low heat to melt/warm
Mix all the other ingredients together.
When the lard has melted, tip in the dry ingredients and stir to combine. You’ll end up with a moist paste.
Divide mixture into 12. I have a small-ish ice cream scoop which was perfect at portioning out the mix. Roll into a ball then flatten slightly. Place half a split almond on each biscuit.
Put the biscuits onto a baking sheet lined with parchment and bake for 12 minutes, turning the baking sheet round 180 degrees halfway though the cooking time. The biscuits should be just browning around the edges when done. They might seem a little soft, but will crisp up beautifully as they cool.
Lift the biscuits from the baking sheet and cool on a wire rack.