Category: 19th century

Irish Halloween Treats

19th century, 20th century, Bread, Cakes, Large Cakes, Small Cakes

There are several Halloween traditions around these isles, but arguably the strongest traditions abide in Ireland.

Several years ago, I discovered online a trove of fascinating Irish social history at the National Folklore Collection. This project is the digitisation of thousands of essays written by Irish schoolchildren and teachers from over 5000 primary schools in the Irish Free State, between the years 1937-1939. These social history essays contain information gleaned from parents and grandparents, and give a fascinating insight into hearth and home stretching back to famine times in the nineteenth century. This amazing resource is searchable on an abundance subjects, but of course the food essays are going to be my main interest.

If you’d like a deep-dive into just how much information is available to explore, my paper “The Boxty Paradox: Everything, Everywhere, All At Once” can be downloaded from the Books and Writing page. One thing that became aparrent during the research of that paper was just how bleak the food choices of so many families were. Consequently, the celebratory foods might seem to us rather plain. However, they can also demonstrate an appreciation for, if not the finer things in life, then life’s simple pleasures.

“Hallowe’en was a great night among the Irish people long ago and they looked forward to it for many weeks. All the boys and girls would gather together in one house and they would have great feasting & merrymaking.”

Collected by Annie Fallon from Mr John Harley, Farmhill, Co. Mayo1

The Halloween/November’s Night/Oidhche Shamhna foods most mentioned are barn brack/bairín breac – a ‘speckled loaf’ originally of caraway seeds, but more recently dried fruit – boxty, apples and nuts.

“In this locality the popular food at Halloween are apples, nuts, and boxty, also dumplings of many kinds.”

Collected by Mrs A. Montgomery from Mrs Kelly, Corr, Co. Cavan2

According to many accounts, the Halloween barn brack was saved up for and bought from a bakery. These cakes were baked containing a ring, and whoever got the piece of cake with the ring was supposed to get married within a year.

“Halloweve night falls on the last night of October. On that day my mother goes to town and she buys apples, nuts and a barn-brack. “

Collected by Jerard Jordan from Mrs Gara, Tivannagh, Co. Roscommon.3

Alternately, during hard times, a soda cake would be baked at home either on the griddle or inside a bastible (lidded pot). The most coveted cake was baked with sour cream, but apples and hazelnuts could also be added.

“apples are put in cakes for November night.”

Collected by Tommy Kelleher from Mrs Margaret Kelleher, Mullaghroe South, Co. Cork4

“The cream cake was a soda cake with plenty of cream in it and baked in the griddle.”

Collected by Beití Ní Dhomhnaill from Mrs Ashe, teacher, Dún Beag5

“On special occasions … a cream cake was made. Cream was mixed through the milk when mixing the dough. Currants, sugar and raisins were also put in the cream cake to make it rich and sweet.”

Collected by Seamus Daly, Kilclooney, Co. Waterford6

“On festive occasions a special cake was baked of such ingredients as flour, eggs, sour cream and a little sugar.”

Collected by Mary Jones from Mr M. Jones, Bruree, Co. Limerick7

“… cream cakes were made. These were made thin, but otherwise were made in the same way as ordinary soda cake.”

Collected by Michael Collins, Woodcock Hill, Co. Clare8

The recipes this week are two versions of soda cake mentioned in accounts in The Schools Collection: the cream cake and a fruit cake. According to the written accounts, the cream cake was considered the pinnacle of social delicacies, in numerous accounts warranting special mention. The fruit soda cake has more oblique mentions, but is absolutely symbolic of the foods enjoyed at Halloween. You can, of course, choose to add apples and nuts to the cream cake, if liked.

 Cream Cake

In the 19th century in Ireland, white flour was expensive, so if wheat flour was used at all, in most households it was wholemeal. I’ve opted for a less dense mixture of white and brown. Choose your own variation.

If you’d like to add apples and nuts to your cream cake, use the proportions in the recipe below, and reduce the sugar to 50g.

450g plain flour/wholemeal/brown/mixture
1tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp salt
2 large eggs
85g sugar – caster, light/dark brown – your choice
300ml sour cream
100ml milk

  • Prepare your baking tin(s). You can, of course, bake your soda cake freeform, but a tin is also fine. My tin of preference is a 24cm shallow square tin, but you can also choose smaller tins or indeed choose to bake them in a pan on the ob over medium-low heat. If using a tin, line with baking parchment.
  • Heat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan. If using the hob, put a non-stick pan over medium-low heat (4 on a 1-9 scale) and allow to heat thoroughly.
  • Put the flour(s), soda, salt, sugar and eggs into a food processor and blitz briefly until well combined.
  • Tip the mixture into a large bowl.
  • Mix the milk and cream together until smooth, then add to the dry ingredients bit by bit. NB You might not need all of the milk mixture, as it will depend on the amount of moisture already in the flour and eggs. You want a soft dough, so a little extra is fine, but not enough moisture will lead to a dense loaf too stiff to rise.
  • When your dough is fully combined, tip out onto a floured surface.
    • For soda farls to cook on the hob, divide the dough into two, and lightly shape each half into rounds. Gently pat down until 4cm in height. Using a dough scraper or similar, cut each round into six or eight triangles.
    • For a large loaf, shape into a round and transfer to your prepared tin. Cut a deep cross in the top to assist in even cooking. If you have any of the cream mixture left, you can brush it over the top of your loaf as a glaze.
  • To cook your cream cake(s)
    • For a large loaf, bake for 45-50 minutes, turning the oven half-way through to ensure even baking.
    • For cream farls, bake gently in your pan for around 10 minutes each side, turning carefully when the first side is toasted and lightly browned.
  • Cool briefy on a wire rack and serve warm with plenty of good butter.

Apple and Hazelnut Soda Cake

Apples and nuts were central to the feasting at Halloween and this sweet soda cake is rich with both kinds of autumnal bounty. Enjoy warm from the oven or toasted, with a generous spreading of good butter. I’ve chosen to use Bramley cooking apples, as they break down into fluff when cooked.

100g whole unblanched hazelnuts
450g plain flour
1tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp salt
50g sugar – caster, granulated, Demerera, light/dark brown – your choice
2 Bramley Apples – or 500-600g of similar cooking/sharp apples
200ml plain yogurt
200ml whole milk

  • Prepare your baking tin. My tin of preference is a 24cm shallow square tin. Line with baking parchment.
  • Heat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
  • Put the hazelnuts onto a baking tin and bake for 10 minutes until lightly browned and toasty. You can remove the skins by rubbing the nuts in a clean cloth, but I prefer to leave them as is.
  • Put the flour, salt, sugar and soda into a bowl and whisk together.
  • Peel and core your apples, and chop into 2cm pieces. Add the chopped apple and nuts to your dry ingredients and mix.
  • Whisk together the yogurt and milk, then gradually add to the rest of the ingredients. I find it best to stir the liquid through with a round-ended knife, which is less rough than a larger utensil. You might not need all of the liquid as the apples will contribute to the moisture of the mix.
  • Tip out your dough and shape lightly into a round. Transfer the dough to your baking tin, and cut a deep cross in the top to facilitate even baking.
  • Bake for 50-60 minutes until risen and browned, turning the tin around after 30 minutes.
  • Cool briefly on a wire rack and enjoy warm or toasted with lots of good butter.

1 The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0096, Page 84
2The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0982, Page 233
3 The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0234, Page 307
4 The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0359, Page 144.
5 The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0626, Page 350.
6 The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0654, Page 447.
7The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0498, Page 131
8 The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0598, Page 249

Griddle Scones

19th century, 20th century, Bread, Small Cakes, Yeast

Following on from the Slapan last time, I have another bakestone recipe for you – Griddle Scones!

I love a scone. I willfully and shamelessly pronounce it ‘skon’ too – even though I know the etymology dictates that it should rightfully be pronounced ‘sk-ohhh-n’, because that brings images to mind of little finger outstretched and pretensions of grandeur, so I just prefer the short, humble sound of ‘skon’. Fight me.

Traditional scones are absolutely the easiest and best thing to whip up when presented with an Entertaining Emergency™. You can be serving up a batch of fragrant and hot scones in about 30 minutes – and that includes 15 minutes of baking!

Griddle scones are not that kind of scone – the time required is closer to 3.5 hours, start to finish. “Why would I bother waiting around for all that time when I can have some oven scones in just 30 minutes?” I hear you ask. I’m afraid I have no quick response, but for the fact that if you were to make these, you would then have your answer.

So do you like eating soft, billowy clouds? Because making griddle scones is how you get to eat sweet, billowy, buttery clouds. The yeast dough is enriched with double-strength milk, butter, eggs and sugar, and therefore it requires much longer to prove – 2 hours in the first instance. So while it’s a relatively long time, it’s not a hands-on commitment. The second rise can be up to an hour, but I recommend starting cooking half the dough after about 40 minutes – mainly because if, like me, you don’t actually possess a griddle, but do possess a rather nice non-stick pan, you can cook the first half of the dough easily, with plenty of room for manoeuvering the scones when turning them over. I have tried cooking the whole dough all at once, and it was very tricksy – plus the scones expand upwards quite considerably during baking, which was also not helpful in a confined pan space.

If you’re a fan of muffins then, aside from the extended rising time, this method is pretty much the same, but with one subtle difference. The enrichments of butter, sugar and egg mean that the cooked dough remains incredibly soft. Even when browned, the outsides of these scones never approaches anything remotely close to crusty. The sides of the scones are particularly delicate, and as supple as skin. In enjoying them, we must be mindful of Hannah Glasse’s advice when referring to muffins, in that they must be split/pulled apart, for to use a knife on them when hot, is to squish down the cloud of dough to something claggy and leaden. The best approach I have found is to use a serrated knife to just break the skin of the scone on the sides, then use the tines of two forks to pull the scones apart. You don’t have to use forks, of course, you can just pull them apart – but I must be lacking a bit of skill there, because I always seem to end up with one pillowy side and one thin and somewhat meagre side, and thus reduce the overall eating experience by half.

Griddle scones go back to the 19th century, but this recipe is scaled down and adapted from an absolute classic of griddle/bakestone cookery, “Morning and Hot Plate Goods” by John Boyd (undated, but thought to be 1946-ish) – a veritable cornucopia of commercial recipes from the offices of The British Baker. He calls them fermented scones, but I’ve opted for the more easily understood Griddle Scones.

Griddle Scones

This recipe has the unusual ingredient of ‘double strength’ milk, which is water mixed with twice the usual quantity of milk powder. I use whole milk powder, because that’s what I have in the cupboard, but skimmed milk powder, which might be easier to find, would be fine as well.

145ml water
30g whole milk powder
scant ½ tsp salt
45g unsalted butter
45g caster sugar
1 large egg – beaten
260g plain flour
1 sachet fast action yeast

  • Put the water, milk powder, salt, butter and sugar in a small saucepan and stir over low heat until the butter melts and the sugar is dissolved. Cool to blood temperature, whisk in the egg, then pour into a bowl. Add the remaining ingredients to the bowl and stir until combined. The dough will be very soft and moist.
  • Cover the bowl with plastic, or a cloth, and set aside to rise for 2 hours.
  • Gently tip out the dough onto a floured surface and divide it into two (roughly 270g each). Shape each half into a circle, and pat down gently until it is 2-3cm thick.
  • Using a dough scraper or similar, cut each round into triangular farls. These can be as few as four or as many as eight.
    The sizes of scone you get whether cutting your round into (L->R) four, six or eight.

    I think six farls is probably the happy medium, unless you’re serving teeny scones for afternoon tea, in which case go with the eight.

  • Slide the farls apart from one another, so that they have room to rise, and cover lightly with a cloth.
  • Leave to rise for 30-40 minutes.
  • Put a non-stick pan on medium-low heat (4 on my hob) and allow it to heat through. This will take about 5 minutes. You want the pan to be evenly hot throughout, otherwise your scones will cook unevenly. No need to grease the pan.
  • Cook your first batch of scones. NB: As you move each scone into the pan TURN IT OVER and cook the top first. By cooking the rounded, risen ‘top’ first, and the already-flat bottom second, your scones will have a much neater shape. Not turning them over will make your finished scones rather misshapen. Still delicious, but not at their best to look at. Spread them out, avoiding the centre of the pan as it will be the hottest. Cook for 4-5 minutes until browned on the bottom, then carefully turn them over and cook until both sides are evenly coloured. Don’t worry if you turned them too early, you can flip them again once the second side is done.They will continue to rise with the heat of the pan, and will become almost wobbly, so try and turn them over in one fluid motion and then don’t touch them until they have cooked for a further four minutes. To check for done-ness, lightly rest a finger on the top of a scone and try to move it gently from side to side: if there’s no longer any wobble, the scone is cooked.  
  • Cool on a wire rack.
  • To serve: If not eating immediately, when time to serve, warm the scones in the oven. Use a serrated knife to break the ‘skin’ on the sides of each scone, then pull apart either by hand or by using the tines of two forks. Butter generously and enjoy.

Cookeels

18th century, 19th century, Bread, Yeast

I have a ‘lost’ recipe for you today – a spiced bun that has been known about, recorded and discussed for over 200 years, but for which there has been no recipe. Until now.

British Popular Customs, Present and Past; Illustrating the Social and Domestic Manners of the People: Arranged According to the Calendar of the Year
By Thomas Firminger Thiselton Dyer · 1876 p81

As luck would have it, I found not one but two recipes buried in the handwritten manuscripts held by The Wellcome Collection.

The earliest mention of Cookeels is found in Robert Forby’s The Vocabulary of East Anglia.

Cookeel: A sort of cross-bun, made and eaten in Norfolk during Lent. They are sold cheap and may be from Fr. Coquille.
The Vocabulary of East Anglia, Robert Forby, 1830, p76.

This definition is expanded upon throughout the nineteenth century as more and more academics weigh in with their opinion.

From “A glossary of words used in East Anglia, founded on that of Forby”, p46, Walter Rye, 1895, London
Notes and queries, Fifth Series, Volume Ninth, 1878, Jan-June, London. p87
Notes and queries, Fifth Series, Volume Ninth, 1878 Jan-June, London. p152

Something that became more and more apparent, is the somewhat lackadaisical approach to the spelling of these baked items. This is also true of the names of the two manuscript recipes, to whit Cookeals and Cock Ells:

MS7850, Anonymous manuscript circa 1745, Wellcome Collection

MS7834, Anonymous 19thC manuscript, Wellcome Collection

Confession time, I do like to get the the truth of the matter when it comes to recipe names and history. Love a great backstory, cannot be doing with made-up rubbish. So with all these different names, I decided to drill down and see if I couldn’t get to the bottom of it all (this phrase will come back to haunt me shortly).

I don’t think there’s much merit in the name deriving from the French ‘coquille’ (shell): there’s no hard crust, due to the butter, milk and eggs, and no mention of them being shell-shaped. Similarly, I think naming them after the cockfighting pits is also a bit of a stretch. The various accounts seeme to waver between Cockeel and Cookeel, and neither of the handwritten recipes offer any definitive help.

Playing around with the spelling, it turns out that Cockle bread is a thing:

“So far back as the time of Henry III., we find mention made of wassel bread, cockle bread and bread of treet corresponding with the three sorts of bread now in use, viz. white, wheaten and household bread.”

The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 1, p157, 1852.

Cocklety bread has also been recorded in playground chants:

“The term ” Cockelty ” is still heard among our children at play. One of them squats on its haunches with the hands joined beneath the thighs, and being lifted by a couple of others who have hold by the bowed arms, it is swung backwards and forwards and bumped on the ground or against the wall, while continuing the words, “This is the way we make cockelty bread.”- -Robinson’s Whitby Glossary, p. 40.”

“The traditional games of England, Scotland, and Ireland” 1894-1898, Alice Bertha Gomme, p75

Delighted with this quaint image, I pursued Cockle Bread further – and immediately regretted that decision.

“The traditional games of England, Scotland, and Ireland” 1894-1898, Alice Bertha Gomme, p74

And before I knew it, I was learning that as an extension of this ribaldry, sometimes dough was actually kneaded this way, and then baked and fed to the person whom the girl wished to enamour.

ANYHOO……..Spice buns!

Cookeels

Makes 16

These soft, pillowy buns were enjoyed throughout the season of Lent. Unlike the more famous Good Friday buns, they contained no fruit and neither were they marked with a cross. One of the above anecdotes mentioned allspice as a seasoning, but neither of the recipes do, so we’re going to stick to nutmeg. Usually mixed with several other spices, the fact that these buns have just a single spice adds to their appeal. The enrichment of the egg, milk and butter makes the dough exceedingly soft and the baked bun incredibly tender of crumb. Delicious warm from the oven and freshly buttered, you can also enjoy them toasted with butter and cheese.

150ml water
150ml milk
1 large egg
100g butter
100g caster sugar
pinch of salt
450g strong white flour
2tsp ground nutmeg
1 sachet fast-action yeast

1 large egg yolk
2-3tbs milk

  • Put the dry ingredients into a food processor and blitz until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
  • Tip the mixture into a mixing bowl.
  • Zap the water in the microwave for 1 minute. This should heat it but without boiling.
  • Pour the milk into the hot water and stir. It should now be warm. Add the egg to the warm milk mixture and whisk thoroughly.
  • Pour the milk mixture into the other ingredients and mix until the dough comes together. It will be very soft – too soft to knead – but it will become manageable once risen.
  • Cover the mixing bowl with plastic wrap and set aside in a warm place to rise for 1 hour.
  • Cover a large baking tray, or shallow oven shelf for preference, in baking parchment.
  • Once the dough has risen, dust your work surface well with flour.
  • Tip the dough out onto the flour and pat gently to deflate. Dust the surface with flour, then, with the help of a dough scraper, lift and fold the sides inwards and pat down. Continue the dusting and folding until the dough is firm enough to handle. The first time I made this, I put too much liquid in, but it only took three lots of folding to make it manageable.
  • Pat the dough into a square. it will be roughly 20cm, but if it’s larger, that’s fine.
  • Cut the dough into 16 pieces. The easiest way is to cut your square of dough into quarters, then cut each quarter into four.
  • For each piece, fold in the edges of the dough, flip it over and roll into a ball under your hand.
  • Set the shaped dough onto your prepared baking sheet. The dough will spread during rising/baking to the size of a teacake, so space them well apart (7-8cm).
  • When all the dough has been shaped, cover lightly and set aside to rise for 30 minutes.
  • Heat the oven to 180°C/160°C Fan.
  • Whisk together the egg yolk and the milk and brush this glaze over your risen buns. You can use just milk if you prefer.
  • Bake your buns for 20 minutes, turning the baking tray/shelf around after 10 minutes to help with even colouring.
  • Remove from the oven and immediately cover with a clean cloth. This will trap the steam and ensure your buns are soft and pillowy when cooled.
  • Store in an airtight container when cold.

Carrot Bread

19th century, Bread, Yeast

Personal recipe books can be quite eclectic in the mix of recipes the owner chooses to include. Quite apart from the recipes they (or if you’re a wealthy noblewoman, your scribe) include, there can also be hurried notes scribbled down on scraps of paper or the backs of envelopes, letters and cards answering requests for recipes, as well as clippings from newspapers and magazines.

This recipe was found between the pages of Catherine Ashley’s household book, dated circa 1830 (MS.995, held by The Wellcome Collection). It had been clipped from The Record, a twice-weekly religious newspaper, in January, 1847. The author, The Rev. John Lowder, had experimented with using carrots to make bread after reading an article in The Gardeners’ Chronicle in December 1846. He wrote to the editor of The Record in the hope that by sharing his findings, his clergy brethren might find the results useful for their own poor and needy.

The article in The Gardeners’ Chronicle had detailed an open correspondence between The Right Hon. T.F.Kennedy, Paymaster General for the Irish Civil Service and Henry Labouchere, the then Secretary of State for Ireland in the government of Lord John Russell (1846-1852). In it, Kennedy suggested that experiments done in Austria on the supplementing of flour with beetroot to make bread might help with the (then early stages) of the potato disaster in Ireland. Growing beetroot on just one acre, he maintained, would produce a crop of £30 value, with a clear profit of £15 to the grower, and provide valuable supplementary nutrition  to the Irish poor, being of a much higher value than potatoes. Although noble, this idea falls at the first hurdle because the poor in Ireland were eating potatoes precisely because they did not have access to the flour needed for this scheme to work.

Parsnips were also used in experiments and were deemed excellent, but carrots were not, with the reason being given as carrots were “much less palatable.”

Enter the Rev. Lowder with his own efforts, whereby he succeeded in producing delicious carrot bread by cooking and pureeing the carrots first, whereas the original experiments had been done by grating the raw vegetables.

The recipe is simple: equal weights of (pureed, cooked) carrot and flour mixed together, and then continued with the usual bread-making method. I thought this almost too good to be true and put it to the test by adding only salt and yeast. The result is the loaf picture above. I added no water, bar the 2-3 tablespoons of carrot water needed to get the carrots pureed. In all honesty, it looked too moist in the initial mixing, but I had faith and decided to wait and see what the first rise made of it. The resulting dough after an hour was gloriously light and very lithe and needed only the briefest of shaping before putting it into a 20cm/8″ square tin. Another rise of 30 minutes was followed with a 40 minute bake. The loaf was cooled on a rack overnight before being sliced.

I appreciate that the use of white bread flour is probably of a finer quality than that employed by the good Reverend Lowder in his experimentation, but I made that call in order to give the recipe its best chance of success.

Shortly after this recipe was published (1848) Reverend Lowder moved half a world away, with his wife and five children, to China, after being appointed Chaplain of Shanghai. Heartrendingly, he would perish in a swimming tragedy shortly thereafter (September, 1849) at the age of just thirty-nine.

Carrot Bread sliced – plain (top) and toasted (bottom)

As can be seen in the photo above, the colour of the crumb is glorious. Given the vibrancy, it’s surprising that there isn’t more carrot flavour. The texture is soft, with a slight chew, similar to potato bread. When toasted, the colour changes very little – the darkening of the crust around the edges being the main indicator. There is a suspicion of roasted carrot in the flavour, and if you’re eating it with anything other than butter, you might miss it altogether. Overall, I’m really liking this new (to me) recipe – it will definitely be making a regular appearance in this household.

Carrot Bread

Since proportions of flour and carrot are the only specifications, although I’ve not tried it yet, I see no reason why carrots left over from a previous meal might not be successfully used in this recipe, adding plain water if necessary for a smooth puree. If the total of puree + flour is less than 700g, then only one sachet of yeast would be needed, and half the salt. Some accent spices could also be added, such as caraway or cumin seeds.

500g carrots, peeled and sliced
500g strong white flour
10g salt
2 sachets fast action yeast

  • Put the carrots into a saucepan, cover with water and bring to a simmer.
  • Cook until tender all the way through – between 20-30 minutes, depending on the size of the carrot pieces.
  • When cooked, strain (reserving the liquid) and puree in a liquidiser or using a stick blender. Add a little of the cooking water if the carrots aren’t blending easily.
  • When pureed and smooth, set aside for 10 minutes to cool slightly, in order to not adversely affect the yeast.
  • When just warm, put the carrots and the rest of the ingredients into a bowl and bring together as a dough. Knead either by hand or using a dough hook for 10 minutes.
  • Cover and allow to rise for 1 hour.
  • Tip out the risen dough onto a lightly floured surface and gently deflate.
  • Shape and add to your tin of choice. I used a 20cm/8 inch square tin lined with baking parchment. If you use a different shaped tin, you might have to adjust the cooking time accordingly.
  • Allow to rise for a further 30 minutes.
  • Heat the oven to 220°C/200°C Fan.
  • Just before putting your loaf in the oven, cut some slashes in the top crust to prevent it rising  unevenly during the initial ‘oven spring’. Bake for 35-40 minutes until well risen and with the crust firm. You might want to remove your loaf from the tin and return it to the oven to bake for another 5-10 minutes in order to really crisp up the crust.
  • Cool on a wire rack.
  • Slice when cold.

Ormskirk Gingerbread

19th century

If you’d asked me only a few years ago, of my opinion of gingerbread, I would have given an indifferent shrug in response: I didn’t dislike it, but I wasn’t a fervent fan either. Ginger biscuits and the gingerbread used for gingerbread men I thought dull. Ginger cake was fine, but it would never be a first choice. Since then, I have discovered so many old recipes that have range and depth and nuance that it’s turned my head completely. And here we have another to add to the collection.

Ormskirk Gingerbread has a lot going for it, and I’d even go so far as to say it is probably one of the best-tasting gingerbreads you’ve never heard of.

It has a speckled appearance, from mixing the dry ingredients with melted butter and treacle, which is enough to bind, but not drown. There is candied peel, traditionally lemon but sometimes others, and spices, usually ginger, but frequently, additional spices as well. A major attraction, for me at least, is the texture, falling between the softness of parkin and the crispness of a biscuit. As you, quite literally, sink your teeth into a piece, you experience a dense chewiness which, with the variety of flavourings, is immensely satisfying.

Ormskirk Gingerbread (1830s) is  one of the earliest geographically-linked gingerbreads I’ve found – predated only by Wrexham Gingerbread (1828). In the 1850s, a group of five local women paid £20 per year to the East Lancashire Railway company for the privilege to sell their gingerbread to travellers passing through Ormskirk station, which must have contributed to the spread of its popularity.

I have a selection of recipes for you to try, because in all honesty, I like them all. The method is the same for all of them, so I shall be listing the scaled-down ingredients alongside each recipe, then you can scroll down to the method and cooking instructions. All quantities are for a 20cm square tin.

Ormskirk Gingerbread recipe, (1822-1841), MS4998, Wellcome Collection

This recipe is from a handwritten manuscript held at the Wellcome Collection. It might actually be older than the recipe below, but there’s no way of telling for sure. Rather unhelpfully, there are no instructions for either making or baking, but it clearly contains all the classic ingredients and is a great introduction to this type of gingerbread:

225g plain flour
115g soft, light brown sugar
7g/1tbsp ground ginger
85g butter
115g treacle
20g candied lemon peel

From: The domestic receipt-book by Joseph Worrrall, 1832, p38.

This is the earliest printed recipe I found. Unfortunately, it contains an error – the sugar is missing. Aside from this, what I found interesting was the complete omission of what appears to be a major component of other recipes, the candied lemon peel.  In  addition, there is, proportionally, a lot of spice in relation to the quantity of flour, but it is an interesting variation. In the past, I have bought dried, chipped ginger, and ground it as needed, and the flavour is bright and vibrant and, curiously, with a touch of lemon. Similarly with allspice, whose flavour really evokes a blend of spices.

225g plain flour
60g butter
115g treacle
115g soft, light brown sugar
14g ground ginger
14g allspice

From The druggist’s hand-book of practical receipts, Thomas F. Branston, 1853, p80

This recipe echoes the medicinal uses many believed gingerbread possessed in the middle ages. I find it odd that it is Ormskirk Gingerbread that is specified in particular, instead of a generic gingerbread recipe. Jalap is the ground root of a Mexican plant of the Morning Glory family, and it was used in times past for its laxative effect.

225g plain flour
115g soft, light brown sugar
115g treacle
80g butter
30g candied lemon peel
2 tsp ground ginger
1½ tsp ground nutmeg

Peterson Magazine 1861-01: Vol 39 Iss 1, p93

This last recipe is a full-on, all the bells and whistles version. There’s no candied lemon peel – instead there’s candied orange and candied citron and, aside from the ginger, no other spices. There’s a higher than usual farinaceous component, with the addition of some oatmeal flour (which you can make yourself by putting rolled oats into a blender/spice mill). Finally, there’s the instruction to mix it a full day before you want to bake it. Many old gingerbread recipes have this added time requirement, because they’d also use alum and potash as raising agents, and these worked slowly, so a mix for gingerbread could be sitting in a tub for days if not weeks. There’s no raising agent included in this recipe, so I was curious whether there would be any difference to the other batches. Verdict: There was, and the resulting gingerbread was definitely veering towards cakey, although this might have been due to the added oatmeal – if that’s your preferred texture, have at it. The next time I make this I probably wouldn’t wait the 24 hours, but that’s just me being impatient.

225g plain flour
115g butter
60g sifted oatmeal flour
80g soft, light brown sugar
115g treacle
15g candied orange peel
15g candied citron peel
7g ground ginger

As I said at the top, all these recipes are delicious.

Ormskirk Gingerbread

Another reason to choose to make this gingerbread is that it can be made gluten-free, using gluten-free flour (I used Doves Farm) and gluten-free oats (Morrisons have the nicest looking GF oats – they’re like steel-rolled ones!).

It can also be made vegan, if you swap out the butter for either coconut oil or some other fat that is solid at room temperature.

Finally, there’s two slight variations in method, and it relates to how you handle the butter. The traditional method for gingerbread is to melt it in the treacle and then pour the mixture into the dry ingredients to mix. The other method is to blitz it with the dry ingredients in a food processor (or rub it in by hand). It doesn’t matter which method you choose, as the result is the same.

  • Choose your ingredients from one of the four recipes above.
  • Line a 20cm square tin with baking parchment.
  • Heat the oven to 160°C, 140°C Fan.
  • Mix your spices, sugar and flour(s).
  • If you’re blitzing the butter with the dried ingredients, add it now.
  • Blitz the mixture to resemble breadcrumbs.
  • Slice the candied peel thinly and then cut into 1cm pieces. Mix the peel into the dry ingredients, making sure the pieces don’t stick together.
  • Pour your treacle into a pan to warm. I use a large frying pan, as I prefer to add everything to the treacle, as opposed to pouring the treacle into the dry ingredients. Add the butter if you’ve not added it to the flour. You’re not trying to boil it, just warm it up enough that it moves freely and the butter (if using) is melted.
  • When the butter has melted and the treacle warmed, pour  the warm liquid into the dry ingredients and mix in. It doesn’t have to be evenly coloured.
  • Tip the mixture into your prepared pan and level out. I like to leave it rather roughly textured. Don’t press the mixture down hard, just even it out.
  • Bake for 40 minutes, turning the tin around after 20 minutes to ensure even baking.
  • Remove from the oven and , leaving the gingerbread in the tin, divide it into pieces. You can cut it into any shape you please – easiest with a square tin is 16 pieces (4 x 4 grid).
  • Set the pan aside to cool completely.
  • When the gingerbread is cold, store in an airtight container.

Nankaties

19th century

Something a little different for you this week, dear Reader, and something of a surprise, perhaps.

These are Nantakies: Indian shortbread biscuits that are still enjoyed today, mainly at Christmastime.

This particular recipe comes from a book printed in 1887 in Bombay (Mumbai) at the height of the British rule in India. It is one of many Indian cookery books in English that I have collected over the years and is freely available to download at The Internet Archive.

What first drew me to this shortbread recipe was the small number of ingredients when compared to modern recipes. Also, following on from my earlier shortbread investigations, I was curious to know how using 100% ‘rolong’ (semolina) as the flour ingredient would affect the taste and texture.

Initially, testing this recipe went poorly, because I used coarse semolina. Switching to finely ground semolina (found in my local orange supermarket under the brand name Natco) was a great improvement. It was still too sweet for my tastes, so I tinkered a little with the ratios and switched out regular butter for more appropriate clarified ghee.

In the UK, ghee can be found in supermarkets and smaller shops in distinctive green and gold tins. Once opened, they don’t require refrigeration and can be stored in a drawer/cupboard. However, I must impress upon you that not all tins of ghee are the same. The very best brand, in my humble opinion, is East End.

Opening this brand especially, releases an almost perfumed aroma that immediately sends you to a more exotic and fragrant place. I have not had the same experience with other tins of ghee – purchase them at your peril!

The result of the tweaks and changes made for  a wonderfully aromatic and decadent shortbread bite, needing no further flavouring. However, if you’d like to add a hint of cardamom or rosewater, I think it would be a delicious variation. The golden colour from the ghee remained during baking in the cool oven and I have added a gold dragee to the top of each one as an exotic but restrained decoration.

You will have noticed that there are two shades of biscuit in the above photograph. Spurred on by my success with the tweaked original, I also made a gluten-free version using ground rice instead of semolina, and accented the biscuits with a silver dragee. I used up most of my ground rice in doing so and when I went to buy more I was disappointed to find that my local shops no-longer stock ground rice as a matter of course: perhaps it’s viewed as old-fashioned. I would have thought it would be readily available, given its usefulness in gluten-free baking, but there are numerous shops online that stock it, so all it requires is a little forward planning.

I wanted small, neat biscuits and having persevered with hand rolling various sizes, I eventually found the perfect ‘mould’ in my tablespoon measuring spoon. It was a little fiddly to form the biscuits one by one, but well worth it in the end result.

Nankaties – 1887, Mumbai

Makes 12-20 biscuits, depending on size.

150g finely-ground semolina or ground rice if gluten-free
75g ghee
35g icing sugar

gold/silver dragees for decoration

  • Heat the oven to 150°C, 130°C Fan if baking the biscuits immediately. Otherwise, heat the oven just before removing the chilled biscuits from the fridge.
  • Put the ingredients into a food processor and blitz until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. It will have a texture of damp sand, and will hold together when pressed.
  • Tip out the mixture and shape your biscuits – either by hand rolling or by pressing it into a mould. If you choose the measuring tablespoon method mentioned above, I found it useful to use some plastic wrap/cling film to line the spoon, which made it very easy to remove the moulded biscuits without damaging them. Be sure to pack the mixture firmly in order for it to keep its shape during baking.
  • Arrange your biscuits on a baking sheet lined with parchment or a silpat mat.
  • Add the dragee decoration if using.
  • You can chill the biscuits in the fridge for 30 minutes before baking, if liked. It can help retain a neat shape, although I should point out that the biscuits in the photo above were not chilled before baking. If you want especially crisp edges to your biscuits, you can always neaten them once cold with a microblade grater.
  • Bake for 30-40 minutes until crisp. The colour won’t really change, due to the low temperature.
  • WARNING: the biscuits will be extremely delicate when hot. Leave them to cool on the baking sheet/tin until completely cold before moving them.
  • Store in an airtight tin.

Georgian Cross Buns

19th century, Bread, Yeast

Reading a handwritten manuscript is very exciting: you never know what is just over the next page.

Lately I have been reading through the manuscripts held by the National Library of Scotland and alighted upon something rather unusual. It is a manuscript from a bakery, with appropriately large batch quantities. It is a fascinating peek into the variety of bakes and extras that formed the day to day offerings of a Georgian bakery.

The manuscript has been dated to 1827, which puts it slap-bang in the middle of the reign of George IV, but other than that, there appears to be no other identifying information. Now this might be looked upon as more than a little frustrating, however, being much more of a glass-half-full person, I usually see it as an opportunity for sleuthing, and seeing whether or not I can glean any more information from the pages within.

Firstly, I think the date is very well chosen, and I’m sure the Library of Scotland is nothing short of THRILLED at my approbation. This I deduced from the raising agents used in the recipes, which call either for yeast or volatile salts. Volatile salts are the precursor to baking powder, which was only a mere fifteen years away from being invented.

Another piece of information I noted gave me reason to believe that there may well be a Scottish link, aside from where the manuscript is currently held, is the use of the word ‘carvey’ for caraway seeds. In the 18th century, the word was in much greater use throughout the British Isles, but in the 19th century, it was retained mostly in Scotland. The one thing holding me back from declaring this a definite is the Englishness of the other recipes: Abernathy biscuits, Bath cakes and buns, Weymouth biscuits, Stratford cakes, Norwich biscuits, Isle of Wight cracknels…

The recipes themselves cover a wide range of items: biscuits, cakes, buns, jams and jellies, sweeties, custards, bread, muffins and cakes. I love this manuscript for its sheer uniqueness. I have a small but favourite collection of commercial baking books dating from around the turn of the 20th century, but I’ve not come across any other handwritten recipes of catering size quantities of this early age. Browsing for something for Easter, I came across this recipe for Buns for Shops or Cross Buns. Perfect!

But it came at a price. And the price was the spelling.

Oh my dears, the spelling.

I fully appreciate that spelling from 200 years ago is going to be a little quirky, but this… This is on a whole new level.

Cross Buns Manuscript Recipe, National Library Scotland

In case your cursive reading skills are a little rusty, allow me to transcribe the recipe for you, with the original spelling, in all it’s glory.

Bunds for shops or Cross Bunds
Fursttake 1″ of billed pertters smashed & stured into one Quort of alfmilk & worme warter & 1/4 ozns of volington salts & 1/2 ozns of Cours suger & alfa pinte of small beere yeast & robe that all throwe a sive & wisk into it a littell flor & put that way for sponge & when it is Quite ready take 1 1/2″ of coures suger & 1 1/4″ of butter & Corrents & gronde spiceses & 15 drops of lamon & fine cute Candy lamon pale & that all robed into 7″ of flor & make bayin the flor so O & pit in the spunge into it & make that into doy & moled oup ronde to sieses & Cut or Croossed with Croos so + & tined on grees tinds & well waish the tops all over with Eggs & milk & proved well & baked in a sharpe ovend & not backed too drey & bite of loaf suger put into the waish & waish the tops all over with it & toke of tinds & keep Drey & Claine.

The modern translation is as follows:

Buns for shops or Cross Buns
First take 1lb of boiled potatoes mashed & stirred into one Quart of half milk & warm water & ¼ oz of volatile salts & ½ oz of Coarse sugar & half a pint of small beer yeast & rub that all through a sieve & whisk into it a little flour & put that away for sponge & when it is Quite ready take 1½lb of coarse sugar & 1¼lb of butter & Currants & ground spices & 15 drops of lemon & fine cut Candied lemon peel & that all rubbed into 7lb of flour & make a bay in the flour so – O – & put the sponge into it & make that into dough & mould it up round to size & Cut or Cross with a Cross so + & put them on greased tins & well wash the tops all over with Eggs & milk & prove well & bake in a sharp oven & don’t bake too dry & add a bit of loaf sugar into the wash & wash the tops all over with it & take them off the tins & keep them Dry & Clean.

Yes, that first ingredient is boiled potatoes, and I will freely admit it took me a good half hour of pondering and saying the phrase out loud to myself in a frankly embarrassing number of accents in order to try and work out what it might be. Adding mashed, boiled potatoes to a bread recipe helps keep the resulting buns from drying out too quickly and keeps them pleasantly chewy. ‘Volington Salts’ makes me chuckle, because it sounds like the name of a Georgian Dandy.

The travails of translating the handwriting aside, there are two aspects of this recipe that I love. Firstly, it is the unusual (to modern palates) combination of spicings and flavourings. The recipe calls for both lemon essence and candied lemon peel as well as ‘mixed spices’. I’ve also made some biscuits from this book which called for cinnamon and lemon, and maybe its because this combination seemed so unusual to my 21st century palate, but to me they tasted Georgian. The ‘mixed spices’ gives you carte blanch to use whatever combination you like, but I’m going to recommend cinnamon and nutmeg, which were a popular combination for decades in the 17th and 18th centuries. The lemon flavouring, for some reason, I found problematic: liquid flavouring seemed to fade when baked, so I tried using finely grated fresh lemon zest, which also didn’t have quite the punch I was looking for. Perhaps a combination of the two will give the lemon burst I think these might need – but if we hang around for me to trial that, we’d miss Easter, so onwards!

Georgian Cross Buns

This is a 1/7th scale of the original recipe, and will make 18 x 60g buns. If this is a bit much, halve the recipe and divide the dough into 8 buns. Make a sponge if you feel inclined, but I went for mixing all together at once.

70g cooked mashed potatoes
100ml milk
100ml water
450g strong white flour, or plain
7g sachet of fast action yeast
100g caster sugar
80g butter
1tsp ground cinnamon
1tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp lemon flavouring and/or zest of 1 lemon
60g fine sliced candied lemon peel
125g currants

For the glaze


1 large egg
1/2 an eggshell of milk
2tbs caster sugar

  • Heat the milk and water to blood temperature.
  • Add the cooked potato and whisk together – a stick whisk works well to make the mixture smooth.
  • Put the flour, yeast, sugar, butter, spices and lemon flavouring(s) into a food processor and blitz until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
  • Put the liquid mixture into a mixing bowl and add the dry mixture on top.
  • Knead for 10 minutes. Don’t be tempted to add more liquid – there’s moisture in the butter and the working of the dough will bring that out and make a dough that ‘cleans the bowl’.
  • When the dough has come together and is smooth and elastic, mix in the currants and lemon peel.
  • Cover the bowl with plastic and set aside in a warm place to double in size.  If your kitchen is on the cool side, use your oven: Turn the heat to 170°C/150°C Fan for TWO MINUTES ONLY, switch off, and place your bowl inside. Due to the enrichments of butter and sugar, this may take longer than normal, probably closer to 90 minutes.
  • Tip out the risen dough and gently deflate by pressing with the hands.
  • Divide your dough by weight: 60g makes a decent-sized bun, but go larger if you prefer a more substantial bun.
  • Roll the dough into a smooth ball, press flat with the palm of your hand, then arrange on a parchment-lined baking sheet at least 3cm apart.
  • Cover lightly with plastic and allow to rise a second time (30-45 minutes).
  • Heat the oven to 180°C, 160°C Fan.
  • When the buns are sufficiently risen, cut a cross into them. I find pressing (not rolling) a pizza wheel down into the buns is an ideal tool for this: it marks a deep cross, but doesn’t cut through the edges of the bun and cause them to split during baking. Alternatively, use the flat end of a spatula.
  • Whisk the egg and milk together, and glaze the buns by brushing the mixture over them using a pastry brush.
  • Bake for 15-20 minutes, depending on size. For the smaller 60g buns 15 minutes is fine. If your buns are larger, then leave them for 20 minutes. Turn the baking sheet around halfway though.
  • While the buns are baking, add 2tbs caster sugar to the remaining bun wash and stir to dissolve.
  • When the buns are baked and golden brown, remove from the oven and place the baking sheet on a rack. Brush the hot buns over with the sweetened bun wash. The heat of the buns will set the sweetened glaze, and your cross buns will cool with a lovely shine.
  • Remove the buns from the baking sheet when cool and store in an airtight container.
  • Serving suggestion: Delicious when freshly baked. When cooled, cut in half and toast both sides. Serve warm with butter and a sharp cheddar cheese.

Colcannon

18th century, 19th century, 20th century, 21st Century, Main Meal

There are many traditional foods associated with All Hallow’s Eve/Hallowe’en, November Night, but one which might be new (and deliciously simple to prepare), is the Irish potato dish of Colcannon.

Back in the beforetimes, when cakes of bairín breac were considered a luxury, people used to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve with a big pot of Colcannon. A ring was hidden in the depths of the creamy, mashed potatoes, and whoever ended up with it on their spoon, was said to be going to be the first to marry, within the next 12 months.

There aren’t many Irish cookery books of this time, so my favourite place to find accounts of the Irish food actually eaten by the population (as opposed to some publisher’s imagined scenario), is The School’s Collection at the National Folklore Collection, held at University College, Dublin. The Schools Project was an ambitious and wide-ranging collection of everything to do with Irish Folklore and Culture, gathered and recorded by school pupils between 1937 and 1939. More information about the project can be found here.

With information gathered from all across the country, it is fascinating to see both the common threads that bind the Irish people together, as well as discover the little differences that make each community unique. For instance, you might be aware of the popular Irish potato dish of Boxty, you might also be aware that it can be served in three different ways (loaf, dumplings, pan), but you might be surprised to learn that The Schools Collection contains over 150 different ways of making Boxty. I recently wrote a paper about this, the appendices of which, including the list of 150+ different ways of making Boxty, you can access here.

So it is, to a certain extent, with Colcannon. It also appears under the names Brúitín, Brúchin, Champ and Poundies, to name but a few. “No, no no!” I hear you exclaim, “Champ is its own thing! It’s made with spring onions!”

Well yes, but actually no.

It might actually be a Stampy/Boxty situation, where the same dish has different names, depending on the part of the country you come from. I shall be looking into this more soon.

Similarly, there can be interpretation as to what exactly the dish comprises. At it’s simplest, it is cooked potatoes, mashed with a little milk, pepper and salt, and served in a mound with a lump of butter in the middle. It is eaten by scooping some potato from around the edge and then dipping it in the growing pool of melted butter in the middle before consuming.

Many accounts of Colcannon have additional items of flavouring added. “A bit of greenery” is probably the easiest way to describe a large proportion of them, which include young (spring) onion, chives, nettles, leeks, shredded cooked cabbage or kale, parsley, regular onions.

The accompaniments can be anything you enjoy, but traditionally they include: sweet milk, buttermilk or sowans to drink, and crisp, crunchy oat bread (oatcakes) to use as a scoop.

I was delighted to find just how old the dish of Colcannon is: there’s mention of it back in the eighteenth century. William Ellis (1750) includes a recipe for an “Irish Country Dish” in his The Country Housewife’s Family Companion, p366.

And Welsh diarist William Bulkeley (1691-1751), whose diaries are kept at Bangor University, mentions dining on “Coel Callen” at Halloween in 1735, whilst on a trip to Ireland.

Even earlier, a poem published in Dublin in 1723, speaks of what certainly seems to be a dish of Colcannon being prepared for a wedding feast.

From “Mendico-hymen seu, tuphlo-pero-gamia. The beggar’s match. Translated from the Latin.”, W. Thompson, printed by Tho. Hume, for Jer. and Sil. Pepyat, Dublin, 1723.

Colcannon

This is more of a guideline than hard-and-fast recipe. Use quantities to your own personal needs and taste.

potatoes
greenery 
milk
salt & pepper
butter

ring (optional)

  • Cook your potatoes. The method doesn’t really matter: boil or bake. The important detail is to mash them smooth whilst hot. I use a ricer to make sure all lumps have been dealt with, but you can also press them through a coarse sieve or use some elbow grease and a masher utensil.
  • Smooth out the mixture by adding milk. NB Use hot milk, otherwise you run the risk of cooling down your potatoes too much. If you’re using any kind of onion, you might like to simmer them in milk for 10 minutes to both flavour the milk and reduce the harshness of the onions themselves. Strain out the onions, keeping the warm milk for mixing, and chop the onions finely – or to your taste. Cover and keep hot while the greens are prepared.
  • Add your greens – this may be in the form of herbs (chives/parsley) green onions/spring onions/cibol/leeks, Savoy cabbage, spring greens, kale, sweetheart cabbage, white cabbage, Brussels sprouts, spinach, nettles, etc. The cabbage and/or leeks should be shredded to your liking (fine/coarse) and blanched/steamed for five minutes. Add sufficient to your own personal taste.
  • When everything is piping hot, serve your Colcannon in a large communal dish, with a generous amount of butter in a hollow in the centre, and hand round spoons for all. Don’t forget to pop a ring  into the mix before serving, if matrimony is in your plans.

Shortbread Variations

19th century, 20th century, 21st Century

This week’s recipe subject came about, as it increasingly does of late, with a casual thought when looking for something else.

Behold this recipe from Mary Jewry, editor of Warne’s Model Cookery and Housekeeping Book (1868). The first thing that caught my eye, and got me thinking, was the proportions of the ingredients. Nowadays, a proportion of 1:2:3 (of sugar, butter and flour) is touted by many as traditional, but here was a proportion of 1:2:4. Also of interest was the addition of ground almonds to add texture, whereas modern purist recipes staunchly abide by the ‘rule of three’ (i.e. no additions, especially not caraway comfits and citron). Lastly, there was the cooking temperature – a slow oven – which is different to the short sharp bake at high temperature in use today.

I resolved to put these variations to the test, but then the addition of the almonds got me thinking some more: what else has been added to traditional shortbread, and to what end? The answer turned out to be: quite a bit. I ended up baking twelve batches of 1:2:4 shortbread, each with a different ingredient making up 1/4 of the flour component, and performing a giant taste test to see which was, for me, the ultimate combination. And here’s a key point: it’s all down to personal taste. What I might find delightful, others may find not to their taste. I’m hoping that by presenting a wide range of options, you too may find your ultimate shortbread recipe.

Here are the choices I made:

  • Sugar: I chose to use soft light brown. This was to give a more rounded flavour to the shortbread. White caster (superfine) sugar is sweet, but only that – rather one note.
  • Butter: unsalted, but with a small quantity of salt added. I had made some shortbread recently, and used salted butter, and the shortbread was delicious, but the finishing lick of saltiness might be an acquired taste. I tried another batch with unsalted butter, and this proved less popular, so for the run of test batches I resolved to split the difference and use unsalted butter, with just a quarter teaspoon of salt.
  • Flour: regular, unbranded white plain flour. After baking a control batch using 100% flour, the remaining batches each had 1 part of the flour component as a different ingredient. These comprised: ground almonds, rice flour, ground rice, cornflour, ground almonds, semolina, fine cornmeal and coarse cornmeal (caveat: I was unable to find any coarse cornmeal, and used polenta instead).

The Results

There are several outcomes from this mammoth bake and taste test. (Top image, Shortbread Variations: From the left, classic (butter, sugar, flour), then baked with: cornflour, rice flour, semolina, ground rice, ground almonds, polenta).

  • The ‘flours’ – these can be divided into two groups, the powders and the granules. Both affect the texture of the finished shortbread.
    • The powders include cornflour, rice flour, fine cornmeal (and possibly by extension, arrowroot, potato starch). The effects of using these powder-fine flours is to make the texture of the shortbread crisp and ‘melt in the mouth’.
    • The granules include ground almonds, ground rice, semolina, coarse cornmeal, polenta. The  effects of using these granules is to make the shortbread both crisp and crumbly. They create a thin, outside ‘crust’ and inside deliciously friable and crumbly. Ground almonds obviously bring a nuttiness to the cooked shortbread, which, if it’s your favourite, could be intensified by using ground hazelnuts. The polenta/cornmeal versions also baked to a gorgeous golden colour.
  • The long, slow baking allows the shortbread to cook though thoroughly. Sometimes I have had shortbread where the outsides are cooked, but the insides moist, dense and almost doughy. This method of cooking eliminates that.
  • To further improve the texture of the shortbread, it was returned to the oven to cool, to ensure all moisture is eliminated. The shortbread should not be stored until completely cold.
  • A number of gluten-free batches were made, although fewer that those using regular flour. I have always had good results by substituting Doves Farm gluten-free flour on a 1-for-1 basis, and so it proved here. NB Gluten-free shortbread is extremely delicate when freshly baked, and will need a very careful approach (see below). However, if my advice is followed, once cooled they will be much more sturdy.

Gluten-free shortbread variations: classic, ground rice, fine cornmeal, polenta

To summarise: All the shortbread versions were delicious, and unless you line them up side by side like I did, it is unlikely that you would be able to rate one over another, It’s really almost splitting hairs to rank them – everyone’s personal taste is different – so I won’t. One observation of mine, which you are free to discard, is that, for my tastes, the shortbreads were a little sweet, so in my perfect recipe (below), I reduced the amount of sugar to just 45g – it’s practically health food! With the sprinkling of sugar on the top, it made for the perfect amount of sweetness.

People with gluten sensitivity: At the risk of stating the obvious, almost all of the flours can be enjoyed – rice flour, corn flour, ground rice, fine corn meal, coarse cornmeal/polenta, ground almonds, ground hazelnuts – and as already mentioned, probably arrowroot and potato starch as well. A gentle reminder that the one exception is semolina. SEMOLINA is made from durum wheat and is NOT GLUTEN-FREE.

The Recipe

60g soft brown sugar
120g unsalted butter, chilled
180g plain flour – or gluten-free flour
60g your choice of additional flour
¼ tsp salt
a little caster sugar for sprinkling

  • Line a small baking tin (18cm x 25cm) with baking parchment. Leave extra parchment overlapping the sides, to assist in moving the baked shortbread.
  • Heat the oven to 160°C, 140°C Fan.
  • Cut the butter into cubes and add to the bowl of a food processor fitted with a blade.
  • Add the remaining ingredients to the butter and pulse briefly until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.
  • Tip the mixture onto the parchment, and press into an even layer.
  • Use a round skewer to poke holes all over the surface of the slab of shortbread.
  • Use the tines of a fork to mark the shortbread along the long edges of the tin.
  • Bake the shortbread for 30 minutes, turning the tin around after 15 minutes to ensure even baking.
  • Once the shortbread is baked, there are additional steps you need to take in order to make your shortbread the very best,
    • Remove the shortbread from the oven. Keep the oven on.
    • Sprinkle the surface of the shortbread with a little caster sugar.
    • Using a very thin bladed knife or (ideally, in my opinion, a metal dough scraper), cut the shortbread into pieces. I cut mine lengthwise in half, then across into fingers 3cm wide.
    • Allow to cool in the tin for 15 minutes.
    • Gently slide the parchment out of the tin and onto a baking sheet. Smooth out the parchment.
    • Using the dough scraper (or palette knife turned sideways), ease the shortbread pieces apart to leave a 5mm gap in-between. You want to gently push them apart, not try and slide anything underneath, because the shortbread will break. NB The gluten-free shortbread will be EXTREMELY delicate, take extra care at this point.
    • Return the shortbread to the oven, switch the oven off and leave to cool until both oven and shortbread are completely cold. I baked most batches in the evening and let the shortbread cool overnight. If baking during the day, it will take between 3-4 hours.
    • When completely cold, transfer the shortbread to an airtight container to store.

Bonus

On a personal level, I discovered that I much preferred the gluten-free shortbread made with the grains, specifically cornmeal, the texture being surprisingly moreish. I think the natural sweetness of maize and the greatness of the flavour when pairing with butter is a significant contribution. To this end, I decided to make one more batch, with cornmeal, and some raw butter (made from unpasteurised milk). In the 19th century all butter was raw butter, so I reasoned that this would be even more authentic (I had brought some raw butter back from France this summer). To cut a long, rambling story short – it was amazing. If you have the opportunity to get your hands on some raw butter made from unpasteurized milk, do it, and then make shortbread. It’s sublime. It is possible to get raw butter in the UK, but it is more expensive than regular, and in the current cost of living crunch, it might not be your number one priority. However, if you fancy treating yourself, then Sainsbury’s stocks Isigny Sainte-Mère salted raw butter, whilst Ocado has both salted and unsalted (doux).

My Perfect Shortbread

45g soft brown sugar
120g raw butter made from unpasteurized milk, chilled
180g plain white gluten-free flour
60g coarse cornmeal
¼ tsp salt
a little caster sugar for sprinkling

Make and bake as above.

Russian Toffee

19th century, 20th century

This is a recipe that I’ve had on my ‘To Do’ list for years. I first came across it in an old, spiral-bound, Women’s Institute cookery book. Over the years I’ve seen many different versions, some with sour cream, some from the 19th century are made with “Swiss Milk” (the equivalent of modern condensed milk – although just to be confusing, some recipes sometimes list “unsweetened Swiss Milk”, thus making it equivalent to evaporated milk). It would be interesting to see how these recipes compare in texture to the classic fudge recipe posted elsewhere on this site.

But anyhoo…

From “The Art of Sweetmaking” by Beatrice Manders, L. Thorne & Co., London, 1901, pp31/2

This version, from 1901,  uses red currant jelly, which gives the toffee a lovely reddish tinge and a delicious tang of sharpness against the sweetness from all the sugar. Redcurrants are about to come into season, and this recipe might be useful to either use up last year’s jelly or make use of this year’s fresh batch. Alternately, you can just buy red currant jelly in the supermarket.

I deliberately chose this version because it dates to the height of Russian Toffee popularity, and I find it funny that the writer sees fit to include finger-wagging admonishment to take care to make it properly and not over-cook it, all the while failing to give proper instructions on how to do just that.

So! Let us talk about the intricacies of toffee making.

In short, there aren’t any. It is fundamentally about heating your sugar mixture to a particular temperature point in order to achieve a certain texture when it cools down. This is done by heating until sufficient moisture has evaporated, which will result in the sugar reaching a high-enough temperature.

The difficulty for our Victorian ancestors and earlier was, a lack of sufficiently detailed thermometers with which to aid their efforts. That’s not to say that sugar confectionery was unheard of in earlier times. Quite the opposite, in fact. Confectioners in Times of Yore™ devised a visual scale to judge the heat of the sugar solution, and divided it into six levels, each with their own particular uses: smooth, pearled, blown, feathered, cracked and caramel. Francis Massialot’s “The Court and Country Cook” (1702) goes into detail across several pages describing the physical and visual cues of each stage.

Luckily for modern cooks, there are digital thermometers which can eliminate much of the guesswork. The difficulty lies in ensuring that the whole of your batch of boiling sugar has reached the correct temperature, hence the need to keep your mixture well stirred. Care must also be taken, if using a probe thermometer, not to accidentally touch the tip against the bottom of the pan, which will register as several degrees higher than the sugar itself.

All that remains is to decide on the consistency you wish to enjoy your toffee. You can take it to whatever degree you prefer. I have made this specific recipe four times, taking each batch to a different temperature and each has its pluses and minuses. Its up to you which you choose.

  • 120°C – toffee is soft and chewy at room temperature.
  • 130°C – toffee is firmer but still chewy. Thin sheets will bend easily.
  • 140°C – toffee is hard at room temperature, but will soften in the mouth and become chewy.
  • 150°C – toffee is brittle at room temperature, will eventually soften in the mouth and become chewy.

Personally, I prefer the last two: for toffee to consume as is I like to take it to 150°C; for toffee to use in other recipes, since it will have further heating in the oven, I prefer to take it to just 140°C.

One final point, toffee is hygroscopic. It loves to absorb moisture. As soon as it is cooled, you should pack it in an airtight container. A plastic ziplock bag might lack visual appeal, but it is marvellous for keeping your toffee shiny and free of stickiness for days on end. Alternatively, you can choose to either wrap your toffee pieces in waxed paper or cover your toffee in chocolate to prolong its shelf life.

Russian Toffee

This is just a half batch of the original recipe, and still makes a sizeable slab. I have elected to interpret ‘loaf sugar’ as soft, light brown sugar, for added flavour. After a few trial runs, I opted to omit the vanilla as it wasn’t adding anything to the flavour, and actually impairing the redcurrant flavour coming through. You could vary this recipe by using similar quantities of other sharp fruit jellies such as cranberry, black currant, quince or apple.

225g soft light brown sugar
115g unsalted butter
100g red currant jelly
150g double cream

200g dark chocolate (optional)

  • Line an edged baking pan with baking parchment. I used a pan 30cm x 22cm and it was more than large enough.
  • Add all ingredients to a pan and heat gently until the butter and jelly have melted and the sugar dissolved. A wide pan (like a frying pan) is better than a tall (saucepan) pan, as the greater surface area facilitates evaporation.
  • Increase the heat slightly (I suggest level 6 on a 1-9 scale) and stir gently but continuously until the mixture boiled for several minutes and has thickened slightly.
  • Check with a thermometer (if using a frying pan, you may need to tilt it in order to get an accurate reading of the sugar mixture temperature), and remove from the heat when your sugar mixture has reached your chosen temperature.
  • Pour the mixture onto the baking parchment in your prepared pan and allow to cool. NB If you wish to mark out your toffee into squares like in the top picture, don’t let it cool longer than 8 minutes before doing so, otherwise it will have set too firmly.
  • To mark out your toffee, lightly butter the blade of a long, straight-bladed knife and press down firmly into the toffee. About 1.5cm squares is a good size. The knife won’t easily cut all the way through, but will make strong enough marks so that it is easy to break into pieces when cooled.
  • After 20 minutes of cooling, cover the pan with cling film, or slide the whole thing, pan and all, into a large ziplock bag, and leave to cool completely (both Sainsbury’s & Tesco sell XL ziplock bags that are ideal for this).
  • If you’re planning to enjoy your toffee as is, then, once completely cold, you can give it a sharp tap on the counter and it should break into pieces quite easily. Be sure to transfer it to an airtight container to keep it free of stickiness.
  • If you’d like to cover it with chocolate, you can temper it relatively quickly and easily by using the seeding method and 200g of the chocolate of choice. I used dark chocolate. Also, Instead of dipping pieces individually, which is a Faff™, I opted to brush the tempered chocolate over the whole sheet, on both sides, then break into pieces once the chocolate had set and cooled. It doesn’t cover the toffee completely, but enough to keep it from dissolving into a sticky mess, and the contrast between the bitterness of the chocolate with the sweetness of the toffee and the tang of the redcurrants is delightful.