Tag: bread

Apple Fritters

17th century

The Wellcome Collection has digitised thousands of resources related to the medical field, including hundreds of manuscripts, and made them freely available online. Many of these manuscripts also contain cookery recipes, because the food and medicines were considered the domain of the female head of the household, and so everything was kept in the one volume. The usual practice was to have medicinal receipts written in the front of the book, and then the book was turned over and the food recipes were written starting in the back of the book, and thus appeared upside down when reading the book left to right.

Over the centuries, household manuscripts became more food oriented and the medicinal recipes reduced to instructions for health salves and powders, but home cures can still be found in these hand-written treasures well into the 19th century.

As already mentioned, these resources are freely available, and over the years I have downloaded and indexed almost 300 of the manuscripts containing food recipes. My spreadsheet of recipes from just the Wellcome Collection stands at just over 35.5 thousand entries, and I have also branched out into indexing collections from the National Library of Scotland, McGill University collection The Folger Shakespeare Library and the Leeds University collection. They all make for a huge resource when looking for recipes for specific ingredients or recipes from particular eras.

This week, I was looking for apple recipes. I had over-estimated the number of Bramley (cooking) apples I needed for a recipe I was trialling (It did not go well. I was not inspired to tweak it. Let us speak of it not), and so had two large specimens in the fruit bowl needing to be used while still green, shiny and crisp and before they collapsed into a floury heap.

After a quick flip through the Wellcome Collection spreadsheet, I’ve got nearly 800 recipes to choose from. And the recipe I landed on was Rare Fritters (rare in this context meaning exceptional, especially delicious). Or should I say, recipes. Because the same recipe appears twice in the spreadsheet, from two different contemporary sources.

Screenshot of a spreadsheet of indexed recipes
Screenshot of a spreadsheet of indexed recipes

One is from the household manuscript book of Grace Carteret, 1st Countess Granville (1654-1744), dated 1662-mid 18thC.

Recipe for Rare Fritters, Grace Carteret, MS8903, Wellcome Collection

The second is from an anonymous manuscript dated 1675-c.1725

Recipe for Rare Fritters, Anonymous Manuscript, MS1321, Wellcome Collection

Written in thankfully legible hands, it is obvious that they are two versions of the same recipe, with the only slight differences being in spelling. This makes the recipe all the more interesting, because it comes from an age where there were very few printed cookery books from which this recipe could have been copied. We’re talking England at the time of The Restoration, peak Merry Monarch era (Charles II). There’s no like recipe in Gervase Markham’s The English Hus-wife” (1613), Robert May’s “The Accomplisht Cook” (1660), nor Hannah Wolley’s “The Queen-like Closet or Rich Cabinet” (1670). Similar, yes – but nothing with these ingredients/instructions/quantities. And that’s kinda it for 17thC cookbooks[1].

Which begs the question; how did this recipe end up in two different household books? Perhaps these ladies knew each other – they’re certainly of the same era. Did they exchange recipes directly, or is there an as-yet unknown publication from which they both copied? The answer is obviously rhetorical, but I do like to ponder such things.

ANYHOO…

The recipe is, as they say, an absolute banger. In modern terms, they are apple fritters. The mix of flavourings and spices means you can really taste the 17th century – in a good way! The flavours are more complex and the texture more refined than modern recipes, which tend to use large, cubed, dessert apples and rely on baking powder to provide aeration. Cooking apples, in general, break down during cooking more easily than dessert/eating apples. Bramley apples in particular break down into an incredibly light fluff. It’s almost magical. In this recipe, with the short cooking time, the pieces of apple are still visible, but they are just barely holding it together, so you when you bite into the fritters, you get an amazing apple taste with seemingly no tangible textural evidence of apple.

Apple Fritters

I made a half-batch of the original recipe, which still made a very  generous quantity. You could halve it again, for an even smaller batch, but then you run the risk of disappointment when they’re all gone in five minutes.

Makes 20-30, depending on size

200ml milk
large pinch of saffron
2  large eggs
1 large yolk
300ml double cream
80ml fortified wine (cream sherry/mead/ginger wine/madeira/marsala)
2 tsp rosewater
1 tsp ground nutmeg
½ tsp ground mace
½ tsp ground cloves
½ tsp salt
1 sachet fast-action yeast
450g (2 large) cooking apples (Bramleys recommended)
250-300g plain flour (or Gluten-Free flour + 1 tsp xanthan gum)

oil for frying
caster sugar for dusting

  • Put the milk and the saffron into a small pan and heat it until scalded (little bubbles around the edge of the pan.
  • Remove from the heat and allow the saffron to steep for 30 minutes.
  • Use an immersion blender to combine the soaked saffron threads into the warm milk (optional).
  • Add the saffron milk, eggs, yolk, cream, fortified wine, rosewater, spices, salt and yeast to a medium bowl and stir to combine.
  • Peel and core the apples and grate on a mandolin fitted with a thin grating blade. Chop the resulting pile of apple ‘sticks’ across with a knife to make the shreds smaller.
  • Stir the apple shreds into the wet ingredients.
  • Add flour to thicken.  How much flour will depend on the moisture content of the wet ingredients. I suggest starting with 250g and adding the rest if necessary. The final texture should be similar to a fruit cake mixture just before you put it in the tin. Not very helpful if you’re unfamiliar with fruit cake recipes, so I’ve been sitting here trying to think of another scenario, so how’s this: a little bit firmer than a bolognese sauce. Firm enough to hold it’s shape if you mound it up in the bowl, but still be moist.
  • Cover the bowl with plastic and set aside to rise for 1 hour.
  • Once the dough is risen, heat some oil in a pan, or a deep-fat fryer if you have one, to 170°C.
  • Drop pieces of dough into the hot oil and fry until cooked and golden brown. Don’t ‘knock back’ the dough – you want to keep as much of the aeration as possible.
    You can use two spoons, but an ice-cream scoop is by far the easiest option, if you have one. I have two – a regular-sized one and a mini scoop. Dropping a level scoop of dough into the oil will result in an almost spherical apple fritter. The size of the piece of dough will dictate how long it is cooked. The dough will double in size during cooking.

    • If you use a large scoop, the cooking time will be 8 minutes.
    • If you use a small scoop, the cooking time will be 6 minutes.
  • Don’t cook too many at one time, as it will cool the oil too much and may cause the finished fritter to be greasy. I suggest 6 small fritters or 4 large, maximum. Left to their own devices, the fritters should flip themselves over naturally when the bottom is cooked, but due to the dough not always being perfect spheres, you may need to flip them over yourself halfway through cooking.
  • When cooked, lift the fritters from the pan and shake to get rid of most of the oil.
  • Lay the cooked fritters onto 2 or 3 sheets of kitchen paper to drain any remaining oil, and allow to cool. Don’t stack them on top of one another in a bowl, otherwise they’ll just get squished. You want the outsides to harden a little before adding the sugar, so that they hold their shape.
  • When they have cooled to just warm, sprinkle over caster sugar. You can also put the caster sugar into a ziplock bag or large bowl and roll/toss the fritters until coated. Even though there is no sugar in the actual recipe, rolling in sugar made them a little too sweet for my tastes. I suggest sprinkling first and adding more later if liked.
  • Any left when cold (good luck with that!) can be stored in an airtight container.

 

 

 

[1] The main ones, at least. Elinor Fettiplace’s Receipt Book (1604) is a private family manuscript not printed until 1986. John Evelyn’s “Acetaria: A Discourse of Sallets” (1699) and Thomas Tryon’s “Wisdom’s Dictates” (1691) both being very late published and containing no fritters.

Manchets

19th century, 20th century

Another two-for-one recipe for you this week, based on traditional regional recipes: Guildford Manchets and Lardy Buns, both from the county of Surrey.

Both of these recipes come from Elizabeth David’s classic English Bread and Yeast Cookery (1980). I’ve grouped them together because, with one slight difference, they are made the same way. Also, I like how they are related to two other recipes I’ve already published, from other countries.

According to Mrs David, the recipe for Guildford Manchets originates from “The Surrey Cookbook”, a collection of recipes gathered and published by the Women’s Institute in 1932. The Lardy Buns are listed immediately following, and so the inference is that these too come from Surrey. Whilst it is conceivable that these recipes stretch back into the 19th century, I think it would be a mistake to claim they are medieval in origin, just because they are called ‘manchets’. Yes, there were, of course, medieval manchets, but I’m not entirely sure these are them. I am reminded of the furore that occurred back in 2020 when an American researcher claimed the Cornish pasty was actually ‘invented’ in Devon – the audacity! – merely because he had found the word ‘pasty’ in a 17thC document in the Devon archives.  (Sidebar: I almost got a detached retina from the degree of eye-roll that bit of guff precipitated, especially given the fact that, for starters, the National Archives at Kew hold a document from 1296 that mentions “Simon Le Pasteymaker”.)

ANYHOO…

Both buns are made in the same way, by rolling in additional fat to plain bread dough, the only difference being that Guildford Manchets are made with a combination of lard and butter, and Lardy Buns are made solely with lard. The method is similar to that used to make flaky pastry: rolling out the dough, dotting over the fat, then folding and re-rolling, repeated three or four times. In times past, housewives could buy plain dough from the local baker, and use it for their own needs. It’s a shame that nowadays, the only non-standard purchase we are able to make from a bakery is fresh yeast.

Guildford Manchets

These two recipes are similar to two other traditional recipes I’ve already published. The Guildford Manchets bear a close resemblance to the Kouignettes, the small versions of Kouign Amann, except for the type of fat used and the lack of sugar. Whilst the ones I made for the photo are rolled round, a simpler method would be to cut the rolled dough into squares, fold the corners into the middle, and bake them in small foil baking tins. In Mrs David’s version of Lardy Buns, the use of cutters and the cross-hatching on the top make them very similar to Hungarian Pogácsa, minus the fresh dill. Lardy Buns are still made today, in a small village bakery in Surrey: “Celebration Cakes” in Cranleigh. They make them their own by poking two holes in the top, instead of using the cross-hatching. To my mind, it makes the baked buns look like the snouts of pigs (very cute and very appropriate, given the use of lard in their making).

Lardy Buns

In terms of flavour, the Lardy Buns are definitely on the savoury side, and pairs well with meats and cheeses. Fantastic for ‘breakfast sandwiches’, if that’s something you like. The insides, whilst bready-y, are layered and soft, and the outsides are crispy, like the crust of a pork pie.

The Guildford Manchets have a much richer flavour, thanks to the butter, and are crisp, but also slightly softer overall. More towards a flaky pastry texture. They are equally suited to both sweet and savoury toppings/fillings.

I’m going to combine the methods for both recipes. Best started the night before, the recipe below makes about a dozen (12) of each item. Re-rolling the offcuts from the Lardy Rolls won’t give you the same polished finish, but they will be just as tasty. Baker’s perks! No waste!

Manchets Two Ways

Makes 12 of each type of manchet. You can scale the recipe down by halving it, if you’d prefer to make just one. To make the dough easier to handle all the rolling and folding, chill overnight in the fridge (covered) after the first rise.

For the dough
600g strong white bread flour
1 sachet fast-action yeast
1 tsp salt
water to mix

For Guildford Manchets
60g lard, softened
60g butter, softened

For Lardy Buns
120g lard, softened

To glaze
whole milk

  • Mix the flour, yeast, salt and water (400-500ml, depending on the moisture content of your flour) into a dough.
  • Knead for 10 minutes until smooth, then cover and set aside to rise for 1 hour.
  • Tip out the dough and flatten with the palm of your hand. If you’re chilling the dough overnight, fold the dough into a neat rectangle, wrap in plastic and place in the fridge.
  • When ready to make up the rolls, if making the Guildford Manchets, mash the softened butter and lard together with a fork.
  • If you’re making both types of manchet, divide the dough in half and repeat the following with each half, using the different fats.
  • Roll out the dough into a long rectangle.
  • Dot one third of the fat over the top two-thirds of the dough.
  • Fold the bottom third of the dough upwards and the top third downwards. Turn the folded dough 90° to the left.
  • Repeat the rolling and folding two more times, until all the fat has been used.
  • Roll and fold the dough one final time, without adding any fat.
  • Roll the dough out into a rectangle about 2cm thick
  • For Guildford Manchets
    • Cut the dough into 12 squares.
    • Fold each corner into the middle, then repeat with the ‘inbetween’ edges, pinching them together firmly.
    • Turn the folded dough over, and roll under your cupped hand to form into a smooth ball.
    • Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment.
    • Alternatively, use mini foil pie tins like these, as used in this recipe, and simply fold in the four corners before dropping them into the foil tins. This will help preserve the layers by keeping the fat from running out of the dough and also reduce the possibility of the buns bursting at the seams. No need to cut the buns before baking is using this method.
  • For Lardy Buns
    • Use a small (5 or 6cm diameter) round cutter to cut out the buns.
    • Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment.
  • Set the buns aside to rise for 30 minutes.
  • Heat the oven to 220°C, 200°C Fan.
  • Brush the risen buns with milk, then cut a criss-cross of diamonds into the top of the Lardy Buns and a single deep cut across the top of the Guildford Manchets. OK, here’s the thing. The original instructions for the Guildford Manchets, as reproduced by Mrs David, were to ‘dock through the centre only’ – the logic of which is understandable –  it both lets out steam during baking and exposes the wonderful layers beneath. But as may be observed from the photo, it does also mean that the end result is a bit  ‘Georgia O’Keef’. If you don’t see it, then I urge you to remain in blissful ignorance – it’s probably for the best. Because as we have learned before, baking can be a bawdy business at times. *coughs awkwardly* Moving on…
  • Bake the buns for 20 minutes, turning the trays around after 10 minutes to give an even colouring.
  • Cool on a wire rack.
  • Best served warm.
  • Store in an airtight container.

 

Apple Cream

18th century, Pudding

Recently, I was browsing my collection of manuscript recipes, looking for something suitable for the upcoming Mothers Day, also known as Mothering Sunday.

I have already posted about the original Simnel Cake, which has more recently morphed into a marzipan-layered fruit cake. But to be honest, my reaction to thoughts of doing anything with marzipan is, pretty much as it has always been:

Blanche from The Golden Girls sighing heavily.

I know it’s very much a part of traditional baked goods in the UK, but exposure to the neon-yellow, heavily almond-flavoured monstrosity of my youth has left its scars. Some day I shall get around to rehabilitating my taste-buds, but for now, to paraphrase the words of Syrio Forel: What do we say to things with marzipan? Not today.

So I decided to go another way and make something that many manuscript authors decide is important enough to be recorded in their book: a recipe from their own mother. The recipes they wish to preserve are many and varied, ranging from jams and marmalades, custards, pastry, cheesecakes and puddings, to spiced meats, possets, biscuits, cakes and more.

Handwritten recipe for Apple Cream, from a manuscript dated circa 1725, MS1343, at the Wellcome Collection
Apple Cream, circa 1725, MS1343, Wellcome Collection

This recipe from Deborah Branch’s manuscript, dates from 1725, the early years of the Hanoverian Era. It is a simple recipe, with arguably just three ingredients, and it suggests to me that it is a treasured childhood memory: Cooked apples, bread, custard. It is served cold, and can be assembled just before serving, if more suited to your circumstances. The textures play a large part in the enjoyment of this recipe: the firm, coldness of the cooked apple, the lightness of the cream and the crunch of the toasted bread are very ‘toothsome’, as they used to say. The recipe suggests assembling and then chilling, however this will impact the crispness of the toasted bread, so I would recommend making and chilling everything, then assembling when required.

A word or two about the ingredients.

  • Apples: I’ve tried this recipe with both Bramley cooking apples and (Cox’s) eating apples. Both are good in different ways. The Bramleys are much bigger (so fewer are needed) and are less prone to holding their shape. Time the cooking just right and they have a fantastic texture, soft on the outside and firm yet still cooked in the centre, but even if they tip over into fluff, their flavour is still wonderful, especially if you’ve used either light or dark brown sugar. Eating apples hold their shape much better and are a great contrast against the crisp bread and creamy custard. Personally, I prefer to use Bramley apples – their sharpness is a great contrast against the sweetness of the toasted buns and cream.
  • Bread: the original recipe just calls for ‘slices of bread’ to act as a base, but this didn’t seem to offer much, especially not in texture. I recently read a recipe for a trifle that had the bread toasted, and I thought that sounded much more exciting (yes, dearest gentle reader, I really did just admit to toast sounding exciting. Hey, I live in the wilds of the countryside, we gotta take our entertainment where we can!). You can tinker with this recipe merely by changing the bread you choose – airy sourdough,  an enriched brioche, even dark rye bread or malt loaf. I chose to go with spiced hot cross buns, as a nod to the Easter season in general, and I can highly recommend this option.
  • Cream/Custard: despite the title, the cream proved to be a rich custard made with egg yolks and cream. I’m always pondering the type of cream they mean in old recipes, because here in the 21st century we’re rather spoiled for choice. But you can use the same tweaks here as for the bread option: I used single/pouring cream, but you could enrich it by switching to whipping, double, extra thick or even clotted for a real indulgence. The ‘set’ wasn’t very firm – and I liked that – but if you prefer a set to your custard cream, just add a rounded teaspoon of cornflour (mixed to a slurry with milk) to the eggs and sugar.

Apple Cream c.1725

This recipe can be customised to both your liking and your needs. I offer the following quantities as a guide to serving four people, but the quantities of each can be doubled for large appetites/extra portions.

Bramley Apples x 2 ( ½ an apple per person)
OR
Eating/Dessert Apples x 4 (1 apple per person)
4 tbs sugar – caster, light or dark brown

2 x Hot Cross Buns

300ml single cream
3 large egg yolks
1-2 tbs caster sugar – or more to your taste
flavouring – 1tsp rosewater/orange flower water/vanilla/lemon zest – or other
1 rounded tsp cornflour & milk to mix (optional)

  • Cook the apples: Peel the apples and cut into halves. Remove the cores. Sprinkle over sugar to your taste. About 1tbs per half-apple.
  • Add the apple halves to a pan with a lid (preferably a glass one so you can easily keep an eye on the apples as they cook.
  • Sprinkle 1tsp water per apple into the pan, just to keep the sugar from scorching until the juices start to run.
  • Cover the pan and turn the heat to low (4 on my hob).
  • Allow the apples to poach gently until just cooked through – for Bramley Apples about 15 minutes, eating apples will be closer to 20 minutes.
  • Switch off the heat and allow the apples to cool in the pan. When cold, transfer them and any juice to a dish and chill in the fridge until required.
  • Toast the bread. Tear your buns/bread into small pieces and spread out on a baking sheet.
  • Toast the bread under the grill until crisped and turning brown at the edges.
  • Cool on the baking sheet and when cold, transfer to a ziplock bag or airtight container until needed.
  • Prepare the cream. Pour the cream into a small saucepan and bring to a gentle simmer – when the edges are just bubbling.
  • While the cream is heating, whisk the yolks with the sugar. If you’re using cornflour, add the slurry now.
  • Pour the scalded cream onto the yolks, whisking, then return the mixture to the pan.
  • Whisk the custard over medium heat until it has thickened. Take care it doesn’t boil, as it will turn the cream grainy.
  • Remove from the heat, stir through your flavouring and set aside. If not assembling immediately, cover the surface with plastic wrap to prevent a skin forming.

To Assemble

You can make this recipe in a large trifle bowl, but I think individual servings are much more attractive.

  • Cover the base of your dish with toasted bread/buns. If your bread has softened put it into the oven to crisp it up. Alternatively, prep and chill the cream and apples beforehand and toast the bread just before serving.
  • Arrange your cooked apples (or apple fluff if your Bramleys went a bit too far) over the toast. Drizzle any juices over as well.
  • Spoon your custard cream over the apples. I like to leave gaps here and there to allow the other ingredients to peep through.
  • Top with chopped/flaked nuts, sugar crystals, candied fruit or whipped cream as liked.

 

Stuffing Loaf

20th century, 21st Century

This recipe might be my finest creation since The Ploughman’s Loaf!

If the name of the blog weren’t already a huge clue, I am a big fan of leftovers, and the bigger the occasion, the greater my happiness.

Because however wonderful the celebratory meal, opening the fridge the next day to an array of already-cooked food requiring only a little reheating – or in the best cases, none at all – is a thing of beauty.

Boxing Day is arguably the Christmas Day of deja food, with the greatest selection of food possibilities. The simplest way to sample these delights is the humble sandwich: a little turkey or chicken, a little ham, a little cranberry, some stuffing…

But the problem with all these little bits here and there is that before long, you’re quickly headed towards a sandwich of Dagwood proportions.

In addition, I love some texture to my sandwiches – the popularity of adding crisps to sandwiches in the UK is well acknowledged. In traditional roast dinners, the stuffing is frequently the star on the plate: crunchy on top, soft underneath, and packed with savoury flavour. However, as a deja food, it loses much of its appeal, being rather bulky and in texture, veering towards the claggy.

The recipe I have here is the solution, and is so simple, I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to me before: instead of breadcrumbs in the stuffing, put the stuffing flavourings into the bread. The bread can then be toasted for a sandwich and provide crunch and taste without the resulting sandwich requiring the unhinging of one’s jaw.

This recipe is based on my Traditional Stuffing recipe, although you can also use it as a basis for making a loaf from your own family stuffing recipes. To my lovely American readers, I hope you’ll enjoy saving money by making sandwiches at home with this bread on the day after Thanksgiving, instead of joining the wrestling matches at the Black Friday sales.

A toasted Stuffing Loaf sandwich with cold chicken, ham and cranberry sauce

Stuffing Loaf

When cooked, this loaf will be a lot heavier than your regular white loaf – after all, it will have an additional half a kilo of onions in it – but provided you let it have sufficient rising times, the crumb will be open and moist (see top photo).

500g onions
60ml vegetable oil
salt and pepper
1 tbs  each dried “Scarborough Fair” herbs, i.e. parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme
1 tbs chicken bouillon powder (optional)
2 sachets fast action yeast
600g strong white bread flour
500ml warm water

  • Peel and chop the onions into 2cm squares.
  • Add the oil to a pan and set over medium-low heat (4 on a 1-9 scale).
  • Add the onions and toss in the oil to coat.
  • Sprinkle with 1tsp of salt to help draw out the moisture.
  • Cook gently until the onions are softened but not coloured, stirring occasionally  – about 15-20 minutes.
  • Season with pepper and sprinkle in the dried herbs and stir to mix in. Cook for another 2 minutes, then remove from the heat and set aside.
  • Mix the bouillon (if using), yeast and flour together.
  • In a large bowl – stand mixer or other – pour in the warm water and add the onion mixture.
  • Add the flour mixture and knead into a dough – around 10 minutes.
  • Cover the bowl with plastic and set in a warm place to rise for at least 1 hour, probably a little longer, until doubled in size.
  • Tip the risen dough out onto a floured work surface and form into a loaf shape.
  • Drop the dough into a large (1kg/2lb) greased loaf tin. Dust the top with flour and lightly cover with plastic. The dough will fill the tin to about 3/4 of its height.
  • Set the loaf aside to rise for at least 30 minutes.
  • Heat the oven to 220°C, 200°C Fan.
  • Arrange the oven shelves so that there is a solid shelf below the rack shelf.
  • Fill a cup with water.
  • When the loaf has risen (and nicely rounded above the edge of the tin), move it into the oven and onto the rack shelf.
  • Pour the cup of water onto the solid shelf and close the oven. The steam will help the formation of the crust.
  • Bake for 30 minutes.
  • Turn the loaf tin around and bake for another 20 minutes.
  • Remove the loaf from the tin and return it to the oven on the rack shelf and bake without the tin for 10 minutes to crisp the crust.
  • Remove the loaf from the oven and cool on a wire rack.
A hot toasted Stuffing Loaf sandwich with chicken and gravy

The Day After Sandwich

Whether it’s Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter or just your regular Sunday roast, The Day After Sandwich made with Stuffing Loaf is a delicious treat. Obviously, you can make a sandwich any way you like, but I thought I’d offer a couple of suggestions with special reference to using your stuffing loaf.

  • Toast the bread: You’ll get the best stuffing flavour from the bread if its toasted, but here’s my recommendation – ONLY TOAST ONE SIDE OF EACH SLICE. This will give a nice crunch to the outsides and a good contrast with the softness of the filling. Toast both sides by all means, but I found that a bit too crunchy (tho’ that’s probably because I cut the slices thin – approx 1cm).
    Now my kitchen has a minuscule amount of counter space, so I don’t have room for a toaster. Consequently, when I want to make toast, I use the oven grill, so it’s easy for me to only toast one side (move rack to highest level, put in cold, turn on grill setting, 8 minutes). If you have a toaster with a nice wide opening, you can put two slices in together, and then only the outer sides will get toasted.
  • Preparing the inside of the bread/toast. Another of the great choices you can make is to have either a hot or cold filling. I recommend spreading the insides of your bread/toast slices with mayonnaise if planning a cold sandwich, and butter if going for a hot sandwich.
  • For a hot sandwich, warm some slices of chicken/turkey in  gravy and spoon generously into your sandwich.
  • For a cold sandwich, arrange slices of turkey/chicken/ham or a combination, and add a teaspoon of cranberry sauce.

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.

Fried Bread and Marmalade

20th century, Bread, Preserves

In the old days, when religious observance was a greater part of daily lives, as Lent approached, efforts were made to use up larder items in preparation for the coming period of abstemiousness. Bacon and eggs were eaten on Collop Monday, Pancakes (using the resulting bacon grease) were enjoyed on Shrove Tuesday, and Lent itself began on Ash Wednesday.

In the past few weeks I have been looking through various manuscript sources in order to find a shiny, new old pancake recipe for you to try, but, alas, my efforts have been thwarted at every turn due to the adorable (!) British quirk of different regions giving a specific dish their own local name.

I scrolled through the thousands of recipes in my spreadsheets and compiled the following list to look at in more detail:

  • Court pancakes
  • Million pancakes
  • Pancake pudding
  • Pancake wafers
  • Paper pancakes
  • Temple pancakes
  • Creeping pancakes

In Every. Single. Case. they turned out to be variations of the recipe most popularly known as A Quire of Pancakes: lots of small, thin, rich, cream-based pancakes stacked in a pile, with sugar strewn between each layer, and served like a cake slice (see image below).

Quire of Pancakes, 1714
Quire of Pancakes, 1714

So I’ve decided to go in a completely different direction and bringing you a recipe for Collop Monday, or alternately Shrove Tuesday breakfast, and in doing so, recording for posterity a dish I know my mother ate in her childhood: Fried bread and Marmalade.

When I first heard of this as a child myself, I thought it sounded awful, but as an adult, I have come to appreciate the delicious interplay of salty, sweet, bitter and smoke.

Slices of bread were added to the pan after bacon was fried and mopped up the remaining fat and in the process become toasted from the heat of the pan. They were fishes out and spread with marmalade and handed to my mother and her siblings.

Many modern packs of bacon, especially at the lower prices, are injected with water to artificially plump up the weight. When fried, it splutters and spits and seeps a milky liquid that is visually very unappealing. Back in the day – we ‘re talking 1930s here – the bacon would have been purchased from the butcher by the slice, possibly even home-cured by the butcher himself, and the dry-brining method employed drew out moisture from, rather than injecting it into, the slabs of belly pork used for bacon. In the pan the fat would render down into a clear liquid, filled with the smoky, salty flavour of the bacon. When cold, the fat would solidify and could be kept for use, but if this were impractical (it not yet being the age of ubiquitous refrigeration in the home) to use it up at once, it was easy to mop up the fat with slices of bread, which then became imbued with this flavour bomb as an alternative to the (more expensive) butter. It is easy to overdo the bacon fat, and it doesn’t take much for the bread to become overly greasy, so marmalade was a perfect foil to combat this: the bitterness of the Seville oranges and the sweetness of the jelly providing delicious contrasts to the hot, crunchy, salty, smoky bacon fat.

Back then, this snack was born from frugal-by-necessity living. My mother grew up in a one-income household. Nothing was left to waste. But that’s not a reason not to enjoy it today. And additionally, the level at which you enjoy it is completely adaptable – from simple to complex, the components are almost infinitely customisable according to what you have in the cupboard/fridge.

  • The Bread: Whatever you have to hand, or prefer: brown, white, pre-sliced, hand-sliced, doorstep, gluten-free, rye, sourdough… you get the idea.
  • The Bacon Fat: Kinda non-negotiable. I learned recently that Bacon grease is available to buy by the tub in the USA, and in checking online for this post I am slightly horrified to find a 9lb bucket now available to buy in the UK. If you’re a fan, then go for it, but my approach here is to be much smaller in scale – get your bacon fat from cooking bacon. Dry-cure bacon will render pure bacon fat without any white residue.
  • The Marmalade: Regular listeners will be aware of my keenness at the moment to find ways to use the various marmalades I have on hand after entering The Marmalade Awards this year. I have an embarrassment of riches on that score, but any marmalade will suffice. Use whatever you have and like. In the photographs I’ve gone with the Chilli Marmalade I made this year – classic Seville marmalade with fresh red chillies – it looks so pretty with the red flecks of chilli pepper, and the spiciness pairs well with the bacon.
  • The Bacon: Optional. If you want a more substantial snack, tuck in a few slices of your favourite. Smoke, unsmoked, back bacon, streaky bacon, gammon, ham… it’s all delicious.

Fried Bread and Marmalade

Slices of bread
Bacon fat (from dry-cure bacon/gammon)
Marmalade of choice
Bacon (optional)

  • I’m going to stray a little from the traditional preparation method. As mentioned above, the traditional method is to turn the slices of bread over in the fat in the pan, until they have both absorbed the fat and become toasted. Which is fine. Except it’s difficult to get an even colour on the bread – at least so I find. Also, I dislike having greasy fingers from the bread being fried on both sides, so I’m going to suggest the following:
    • Toast the bread in a toaster/under a grill, then spread the solidified bacon fat onto the hot toast with a knife, like butter. This way the toasting of the bread is even, it stays dry on the outside for cleaner eating, and you can easily control the amount of bacon fat used. If your bacon fat is still hot in the pan, use a pastry brush to dip in and then brush over the surface of your toast.
  • Spread your choice of marmalade onto the non-dry sides of the toast.
  • Add your bacon – or not – and enjoy.

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.

Cream Toasts

21st Century

This is going to be the newest recipe on here, because I just made it up!

Well, not to claim all the credit – it is a Lego™ recipe in that I’ve cherry-picked a bit from here and a bit from there and brought it together into something absolutely delicious. As a bonus, it can be made with just a few storecupboard ingredients.

It struck me recently that there are no 21st century recipes here – indeed, there wasn’t even a 21st century category until I added one just now. I don’t want this blog to become a museum to British food, rather for it to be an ongoing celebration of British food that ranges across centuries, including this one.

This recipe pays homage to recipes that date back to Days of Yore (a very technical term in food history circles, which means quite a number of years ago!). Poor Knights of Windsor, Fried Cream, Fried Toasts and Pain Perdu are all similar dishes and all have long pedigrees in British food. Eggs, bread, sugar and cream, together with some spices and flavourings, sometimes even a splash of alcohol, have been tweaked and teased into subtly different, but equally enjoyable, dishes for centuries.

This recipe is also similar to several dishes ‘out there’ because, as we know, there’s nothing new under the sun. I’ve done some fairly rigorous searching and there isn’t anything out there exactly like this, but if I have missed something, be sure to let me know.

It was inspired by a dish I saw recently on television, specifically a caramelised French Toast, served in a restaurant in the Basque region in Spain: the smooth shiny, crisp outside a stark contrast with the soft, creamy insides. The local name for these fried milk toasts is Torrijas. Rather that slices, I decided to make toast fingers and roll them in panko breadcrumbs for contrasting crunch, because everything tastes better with crunch!

You can make simplified versions of this, according to your cupboard contents, but I’m just going to run through the method I used and the reasons behind it, so you can make your own decisions.

The Bread: Unsliced white bread. For a start, in these modern, health-conscious times, white bread is so NORTY, which makes it taste doubly delicious when used for a treat such as this. You can make your own, which has its advantages in that it holds up better during the soaking in the milk. However, a BOUGHTEN white loaf from the bakery retains its feather lightness incredibly, if you’re willing to be patient in the handling/preparation. It helps if you stale the bread a little before the soaking, as that will help keep it from falling apart. More on this below.

The Milk: A mixture of condensed milk and fresh milk gives both sweetness and richness. Also, keeping a tin on hand in the cupboard makes these an anytime snack. You could also mix your own combination of sugars and fresh cream/milk. Just ensure your mixture is fluid enough to soak into the bread.

The Flavourings. Whatever takes your fancy, really. I infused the milk with some citrus zest and then added a generous splash of vanilla and orange-flower water. It makes for a very creamy aroma, if that makes any sense.

The Coating: Breadcrumbs, Japanese Panko-style for preference. It forms a crisp, golden shell around the soft pillowy bread and looks very appetising when cooked and golden brown. My local supermarket (the orange one) has recently started selling large bags of panko breadcrumbs in the Japanese Foods section of the International Foods aisle. Great value for money and perfect for this recipe. Also, I prefer to use eggwhites for coating, as I believe it helps give crispness.

The Frying: Again, whatever takes your fancy. I used Indian ghee (clarified butter), as I didn’t want the milk solids from regular butter to catch in the pan and spoil the breadcrumb coating with dark flecks. You could also use oil, or even deep-fry them if you have a fryer. Alas, mine is currently filled with beef dripping, which is flavoursome for savoury dishes, but not so suitable for this sweet treat.

Cream Toasts

These quantities will make several servings, so if you’re not going to use it up all at once, keep the extra milk in the fridge for later use.

white loaf of bread

280ml milk – whole, skimmed, whatever you have
zest of 1 lemon
1tsp orange flower water (optional)
1tsp vanilla flavouring (optional)
1 tin sweetened condensed milk (397ml)

eggwhites for coating
panko breadcrumbs for coating
ghee, butter or oil for frying

sharp, seedless jam (raspberry/redcurrant/cranberry) or coulis to serve

  • Remove the crusts from the loaf and set aside for crust sandwiches.
  • Cut the bread ino 3cm slices, then cut each slice into 3 x 3cm fingers. Arrange the bread fingers on a wire cooling rack to stale for about an hour. This can be done beforehand.
  • Put the milk into a small pan and add the lemon zest.
  • Bring to a gentle boil and turn off the heat.
  • Cover and allow to infuse for 30 minutes.
  • Strain out the lemon zest (if you prefer, I didn’t) and mix in the condensed milk and other flavourings until well combined. Set aside.
  • Pour a little of the milk mixture into a plastic box.
  • Arrange the slightly stale bread fingers in the box, then pour over the rest of the milk mixture. Leave to soak for 5 minutes.
  • Carefully turn the bread fingers over and allow to soak for another 5 minutes.
  • Drain off the excess milk and put the plastic box into the fridge – uncovered – for an hour or two. This will allow the outside of the bread fingers to dry a little. If you’re wanting to make these for breakfast you can do everything up to this point the night before, and then continue in the morning. If leaving overnight, cover the box lightly in cling film so that it doesn’t dry out too much.
  • When ready to cook, pour some eggwhite into a plastic box and the panko breadcrumbs onto a shallow tray.
  • Whisk the eggwhites briefly until frothy.
  • Carefully take each soaked bread finger and coat with eggwhite. Since they will be rather delicate, I usually drop them into the eggwhite one by one and then shake the box from side to side and get the eggwhite to wash over them that way.
  • Lift out and let the excess eggwhite drain off, then lay them in the panko breadcrumbs.
  • Pat the panko onto the bread fingers until thoroughly coated.
  • Set aside onto a plate until ready to be cooked.
  • Heat the fat you are using in a small pan on medium heat. I use 6 on a scale of 1-9. If you use a small pan and can make your fat/oil 2cm deep, you’ll only need to turn your cream toasts once. If it’s shallower, you may need to fry each side individually.
  • Fry 3 or 4 fingers in the pan at a time. Cook until the panko coating is crisp and golden.
  • While they are cooking, set out a wire cooling rack, with a sheet of kitchen roll underneath it.
  • When cooked, transfer the now golden brown toasts to the wire rack and allow to drain.
  • Serve warm with a pot of jam/coulis for dipping.

Bonus recipe – Crispy Eggy Bread

Four fingers of Crunchy Eggy Bread with tomato ketchup for dipping

This same method can be used to jazz-up a personal favourite of mine – Eggy Bread. This is a savoury version of egg-soaked bread, and one which I enjoyed for breakfast as a child and still do to this day.

This recipe is more easily scaled than the one above, as it can be made in a per-person quantity.

The home-made loaf I made suited this recipe better than store bought.

Crispy Eggy Bread for One

1 x 3cm thick slice of white bread
1 large egg
salt and pepper to taste

eggwhites for coating
panko breadcrumbs for coating
ghee, butter or oil for frying

tomato ketchup to serve

  • Remove the crusts from the loaf and cut into 3 x 3cm fingers. Arrange the bread fingers on a wire cooling rack to stale for about an hour. This can be done beforehand.
  • Whisk the egg vigorously, then pass through a sieve to make sure the white and the yolk are fully mixed.
  • Season egg with salt and pepper to taste.
  • Pour a little of the egg mixture into a plastic box.
  • Arrange the slightly stale bread fingers in the box, then pour over the rest of the egg mixture. Leave to soak for 5 minutes.
  • Carefully turn the bread fingers over and allow to soak for another 5 minutes.
  • Put the plastic box into the fridge – uncovered – for an hour or two.. This will allow the outside of the bread fingers to dry a little. If you’re wanting to make these for breakfast you can do everything up to this point the night before, and then continue in the morning. If leaving overnight, cover the box lightly in cling film so that it doesn’t dry out too much.
  • When ready to cook, pour some eggwhite into a plastic box and the panko breadcrumbs onto a shallow tray.
  • Whisk the eggwhites briefly until frothy.
  • Carefully take each soaked bread finger and coat with eggwhite. Since they will be rather delicate, I usually drop them into the eggwhite one by one and then shake the box from side to side and get the eggwhite to wash over them that way.
  • Lift out and let the excess eggwhite drain off, then lay them in the panko breadcrumbs.
  • Set aside onto a plate until ready to be cooked.
  • Heat the fat you are using in a small pan on medium heat. I use 6 on a scale of 1-9. If you use a small pan and can make your fat/oil 2cm deep, you’ll only need to turn your eggy bread fingers once. If it’s shallower, you may need to fry each side individually.
  • Fry the fingers in the pan until the panko coating is crisp and golden.
  • While they are cooking, set out a wire cooling rack, with a sheet of kitchen roll underneath it.
  • When cooked, transfer the now golden brown toasts to the wire rack and allow to drain.
  • Serve warm with a pot of tomato ketchup for dipping.

Soda Bread

19th century, Bread

I was surprised to read recently that Soda Bread is considered to have migrated from the US, based on a notion that the early settlers used potash to improve their baking. Amelia Simmons (1796) uses potash in some of her gingerbread recipes and Mary Randolph includes a recipe for Soda Cake in her 1824 book The Virginia Housewife.

These notwithstanding, the earliest Soda Bread recipe that I have been able to find in print is a letter published in the Newry Telegraph, dated September 2nd 1836. The correspondant, who signs him/herself “M.D.” gives the following recipe:

Soda Bread recipe

Having tried a fair few soda bread recipes over the years, I was struck by how minimalistic this recipe is – literally four ingredients: flour, salt, baking soda, buttermilk. Over the years, modern recipes have managed to sneak in  a myriad of embellishments – white flour, sugar, honey, egg, butter, cream of tartar…. but this, this appears to be soda bread in its earliest and purest form. I had to try it. And I was not disappointed.

I followed MD’s recipe as written as closely as possible, and the first batch was fine, but not, in my opinion, the best it could be. The mixing of the soda in water was, for the time, an acceptable way to remove lumps, but it meant for an uneven distribution of soda throughout the flour, which resulted in blotches of yellow crumb amongst the wholemeal. Sieving the soda into the flour with the salt was a much better approach. In addition, buttermilk is not as freely available nowadays as it once was, so my solution was to mix equal quantities of whole milk and low-fat, plain yogurt. Lastly, as the recipe stated that the buttermilk should be very sour (which is what reacts with the soda to give the rise), I stirred in two teaspoons of vinegar.

Halving the batch made two mini loaves of dimensions 14cm x 8cm, which took, rather surprisingly, almost an hour to bake. If you wish to make the full batch, or bake in larger tins, you will need to increase the baking time accordingly.

The result is delicious. The crust bakes to a browned, knobbly crispness and the crumb inside is close-textured, but not claggy. Just warm from the oven and lightly spread with, as MD suggests, some fresh, salted butter, it is delicious with no further adornment. If, like me, you have occasionally read accounts of 19th century afternoon teas where guests are served ‘brown bread and butter’ and been rather puzzled at the plainness of the fare, having tasted this bread with butter, it all makes sense now.

If you’re a fan of modern soda bread recipes, this might not be to your tastes, but I would urge you to try it just once to enjoy the simple pleasure of this diamond in the rough, craggy crust.

Soda Bread

These litte loaves will almost double their size during baking, but only if you get them into the oven promptly. The soda will start reacting as soon as the liquids are added, so be sure the oven is at temperature before mixing wet and dry together.

340g stoneground wholemeal flour
1 level teaspoon of salt
1 level teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda
150ml whole milk
150ml low-fat, plain yogurt
2tsp white wine vinegar

a little milk (maybe)

  • Preheat the oven to 200°C, 180°C Fan.
  • Grease and line two mini loaf tins (14cm x 8cm) with baking parchment. Grease the parchment.
  • Sieve the flour, salt and soda together twice (to spread the soda evenly).
  • Mix the milk, yogurt and vinegar until smooth.
  • When the oven is hot, add the liquids to the flour mixture and mix into a soft dough. You may need a little extra milk.
  • Put half of the dough into each prepared loaf tin and smooth over.
  • Using a sharp knife, cut a deep slit down the centre of each loaf.
  • Place in the oven and bake for 30 minutes.
  • Turn the tins around and bake for another 15 minutes.
  • Remove the loaves from the tins and place them back in the oven on a rack to crisp up the crust – a final 5-10 minutes.
  • Set to cool on a wire rack.
  • Enjoy just warm on the day of baking, or toast the following day for breakfast.