Welsh Cakes

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Up until the age of about 17, I never thought about Wales. I had never been, knew nothing about it, didn’t know anybody who’d spent more than a rainy childhood weekend in the Brecon Beacons. I had never eaten a Welsh cake.

But then, at 17, I won a writing prize for teenagers, and the prize was to spend a week writing with the other winners, all holed up in a rickety old house right at the back of Shropshire, towards the left, behind the cheese. And one of the other young writers there was from Swansea.

She was a garrulous, slightly nervy blonde girl named Isobel, who loved running and tea and Wales, and hated an alarming number of seemingly unconnected things (tinned squid, wheat, anything to do with WB Yeats). She is still one of my very dearest friends.

So Wales had a big thumbs up from me at this point. And then, at university, I met another Welsh person. He shared a tupperware box of his grandmother’s Welsh cakes with me. I now live with him. And I think that pretty much sums up how much I like Wales.

welshcakes 16 Today is St David’s Day, which is time to loose a bunch of daffodils into a vase, chuck a rugby ball around, try out your best dragon face, and get out the griddle pan.

Welsh grandmothers are notoriously reluctant to give up their family Welsh cake recipes. Luckily, Mary Berry is everyone’s backup grandma, and she came to the rescue for me this St David’s Day. Make these to win over the dragon in your life.

Some notes: yes, you can buy these in a shop, but they are so easy and fun to make, and so much tastier than shop bought ones, that why would you? These keep for a few days in an airtight tin. It is essential to have them with tea, and highly recommended to have them still warm from the pan.

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350g self-raising flour
2 level teaspoons baking powder
175g unsalted butter
115g caster sugar
100g currants
3/4 level teaspoon ground mixed spice
1 large egg
2 tablespoons milk or thereabouts
and extra caster sugar for sprinkling on at the end

Put the flour and baking powder into a bowl and rub in the butter with your fingertips. Add sugar, currants and the spice. Beat the egg with the milk, add to the mix and combine to form a firm dough. Add some more milk if it’s not combining enough for your liking (eg if your egg was a bit small).

Roll out the dough onto a floured surface to a thickness of about half a centimetre. Cut into rounds with a cutter. There is some debate in our house as to whether to use a plain or scalloped edge cutter, but the resident Welsh person’s grandmother used plain, so plain it was for us.

Cook on a hot griddle (or heavy-based frying pan) on a low heat, in batches, for 3 or 4 minutes each side, or until golden brown. Make sure the heat is low, or they’ll cook too fast and stay doughy in the middle.

Cool on a wire rack, and sprinkle with caster sugar to serve. Eat warm, with a cup of tea, for best results.

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Dydd Dewi Sant hapus!



bread (1)I’ve been baking bread. This is mostly because of my Auntie Susan. She very generously gave me some Amazon vouchers for Christmas, and I went for books by the two great and terrible leaders of the baking world: Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood. With the GBBO overlords at my side, I figured, I’d be unstoppable.

Paul Hollywood’s book, How to Bake, is quite brisk. His attitude is this: you can bake great bread, and it’s not too hard, but you have to do exactly as he says. And also all of your initial attempts will suck. But you’ll get there in the end.

I like his honesty. In its spirit, I tackled his white cob loaf, for starters. And it was perfect, except for the tiny fact that we couldn’t wait long enough for it to cool down so we ended up eating it when it was still basically a hot doughy mess.

But the half of the loaf that we managed not to wolf down as soon as it was out of the oven was perfect. The crust was infinitely softer, saltier, rougher than any breads I’ve made before. So, OK, Paul. You’re pretty good. I’m going to have a crack at your sourdough next.





I originally saw this recipe, which is from Rita’s Recipes, via Pinterest. This crazy little lemony version of brownies is dense, sticky, and with a tiny bit of zing. But the original recipe is all in American measurements, so I hope Rita won’t mind me posting my conversions here for Brit bakers.

They’re a refreshing alternative to chocolate if you feel as if you have too much chocolate in your life (NB I’m not sure I ever feel like that), though I reckon you could also put white chocolate chips into the mixture for some extra sweetness. Quite a chic cakey companion to a cup of tea, no?

for the brownies

100g plain flour
100g caster sugar
pinch of salt
115g butter
2 eggs
juice of 1/2 lemon
zest of 1/2 lemon

for the glaze

about 65g icing sugar
juice of 1/4 lemon
water as needed

1. Combine the flour, caster sugar and salt into a big bowl. Blend in the butter.

2. In another bowl, beat the eggs with the lemon juice and zest. Add all this to your other mixture. Add in a glug of milk or two if it’s a bit dry.

3. Pour into a greased baking dish – I used those large disposable foil roasting tins you can get in Tesco. They’re good for brownies and anything else that can be tricky to turn out, but the large surface area did make the blondies quite thin and reduced the cooking time a little.

4. Bake for 25 minutes or just until pale golden and springy to the touch. Remove from the oven and leave to cool in its dish.

5. Now glaze. Stir all of your glaze ingredients together – adding more water if it’s too sticky, and more icing sugar if it’s too runny – and pour over your baked mass of uncut brownies. Spread into all the corners with a spatula and leave to set. You might want to put the kettle on for some tea around now. When it’s set, cut it into slices and eat, licking your fingers after each bite.


Incidentally, I’m seriously considering somehow procuring a Kitchenaid Artisan mixer, a la the one above. But it costs more than my rent. Is it worth it? I’m pretty lazy, and I get the feeling it would make quick work of bread doughs and lighter sponges, so I am sorely sorely tempted.

Millionaires’ Shortbread

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I am sick of TV reviewers being mean about Mary Berry. When the first half of The Mary Berry Story aired last week, it got mean-spirited reviews in the Guardian and the Telegraph, all because the journalists had decided Mary Berry hadn’t had a sufficiently interesting life to be worth their attention.

I keep finding this problem with reviews of foodie TV shows. Apparently, food TV is boring and samey. But for people like you and me, who love food and taste and baking and being creative with it, it’s anything but. The Mary Berry Story was not just an insight into the life of a much-loved personality, it was a ride through British food TV and journalism history, from the kitsch 1970s to the twee Great British Bake-Off present day.

People who love baking but are unmoved by, say, trains, or property development, are not about to find programmes like this boring. So maybe TV reviewers should bear us in mind.

I made Mary Berry’s own millionaires’ shortbread last week, from my copy of Mary Berry’s Baking Bible, which is rapidly becoming my favourite book ever. It went down a storm with the family (and with me – I took it down to London in a tin and ended up eating a shocking amount of it on the train).

Anyway it’s a success, and pretty foolproof if you do as Mary says, which you always should. Next time I make it though, I might try to make the base a bit crumblier – maybe cooking it for less time, or using darker sugar? I’ll report back.

for the shortbread
250g plain flour
75g caster sugar
175g softened butter

for the caramel
100g butter
100g light muscovado sugar
two 397g cans condensed milk

for the topping
400g chocolate (NB this is double Mary’s quantity, because you’re already doing yourself a serious dietary mischief with this bake, so why not go the whole way?)

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Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees. Grease a biggish swiss roll tin (Mary suggests 33 x 23 cm), or use baking parchment tucked into one of those disposable foil roasting tins like I did.

To make the shortbread, rub in the butter with your fingertips, into the flour and caster sugar. When it looks like fine breadcrumbs and all the butter has disappeared, smoosh it all together so it forms a roughly doughy ball. Don’t panic if it seems a bit too crumbly to smoosh together. This just means your shortbread will be extra short (a good thing).

Press it into your tin so it fills all the corners. Prick it all over with a fork and then bake for about 20 minutes or until lightly browned. Let it cool in the tin.

Caramel time. Put the butter, sugar and condensed milk into a saucepan and heat gently until all the sugar has dissolved. Bring the mixture to the boil, stirring it CONSTANTLY, and then reduce the heat and keep stirring for about five minutes until the mixture has thickened and looks, well, like caramel. I set a timer. Mary warns (and I underline her warning) that you must stir the mixture continuously, because if you stop for even a second it will catch on the bottom of the pan and burn.

Pour it over the shortbread base, spreading it into all the corners. Leave to cool.

Break your chocolate into pieces and melt it slowly in a bowl over a pan of simmering water, stirring every now and then. Pour over the caramel and leave to set.

When I first started cutting my nicely set millionaires’ shortbread, I cut it into big doorstop chunks. This was an error. It wants to be cut into little bitesize squares, a couple of inches across (see top pic), so people can absent-mindedly pop ten of them with a cup of tea while reading a book, which is exactly how treats are meant to be enjoyed.

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