All in the name of research

I have just made a triumphant carrot cake.  I am terribly pleased with myself.  The actual cake itself is moist and grainy and full of flavour, and the icing is sweet and sharp and tangy all at the same time.  It’s sitting downstairs in pride of place in the middle of the table, begging to be eaten.  I have had the tiniest slice, just to test it, and am saving the next one for my valedictory, ‘the children have finally gone to bed,’ cup of coffee to be savoured whilst watching ‘House’, and thanking the stars that I don’t have Lupus and my spleen on back to front.

One of the best things about this cake is that nobody in our family likes it except me, so I get to eat it all. What a shame. Cue evil cake genius laugh: ‘Mwahahahahhhhhcrrrhhhh,’ that last bit being me choking on the crumbs.  Actually the children will try anything as long as I tell them it’s cake (especially when it actually is cake), so they did make a valiant effort, but gave up after about half a slice.  I did get fulsome praise for it though.  They don’t like to knock my efforts when I make cake in case the well dries up.

The only time we have been in accord as  a family over cake related disasters was the time I tried to make courgette cake.  It was horrible. Really horrible.  You think, given that carrot cake should be horrible and isn’t, that courgette cake might work the same way, but it didn’t.  Although to be fair, it was my first go.  A professional courgette cake maker might have made something wondrous.  I don’t know. I’m not going to try again and I’ve never met a professional courgette cake maker.

This carrot cake recipe was from a book I’m reviewing, Tamasin Day Lewis’ ‘Supper for a Song.‘  I thought it was hardly fair to review a cook book without giving some of the recipes a whirl. It would be rude wouldn’t it? Especially when there are some very treaty type recipes to delight a girl’s heart.  I confess to being a teeny bit disappointed by Nigella’s recipe for carrot cup cakes in How to be a Domestic Goddess.  They’re a little bit too healthy tasting (i.e. you can actually taste the carrot), so I have been thinking for a while I ought to branch out into other recipes.  This was the perfect opportunity, despite the fact that I felt guilty making it. 

I generally defer to Nigella in all matters cake related, but every now and again I experience a small hiccup.  I cannot get her chocolate brownie recipe to work for me, and no matter how hard I try (and I did try hard.  To the extent of going out and buying a proper brownie pan in the correct measurements), it always fails to cook properly in the middle.  I had to defect to Nigel Slater’s Kitchen Diaries to find a brownie recipe that works perfectly for me, and now it looks like I will be referring to Tamasin in all matters carrot cake related.  Although I shall not be making them very often, a) for the sake of my waistline and b) because grating carrots must be one of the most ball breakingly boring jobs in the history of kitchens.  I would even prefer to peel potatoes.

Nigella may speak to me again if I tell you that I am still in love with her recipe for Autumnal Birthday Cake, which is basically the most heavenly sponge which you make with about four gallons of maple syrup, and which when iced with the spectacular soft meringue style icing, which also involves another gallon of syrup, comes in at 9000 calories a slice.  Even Jason for whom the thought of defecting from the standard Victoria sponge with jam and cream is tantamount to heresy, was won over by this cake.

I did make something else from Tamasin’s book.  Jason loves old fashioned puddings with jam in.  Jam roly poly, steamed jam sponge etc.  There was a recipe called: ‘General Satisfaction’ which involved jam and custard spread over sponge fingers and topped with meringue that you ate piping hot, straight from the oven.  I thought it would be a triumph.  I especially liked the name. 

Nobody liked it, except my dad, who popped round to help us out with some errands and went home with a giant home cooked pudding as his reward.  In our house it is being renamed ‘Quite dissatisfied really.’  Although I never thought I would like it.  I am not a fan of old fashioned, suety type puds with jam.  I get horrible flash backs to the time Mickey Daley was sick in the dining hall at primary school and the custard welded the jug to the plate it was being carried in on.  Not exactly ‘Nam’ but nobody can blame me for that, I was too young. And in a different country.  We all have our own traumas to deal with in life.

Tomorrow I must endeavour to try some of the savoury things.  I’m not sure what though.  My family are such picky buggers I keep flicking through the pages thinking, ‘I could make that if only I took out x, y and z,’ and then thinking: ‘well, what’s the bloody point of that then?’  I may have to make things that only I like (again) and just accept that half a stone in weight is an acceptable gain over a weekend if one is doing research.

I am a martyr to my reviewing.  Remind me never to say yes to the book on how to build your own ornamental pagoda out of cream crackers.

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