A couple of weeks ago it was East 17, and now blam! I’m hitting you with an Ultravox reference. High brow shizzle I think you’ll agree. And why did up this 80s relic? Because last week we started the Viennoiserie section of our course.

Viennoiserie is the name given to all kinds of yeasted, enriched doughs. From croissants, to Danish pastries, sticky buns to brioche, we’re talking about doughs enriched with sugar, eggs, milk and butter. Lots of butter. I’ve never seen so much of the stuff than in the past week.

We’re going to be getting in to lamination next week, the technique for making croissants amongst other things, but the breads we made last week were mixed in a similar way to what we’ve become familiar with, even if the formulas were in some cases a lot more complicated.

We started off the week slowly, making a range of products based around brioche and sweet roll doughs. With most of these we had to adjust our mixing to incorporate the sugar and butter after the dough had developed in strength in the mixer. The reason for this is that both inhibit the development of gluten, and if added at the beginning you end up mixing for bloody ages and your dough comes off the mixer too warm, which in turn effects fermentation. Best avoided in other words.

Day one we made a bunch of straight brioche rolls, and learned how to make the classic ‘Brioche à tête’ shape, some glazed with pearl sugar and others just washed with egg. The following day, we really stepped it up, particularly in terms of sweetness. Diabetes alert. We made cinnamon rolls, pain au lait braids and the stars of the show, so called sticky buns, and these great little sweet rolls called Gibassier.

The sticky buns are basically cinnamon buns, but cooked like upside down cakes with a glaze made with brown sugar, butter, honey, cinnamon, vanilla and pecan nuts. Sticky, insanely sweet, but very good. The kid of bun that only the Americans could make. The Gibassier were a bit more restrained. A French sweet roll made with olive oil, anise seed and candied orange peel and then dusted with sugar after baking. Not particularly obvious flavours, but awesome.

Day three we got festive with a range of ‘holiday breads’. We made the German favourite, stollen. A sweet dough further enriched with booze soaked dried fruits, shaped like Mick Jagger’s lips, and then coated in powdered sugar to resemble snow-fall. A savoury Austrian bread called Kugelhopf, which we made with lardons, Swiss cheese, sauteed onions and rosemary. It was pretty delicious. Lovely, soft, rich dough with a great combination of flavours. We also made an American interpretation of the hot cross bun, which I’ve got to say was pretty average. I prefer the version I make.

Then we made something called Bostock, which was a bit of a revelation. I guess it’s nearest explanation of it would be if French toast mated with a bakewell tart and had a tasty baby. You take inch thick slices of brioche (a great way to use stale loaves) and toast them on either side. Then dip both sides in flavoured simple syrup (in this case rum) before spreading one side with frangipan, and sprinkling with slivered almonds. Bake for a short time, dust with powdered sugar and then eat with a dirty great grin on your fizzog.

Things started to get a bit more technical, and oddly Christmasy, towards the end of the week when we made Italian festive favourites pannetone, pan d’oro, and columba di pasqua. These doughs are so enriched with butter, eggs and sugar that they have to be ‘built up’ in stages so that they are strong enough to take all the inclusions. Surprisingly, the resulting doughs are actually really light and delicate, so much so that the pannetone has to be hung upside down after it leaves the oven so it doesn’t collapse on itself. Not surprisingly, with all the sugar, butter and candied fruits, they also taste amazing. But you can also understand why most Italians only eat them once a year.

So, another killer week, but I’ve got to say I’m seriously worried about my already troubled waistline. I might make a pre-emptive application to Biggest Loser now.

I’d never made marmalade before, but inspired by an article and recipe written by one of my baking heroes Dan Lepard I read last week, I decided to have a stab. It is a little time consuming, but it’s very satisfying, and it also makes your kitchen smell awesome. It starts with a fresh, zingy citrus whiff, and then at some point during the process it suddenly changes, and BANG! Your kitchen smells like marmalade.

I was pretty pleased with the results. The only things I’d say were that I wish it had set a bit firmer, but as I understand it this can be a bit hit and miss, and I also prefer a bit more peel in my marmalade, so I’ve adjusted the recipe accordingly.This should make around 4 big-ish jars, or a couple of bigger Kilner style preserve jars.

Ingredients

400g Seville oranges (about four)

Zest of 1 additional orange

1 lemon

1 litre water

775g white sugar

25g dark muscovado sugar

Method

One thing you’re going to need to make the sweet stuff is some muslin, and a jam / sugar thermometer. Neither are particularly expensive, and are worth having anyway, so put your hand in your pocket.

So, first up, using a knife or a peeler remove all of the orange zest in strips. You mostly want the skin and not the white pith underneath. Once you’ve done this, shred it so it’s in nice thin strips, and then tie these in a small square of muslin.

Now slice all the fruit, lemon included, and pop into a sauce pan, making sure to pour in any juice released during the slicing. Add the muslin wrapped zest, pour over the water, and then simmer with a lid on for around 2 hours.

After the two hours, remove the muslin bag and set aside on a plate, then line a colander or large sieve with muslin and place over a bowl. Tip the contents of the pan into it, and then leave to drip for an hour. You want to collect as much of the liquid as possible, as it contains pectin, which is what will set the marmalade. It requires a bit of patience, and don’t be tempted to squeeze the muslin, as this will make your marmalade cloudy.

After the dripping, you should have about 750ml of liquid. Boil it down if you have more, or add water if you have less. Add the sugar and the loose zest from the muslin bag to the liquid, bring to the boil and using the jam thermometer simmer the liquid at 104c. Keep simmering at this temperature for five or so minutes, and then test how it’s setting.

To do this, put a spoonful of the marmalade on a cold plate (you could put one in the fridge if you want to be super organised) and after cooling for five minutes, swipe your finger through it. The skin of it should crinkle, but if it doesn’t simmer it for a few minutes more.

Now take your pan off the heat, leave to cool off for 20 minutes, and then spoon the marmalade into sterilised jars. You can sterilise your jars by placing them in a hot oven for a few minutes, or by pouring boiling water into them. Seal the jars with wax paper disks (you can get these from most big supermarkets and kitchen shops) and cellophane and then leave to cool overnight to set.

And that’s it. Have it with hot, buttered toast, crumpets or my fave, hot cross buns.

Rewinding again to Christmas, if you can remember that far back, here’s a recipe for a classic lemon tart. It’s basically a piece of cake (or rather tart), particularly if you use shop bought pastry, which I’d recommend unless you’ve got the time to make your own.

I’ve not managed to work out how patisseries manage to get that glossy finish on their tarts, so I cheated and added a festive twist by glazing mine with a bit of raspberry jelly.

This recipe was made in a 30cm / 12″ tart case to serve around 8-10 people, if you’re making desert for less use a 20cm / 8″ case and half the quantities. Lets begin.

Ingredients

500g all butter shortcrust pastry

10 free range eggs

8 lemons, juiced

380g caster sugar

500 ml double cream

Zest of 4 lemons

4 tablespoons of raspberry jelly for the glaze, optional

Method

Get your oven on to 200c and then take your pastry out of the fridge (it’s much better to work pastry when it’s cold) and roll it out big enough to comfortably fit over the tart case (NB. use a non-stick case with a loose bottom). Lift the pastry with your rolling pin and drape it over the case, and then gently press it down into the sides trying not to make any holes (patch them up with spare pastry if you do).

You’re now going to ‘blind bake‘ the pastry, so first off cut off some of the excess pastry off the side, leaving a little overhang as it will shrink in the oven. Now gently prick the base all over with a fork, you don’t want to go through to the base, just make indentations in the surface. Then cut a piece of greaseproof paper big enough to line the base and then fill with baking beans or rice and then pop in the oven.

Cook the pastry for 15 minutes, then take out the case, remove the greaseproof paper and beans, and then  return to the oven to bake for a further 5 minutes until the pastry is light golden colour. Whilst this is going on, prepare the filling.

Crack the eggs into a bowl, add the sugar and mix the two together. Now zest 4 of the lemons, and set the zest aside before juicing all of the lemons, and then add to the mixture along with  the cream. Mix everything together until smooth, but try and avoid whisking and making the mixture bubbly.

You’re now going to sieve the mixture to remove any lumps or inconsistencies. If you’ve got one to hand, do this into a jug as it’s going to make it easier to pour the filling into the pastry case. Once you’ve done this, add the zest and mix in. By now the pastry should be ready and waiting to be filled. But before you do, turn the oven down to 150c and trim the edge of the pastry so it’s flush with the edge of the case.

Now pour the filling into the case. A good tip is to pour half the mixture in, and then place the case on the oven shelf before adding the rest. This should mean your kitchen floor remains clean. Now close the oven door and cook for about an hour until the filling is just set (it should wobble a bit when shaken).

Remove from the oven, and set aside to cool.When cooled, and if you fancy it, you can give the tart a glaze. Dissolve the raspberry jelly in a saucepan on a medium heat with a couple of teaspoons of water. When the jelly has turned to liquid, pour it over the top of the tart, tilting it gently so the glaze covers the entire surface. Set aside somewhere cool to let it set.

When you’re ready to get stuck in, serve generous slices with a scroll of clotted cream, or a drizzle of double cream.

P.S. Sorry for the quality of the finished article and the photography, I think I may have partaken in a bit too much Christmas cheer by the time I made this one. Ho Ho Ho.

So, as mentioned in the previous post, we hit Morocco for our honeymoon. If I’m honest, I don’t think I was that excited about the food as I’d heard mixed reports, and was led to believe there wasn’t much variation. I was kind of expecting expecting tagines, tagines and more tagines, but whilst there were certainly a lot of them about, there’s definitely more to Moroccan cuisine.

There were certain things that really struck us, the first being the amount of sugar the Moroccans use. It seems to be in pretty much everything, from bread to the ubiquitous mint tea, each glass of which must have more sugar than a can of coke. Check out the picture if you don’t believe me.

We were also surprised by the lack of heat in the food. We managed to uncover pockets of chilli here and there, but the Moroccan palate is clearly more about the flavour and combinations of spices as opposed to heat, which whilst tasty, I think we thought was a bit of a shame.

The French colonisation of Morocco is also pretty evident. Less so with the savoury grub on offer (although there are some good bistros around and they serve snails on a few Jamaa El Fnaa stalls), but more with their beloved sweet stuff. There are patisseries everywhere, that aside from a few rough edges, wouldn’t look that out of place in Paris. Insanely sweet almond stuffed pastries are also popular, and accompany most glasses of mint tea. I think my dentist would be a very rich man if I lived there.

Along with the Patisseries, I was also loving the local bakeries. As well as being commercial enterprises, the baker’s ovens also serve as a communal amenity. Locals bring down their bread, differentiated by their own tea towels, and throughout the day the bakers bake them in their wood fired ovens for a small fee. The whole practice has a really nice old fashioned, community feel to it.

The use of vegetables in the food, or rather lack of them, was also interesting. The Moroccan’s are definitely into all kinds of salads and raw veg, but when it comes to cooked dishes like tagines, they are pretty rare. Fruit, either fresh, dried or preserved seems to take the place of vegetables, again lending either a sweetness, or in the case of the very tasty preserved lemon, a tangy piquancy.

Finally, Morocco being a poor country, nothing goes to waste. The long, slow cooking of the tagine obviously lends itself to the tougher cuts of meat, and walking around Jamaa El Fnaa, you can see the locals are clearly not squeamish when it comes to offal. Sheep’s head soup anyone?

That’s it for now, but I’m going to do a couple more posts going into a bit more detail on how we filled our bellies in Marrakesh and Essaouira, and then at some point I’ll share a couple of recipes we picked up along the way.

But thanks to my introduction to banana bread in Australia, those spotty old fruits finally have a use. This recipe uses four of the buggers, and a little kick of rum for background flavour.

Ingredients

4 medium sized ripe bananas (spotty with soft flesh)

250g plain white flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

250g golden caster sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

125g unsalted butter

2 eggs

2 tablespoons dark rum

Method

First up, set your oven set to 175 c and then grease a medium sized (19 x 11 cm) loaf tin with unsalted butter.

Now peel the bananas, discarding any strips of skin, and mash them up in a large bowl until pulped. Mix the butter into the bananas, ensuring it is warm and soft before you do. Next mix in the sugar, vanilla extract, rum and two lightly beaten eggs. You’ll be left with a lumpy, slightly odd looking mixture.

Place a sieve over the bowl and sift the flour and baking powder into it. Stir in gently, being careful not to over mix it, and then pour the batter into the loaf tin.

Pop into the oven, and cook for an hour and fifteen minutes. The reason for the long cooking time is that the mixture is rather wet. This also means that when the loaf is done, the outside will be a pretty dark brown, looking almost burned. Don’t be alarmed, this is how it should be.

After the hour and fifteen, take the tin out, and run a knife into the centre of the loaf. If it comes out clean, it’s ready. If not, pop it back in the oven for another 10 minutes.

If done, leave the banana bread in the tin on one side for 10 minutes or so, and then turn out onto a wire rack to cool. The loaf will sink a bit during cooling, and firm up so it slices better.

The Aussies like to eat if for breakfast toasted and sliced with ricotta, but you can eat it at any time of the day really. I prefer it with just some butter, or maybe a bit of Marscapone.

As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, I’ve learned quite a lot from my mother in cooking terms over the years. For the most part its been a case of me picking up stuff by watching her at work, but every now and then I’ll steal a recipe or two off her too.

This cake is one of those firm family favourites, and it even gets the royal seal of approval from my very sweet, but ever so fussy niece, Ksenia. It’s a bit tangier than most lemon drizzle cakes because of there’s more lemon juice in the glaze, and that’s how we like it.

Ingredients

For the cake

125g unsalted butter

175g self-raising flour

175g caster sugar

2 large eggs

Zest of 2 lemons

4 tablespoons of milk

A pinch of salt

Butter for greasing your loaf tin

For the ‘drizzle’

The juice of 2 lemons (about 6 tablespoons)

Zest of 1 lemon

100g icing sugar

Method

You’re going to bake this cake in a loaf tin, so first up, prepare and line it. Use a half kilo tin, smear it with butter, and then line with greaseproof paper. Now set your oven to 180 c to get it up to cooking temp.

Now cream together the butter and the sugar in a large mixing bowl; it makes life a whole lot easier, and the process faster if your butter is at room temperature. Creaming basically means beating the butter and the sugar together until it attains a ‘creamy’ texture. You can do this with a wooden spoon, but a hand whisk will save your arms.

Next add the two eggs and the lemon zest and beat them well into the butter and sugar mixture. Now fold in the flour and the salt. You want to mix in all the flour, but you don’t want to beat the hell out of the mixture, so do it gently with a spatula or something similar. Finally mix in the milk, which loosens the mixture a tad.

Pour the mixture into the loaf tin, shake from side to side so it levels out, and then pop onto the middle shelf of the oven. The cake is going to cook for around 45 minutes. When ready it will have risen, and the outside will be a dark golden brown.

When the cake is almost ready, make the drizzle. Put the lemon juice, icing sugar and zest into a small saucepan and heat until the sugar has dissolved. The syrup shouldn’t boil, but will be hot.

When you think the cake is ready, slide a sharp knife into the centre. If it comes out clean, it’s ready to come out, if not put it back in for another 4 or 5 minutes. As soon as you’ve taken the cake out of the oven, perforate it’s surface all over with a toothpick by sticking it in about half way. You’re doing this to help the syrup sink into the sponge whilst it’s still warm, and it’s well worth taking the time to make sure the top is properly peppered with holes.

Now pour the drizzle all over the top, trying to make sure it is absorbed evenly. The cake will have risen more at the centre so the syrup will naturally run towards the edges, so make sure you keep spooning it over the middle.

Now the hard bit, you have to wait until the cake is completely cooled before cutting it or it will crumble. When it is finally ready to eat, serve with a nice cuppa, or as a pudding with some Greek yoghurt ever so slightly sweetened with maple syrup or honey.

The final course of our valentines meal was a lemon posset with heart shaped shortbread biscuits (forgive the cheese).

The Posset is pretty much as old school as it gets with roots in 12th century England where it was drunk for it’s medicinal properties. I’m not sure this recipe could ever be described as good for you, cream and sugar tend to be frowned upon these days, but it is delicious, and very easy to make.

Ingredients

For the Posset

300ml double cream

75g caster sugar

1 lemon zested and juiced

For the shortbread

45g icing sugar

90g plain flour

30g cornflour

15g ground almonds

125g butter

Lemon zest

Golden caster sugar

Method

First up, put the cream and sugar in a pan and bring to the boil. Simmer for 3 minutes, making sure it doesn’t boil over, and then take off the heat. Allow to cool to room temperature, add the lemon juice and then whisk. Divide the mixture by pouring into two glasses and then put in the fridge to set.

Now make the shortbread biscuits. Sift the flour, cornflour and icing sugar into a food processor and then add the ground almonds. Cut the butter into cubes, add to the processor bowl, and then pulse until the butter has been blitzed, leaving you with a breadcrumb like mixture.

Tip the mixture out onto lightly floured surface, and bring it all together to form a smooth dough. Wrap in clingfilm, put in the fridge and set your oven to 180 degrees C.

When the oven is up to temperature, remove the dough, and using a lightly floured rolling pin, roll it out to around half a centimetre thick. Using a pastry cutter, cut out the dough and place on grease proof paper on a flat baking tray. Grate a little lemon zest and sprinkle each biscuit with a little golden caster sugar before popping in the oven for around 10 minutes.

The biscuits are ready when they are a pale yellow in colour and golden brown around the edges. Remove from the baking tray and cool on a rack. The biscuits will be soft and brittle, so be careful.

Remove the posset from the fridge to warm it up a little, and then serve with a couple of the cooled shortbread biscuits.A class act.

Photo by Cafe Darclee

It’s Shrove Tuesday aka Pancake day. Traditionally a time to get rid of sugar, fat and eggs before fasting for Lent, it’s now a bit of a treat in the culinary calendar.

Pancakes are ridiculously easy and quick to prepare, and once you’ve got them made, you can stick pretty much anything you fancy in them.

This recipe employs the five 1s formula.

Ingredients

1 egg, preferably free-range or organic

1 cup of self-raising flour

1 cup of milk

1 pinch of salt

1 nob of butter (melted, around 20g)

Method

Whisk together the egg, flour and milk in a bowl, melt the butter in a pan and then beat into the mix removing any lumps.

Some people say its good to set aside the batter for half an hour or so before you attempt making any pancakes, I’m not sure if makes that much difference, but it doesn’t do any harm, so why not give it a go.

Heat up your frying pan and using a piece of kitchen towel with a nob of butter on it lightly coat the pan. When it’s good and hot, ladle in enough batter to thinly coat the pan’s base. Pick up the pan and tip from side to side to ensure it’s coated evenly. Once one side is just turning golden brown, either toss it or flip it over with a fish slice to cook the other side.

At this point you can add some fillings. We had our savoury pancakes this year with Emmental cheese and smoked ham. Place thin slices of Emmental on half of the pancake’s base, top with the sliced ham and then fold in half. Serve with a mixed salad with a Dijon mustard dressing.

For the sweet ones we had the classic lemon and sugar, still a favourite, and also tried a more American style filling of banana, crunchy peanut butter and maple syrup, which I’ve got to say was super tasty.

Roll on next year.

Ingredients

500g English strawberries

75g vanilla sugar

Juice of half a lemon

Method

Hull the strawberries (remove the leafy top and pale fruit) with the tip of a sharp knife and then wash. Dry off with a tea towel and place in a large pan. Add the vanilla sugar (vanilla sugar is easy to make – every time you scrape out a vanilla pod, put the remains in a jam jar with caster sugar – after a week or so the sugar will take on a lovely vanilla smell and taste) and lemon juice and stir.

Before you put the pan on the heat, get a saucer and place it in the fridge. I’ll explain why in a minute. Next, put the pan on a high heat and bring up to the boil while stirring. Before long the fruit will start to give up its juices, and the mixture will begin to resemble jam. You need to simmer the jam for about 10 minutes to bring it to setting point. A scum will probably develop on the surface of the mixture; skim this off every few minutes.

After 10 minutes take the pan off the heat, and dribble some of the mixture onto your cold saucer. Place the saucer back in the fridge. After a couple of minutes, take it out again and perform the ‘wrinkle’ test by running your finger through the mixture. If it wrinkles, the jam is at setting point and ready to store, if your finger slides through return to the heat for a few minutes and repeat the test.

If the jam is at setting point, put the mixture in a sterilised jar. You can sterilise jars by pouring in boiling water to the top or placing in the oven for a few minutes at 100ºC.

Leave the jam to cool and then eat or refrigerate. It should keep for 3 – 4 weeks.