I don’t really drink.  Putting my festive lashmina on won’t be my primary concern during the holiday season. Instead, I’m often the person who takes care of soused friends at parties. This is not because I am a warm and nurturing person: it’s simply because I will usually be sober and it’s all part of the seasonal fun – I can helpfully (or mortifyingly) remind my friends the next morning about what they actually did the night before.

For those who do drink alcohol, I have heard that mulled wine is the subject of strong opinions. Some regard it as quintessentially Christmassy; others loathe it. If you, for whatever reason, take exception to mulled wine but still perhaps want something warm and spiced, you might try this punch. It’s inspired by something I had at the German Christmas market at Southbank a couple of years ago. Google told me that the drink was probably Kinderpunsch, but the actual recipes I saw involved a lot of lemons and apple juice. I couldn’t get my head around the idea that those ingredients would produce the same hot drink I had: it was spicy, sugary, dark and interesting. I was quite sure it had grape juice in it, but wasn’t so certain about the other ingredients.

I wish I could say that I then embarked on a huge culinary journey to discover the perfect recipe which culminated in a true Proustian moment when I finally recreated the taste I’d been looking for, but in actuality I’ve settled for making a mixture of tea, fruit juices, and spices. But putting it like that makes it seem like it’s a paltry substitute, like I’ve just said, ‘Sod it, that’ll do.’ It’s warm and aromatic, can be adjusted to your taste, and tastes suitably Christmassy.

(If you substitute all the liquid for red wine, I’m sure you could then make it into mulled wine, but I can’t comment on the chances of success.)

CHRISTMAS SPICED FRUIT PUNCH (via Roots, Wings, and Other Things)
Originally posted, in slightly shorter form, on MouthLondon.
Makes about 1.5 litres (about 6 US cups)

• Ingredients
• 750ml water
• 3 bags any kind of berry flavoured tea
• 250ml grape juice
• 250ml cranberry juice
• 250ml orange juice (I squeezed this from 2 large oranges)
• 6 whole cloves, or ¼  teaspoon ground cloves
• 1 cinnamon stick, or ½  teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 3 – 5 tablespoons caster sugar

Instructions
1.    Bring the water to the boil in a large saucepan. Immediately turn off the heat, add the tea bags, and leave to steep for 4 minutes. You should have a deep purple-pink tea. Fish out and discard the tea bags.
2.    Put the saucepan back on the heat, this time medium-low – you want to keep the liquid steamy hot and gently simmering, but never boiling. Add all the fruit juices and spices, stir to combine. Leave everything to simmer for about 5 minutes.
3.    Add the sugar a spoonful at a time to the hot liquid, tasting as you go and stirring to ensure it dissolves completely. Alternatively, leave it unsweetened and let each person sweeten their own mug to taste.
4.    Strain through a sieve and serve hot. Keep in the fridge.

(For links to the mince pie and mincemeat recipes, scroll right to the end of the post.)

Firstly, thank you so much for your likes and follows! I certainly wasn’t expecting any attention at all for my first few posts because I know blogging takes time to get any sort of audience.

Sproutspace sucked me in and chewed me around for a while. Mr Pear was taking part in a comedy revue and I was roped in to help out with the lights. Between each of the sketches I pushed a button to turn the lights on, then pushed it again to turn them off. Well, it was a little more complicated than that, but I shan’t bore you with the details. It was performed in a fancy Elizabethan dining hall with a beautifully elaborate hammerbeam ceiling and long wooden tables and benches. It’s the kind of place where you should be drinking port and snorting about horseriding, so I felt the slightest rebellious thrill at gorging myself on Krispy Kreme doughnuts at rehearsals.

Anyway, let’s talk about Nigella Lawson’s mince pies. I haven’t actually watched much Nigella on TV. I’ve only seen a bit of one episode when she had her arm up a turkey. I can’t much relate to the untoward comments about her appearance ane the many parodies of her practically clambering into bed with various bits of food as I’ve only really engaged with her written work – I personally generally only drool over and comment on the actual food.

Sometimes, though, I do puzzle a little over the gap between how she presents herself in her book – self-effacing, sometimes even self-deprecating, primarily presenting herself as a busy home cook and mother -  and the fact of her as a keen businesswoman who works bloody hard at what she does with the support of helpers and assistants. I don’t see why they might be understood as binary opposites.

But that’s by the bye.

Finally getting onto the mince pies: they are lovely. I hope I won’t be ejected from the country for this, but I must admit to not really being a fan of the shop-bought mince pies I’ve tried so far: the pastry is inoffensive and the mincemeat is a strange yellow-brown oodge which is somehow sickly-sweet and thinly sour at the same time. It is odd.

But these mince pies are quite nice: fairly light pastry, and the cranberry mincemeat is slightly set like a very thick jam so there’s no funny oozing business. I wasn’t really sure what to expect from the cranberry mincemeat at first, to be honest, because the photos just told you it looked red and lumpy as opposed to the usual brown and lumpy mincemeat. It’s quite an intense mincemeat. The fruit – fresh and dried cranberries with currants and raisins – is rounded out by the spices, and the tanginess and sweetness is well balanced. I don’t know how it measures up to good non-cranberried and alcohol-drenched mincemeat, but I rather like it as it is.

I don’t have anything significantly new to add to the recipes in terms of alterations and new ways of expressing how to make it, so I’d feel dishonest reproducing her two recipes basically in their entirety. I shall instead link you to the relevant sites…

• Recipes:
• Nigella Lawson’s star-topped mince pies (Nigella’s website)
• Nigella Lawson’s cranberry-studded mincemeat (BBC website)

• … And then add my brief notes on making them:
• Pastry: I used all butter to make the pastry and it was fine. What vegetable shortening does is add lightness and a certain moreish flavour, but it will still be a nice and light pastry. I froze the butter and flour and then used a pastry cutter to combined them and it turned out fine. And I used the juice of 4 clementines plus a little water rather than 1 orange – you should get about ~120 ml (half a cup) from a singe large orange.
• Mincemeat: You should really up the sugar if you’re making the non-alcoholic version – taste it throughout to check. I used cranberry juice with 100g brown sugar and then 6 or more tablespoons of honey to sweeten it at the end, and it still could’ve used a little more. It’s a fairly dry mincemeat and the pectin in the cranberries really encourages the mixture to set so adding a lot of honey didn’t make it too loose and gloopy. Next time I would also consider using a sweeter juice, like apple or grape, maybe also sprinkling over some sugar over the pastry just before baking, or adding a hot water and sugar glaze just afterwards, just to add an extra hint of sweetness.

Plain and chocolate chipped shortbread

I don’t know how you like your shortbread. Maybe you like it with a little crunch and grit, or perhaps you think that it should be butter in biscuit form. This recipe very much produces the latter, using most of two blocks of butter that is sweetened with sugar, balanced with salt, and just set with a mixture of two flours. The high proportion of cornflour makes a particularly light and yielding biscuit.

The result is a biscuit which melts in the mouth.

Because there’s so much butter in them, you will have to be a little careful: don’t let the butter get too warm and sloppy, or the biscuit will be a mess. It should be easily spreadable but not on the verge of melting. You’d think, knowing that it’s made from such huge amounts of butter, you would be put off eating it entirely. Unfortunately not.

I also added some chocolate chips to half of the mixture because I don’t know what’s good for me. Oh dear.

SHORTBREAD (Via the marvellous Lorna Yee.)
Makes an indecent amount of shortbread – fills a standard 33 x 23 cm baking tray (13 x 9 inch quarter sheet) or thereabouts.

• Ingredients
• 450g good unsalted butter, soft but not sloppy.
• 1 ½ teaspoons sea salt (or ¾ teaspoon fine table salt)
• 125g caster sugar, plus extra for sprinkling
• 500g plain flour
• 150g cornflour
• 2 vanilla pods, or 2 teaspoons vanilla extract (optional)
• 125g-200g chocolate chips or finely chopped chocolate (optional)

Instructions

1. Line and generously grease a 33 x 23 cm (13 x 9 inch) baking tray. Preheat the oven to 160°C.
2. Put the butter, salt, and sugar into a bowl. Beat steadily at medium speed until it is really pale and creamy (see photo) – it will take a while; nearly 10 minutes with a hand-mixer. When it’s creamed, beat in the vanilla extract or scraped out vanilla seeds if using, too.
3. Carefully add the two flours to the butter and combine until you have a crumbly mixture. Add chocolate chips if using, folding and pressing them in. The dough will be clumpy rather than one kneadable piece; leave it that way.
4. Scatter all of the dough into the tray so it forms a roughly equal layer. With cool hands, press mixture gently so it is firm and even. Rinse your hands in cold water if they get too warm and sticky.
5. Bake for 30-35 minutes until the dough is dry on top, and slightly puffed and pale gold at the edges. Leave to cool in the tin, then refrigerate if your kitchen is especially warm. When it’s completely cold and firm, sprinkle over some more sugar, slice into fingers and serve.

If your name is Mr. Pear, then you dislike both mushrooms and strong cheese. Repelled by the unbearably savoury thought of garlic, spring onions, mushrooms, herbs, and blue cheese encased in buttery pastry, you would undoubtedly flee at the sight (the stench?) of such a creation.  The rest of us would fall greedily upon the bosky tart, enjoying every salty, complex moment as we devour it.

I personally only think of tarts as fairly impressive centrepieces – it’s certainly not the kind of thing I would knock out for a quick bite. But whether you do eat tarts regularly, or want to have a show-off piece for dinner, this free-form cheese and mushroom tart is a good option: it comes together straightforwardly, can be made in advance, and is meant to look lopsided and composty – it has got rustic charm. The flavours are bold and strong – like a cheese cracker, in the best way possible – so keep this in mind when deciding on accompaniments. It’s different from the usual fussy, delicate custard whatnots entombed in impossible pastry.

To perhaps make planning your workflow a little easier: I generally make the filling and pastry in a day or two in advance, putting it together when I’m ready to bake. You could also freeze the unbaked pastry for up to 3 months, letting it thaw in the fridge and then to a rollable (but still cool) temperature in the kitchen. I shan’t insist that you use home-made pastry; a usual pack of ready made shortcrust – which I think is about 375g -  should do, only you’ll probably have to make it rectangular rather than round.  Inspired by another of Smit Kitch’s recipes, I baked mine in a fluted tart tin because I just thought adding the edges would be pretty.

You can use any mix of mushrooms and any sort of strong cheese in this tart. I, for some reason, had some dried porcini lying around so I was able to try that in the recipe, but I don’t really think it was absolutely crucial for depth of flavour – I am quite sure you could give it a miss and you’d still find the tart to be quite delicious. (Unless you’re Mr. Pear. Sorry, darling, you do put up with a lot from me!)

MUSHROOM AND STILTON TART (via the excellent Smitten Kitchen)
Gives about 6 decent slices, but it’s also delicious cold, so hope for leftovers…

• INGREDIENTS
• Pastry
• 175g plain flour
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 125g cold unsalted butter, diced
• 50g cold cream cheese, roughly cut into cubes (alternatively, replace with butter – cream cheese provides a slight savoury tang and further richness to the pastry)
• About 100ml cold water

• Cheese and Mushroom Filling
• 7g dried mushrooms (porcini or shiitake seem to be easiest to find, though see my comment above),
• 250ml boiling water
• 30g unsalted butter
• 2 spring onions, sliced
• 2 garlic cloved, minced
• 1 teaspoon fresh chopped herbs, rosemary and/or thyme, or 1/4 teaspoon dried herbs.
• 450g fresh mushrooms, cleaned and thinly sliced – I used brown chestnut mushrooms and big flat portobella.
• 150g Stilton, or other strong cheese

• INSTRUCTIONS
  

1. Make the pastry: Mix together the flour and salt.
2. Add the cold butter and cream cheese. Using cool hands (rinse them with cold water) or a pastry cutter, combine the fat with the flour: briskly squash or cut the fat into the flour, breaking it into small flour-fat crumbs. Pause now and then to gently toss the whole mixture to evenly distribute the flour and fat. Stop mixing when the whole mixture is crumbly, with some of the fat still the size of small peas.
3. Add a tablespoonful of the cold water to the mixture, combine using a round-bladed knife to make soft clumps. Add more water a spoonful at a time, concentrating on dry areas and dampening the mixture just enough to bring it together in clumps. Press together into a ball, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least an hour.
4. Make the filling: Soak the dried mushrooms by placing in a small bowl and pouring over the boiling water. Leave for 30 minutes, drain well, and chop finely.
5. In a wide frying pan or saute pan, melt the butter over a medium heat. Add the spring onions and cook until soft and slightly see-through, then add the chopped garlic and herbs, stirring until fragrant.
6. Increase the heat to high and add the rehydrated and fresh mushrooms to the pan – there’s quite a lot to fit in, so wait for a few minutes for the bottom layer to soften and cook down slightly before gently stirring. Cook until the liquid they give out evaporates and the mixture is dry.
7. Put the cooked mushrooms into a medium bowl to cool.
8. Crumble in the cheese, mix with the mushrooms, then set aside.
9. Assemble & bake tart: Preheat oven to 200°C.
10. Have your baking tray within easy reach. Get out your pastry and roll it out til it measures about 12 inches (30.5 cm) across, round or square. Exact measurements don’t much matter, just make sure the pastry is fairly thin – a little less than 0.25″, or around 0.5 cm.
11. Carefully transfer your pastry to the baking tray. Spread the mushroom filling evenly from the centre outwards, leaving a good 1.5″ (4 cm) border around the edges. Folder the border over the filling, pleating as you go to make a neat(ish) crust. Make sure the tart’s comfortably contained within the tray.
12. Bake in the hot oven for 30 – 40 minutes, until the pastry is golden brown, firm, and the filling is bubbling. Let it sit out of the oven for 5 minutes before serving.

It’s widely known that instant noodles are bad for you, but you won’t find me hand-wringing about it. Repeating information about its dubious nutritional value to people, with increasing faux-concern and food-piety, won’t discourage them from eating it: I can’t imagine that we eat instant noodles with the conviction that it will whack an extra score year onto our lifespans. I’m aware that there are high-end instant noodles without questionable additives and production methods; I’m not talking about those here. Anyway, it’s important to consider that instant noodles are hot food which is widely available, cheap, quick, and easy to make.

Instant noodles can be a delicious thing that are warmly nestled in the hollows and dells of childhood memory in spite (or because of) their perceived “trashiness”: echoing Kenji Alt-Lopez, they give a pang of nostalgia for me. I was raised on packets of British Supernoodles and Thai Mama brand instant noodles. My parents, far from sighing over my refusal to eat proper food, freely admit to crunching up uncooked Mama noodles when they were young, regard friends who make a point of saying they don’t eat instant noodles with suspicion (Mama consumption is a very Thai thing, like it or not!), and continue to eat the cooked stuff now. We’ve always added extra stuff to the noodles, ostensibly to increase its nutritional value, but mainly because it’s tasty.

So, what’s in the noodle bowl? We had some fresh chicken stock left over, so I used that – with the addition of a squashed garlic clove – as the soup base. There’s leftover poached chicken, watercress, spring onions, a fresh bird’s eye chilli for fresh heat and a good chopstick pinch of ground dried chilli for depth. I also added a sprinkling of the flavour packet for extra flavour. Sometimes I also like to add some simmered pork or fishballs, fresh prawns, boiled wontons, chopped ham, a poached egg, a dollop of gochujang or chilli oil, or just the plain, boiled packet – artificial flavouring and all.

How do you like yours?

This is one of the best things that has happened to me this year: the discovery of the London Fog. It’s an evocatively named and elegant latte made with bergamot-scented Earl Grey tea, steamed milk, and vanilla syrup.

My discovery was made by way of a tasteful and tea-loving Canadian friend who described this drink so delightfully that I felt a deep and greedy urge to make it right away. He said that the three elements – good Earl Grey tea, properly steamed milk, and fragrant vanilla syrup – needed to be perfectly balanced to create a fourth element: deliciousness. All of these ingredients come together to make a delicately scented hot drink, perfect for a cold day.

It’s easy to make: two parts very strong tea to one part hot milk, sweetened with some vanilla syrup. Making the tea concentrate out of two tea bags is preferable – Earl Grey tea becomes redolent with bitterly overcooked spinach rather than bergamot if oversteeped.  Incorporating even a little air into the milk lifts the flavour from milky tea to tea latte, so stir it vigorously or steam it properly using a milk frother, steamer, or a jar and a microwave. Oh, and dumping sugar into the tea doesn’t cut it: the vanilla syrup dissolves completely, encourages a silky texture, and emphasises the bergamot fragrance. Shop bought or home made syrup is fine. There is a difference in flavour if you use a whole vanilla bean in the home made syrup, but they are likely too expensive to be bought just for this, and you might prefer the vanilla extract. If you’ve half a bean to spare, split it in half and add it to the water and sugar, discard when the syrup is cooked and cooled.

Of course, I can’t – even with an attractively frothy top – disguise the fact that this is a really fussy way of making a cuppa. I know that’s a lot just for a cup of tea on someone’s grubby desk, but it’s really delicious tea.

I’ve not seen this drink being sold in our London across the pond, so you’ll probably have to make it if you want to try it! However, if you see this around cafes or tea shops, please do tell me. Otherwise, have a go at making this…

LONDON FOG
Adapted from Brewed Daily.
Short version originally posted on MouthLondon.

Ingredients
For each mug, you will need:

• 2 Earl Grey tea bags
• 200ml boiling hot water, fresh from the kettle
• 100ml milk
• 1 – 3 tablespoons vanilla syrup

Instructions

1. Have everything ready and laid out so it all comes together quickly. Put the tea bags into your mug and pour over the hot water. Leave it to steep for the recommended time – usually 3 – 4 minutes.
2. While the tea steeps, prepare the milk on the stove or in the microwave.  If using the stove, place milk in saucepan over medium heat, stirring until thoroughly hot. Whisk very well. For the microwave, place the milk in a microwave-safe mug or jar and heat on high for 30 – 40 seconds, stirring very well halfway through to warm evenly, and giving it a final good whisk to help foam it. Pour the hot milk into the strong tea. (You can leave the tea bags if you like.)
3. Add 1 tablespoon vanilla syrup; taste to see if you want any more. Enjoy right away!

I bet that precisely none of you wondered where I went for 2 years. This is perfectly fine – I wasn’t expecting anything; it wasn’t a particularly active food blog when I was trying to set it up, and it seems a bit silly to apologise for stopping something which barely existed in the first place. But I do still feel, entirely for my own purposes, that I must re-open my blog with a post about what’s been happening and what will happen so I feel more sure about where I’m going.

Things which happened in the past 2 years:

• I made a lot of food.
• And I failed to blog about it.
• So I slowly accumulated a backlog of photos and recipes to share.
• Excitingly, I graduated in July. I am now Pear BA hons. Lond., or however you do those post-nominal thingies.
• I am now looking for jobs.
• In the meantime, I’m volunteering at a library, an art gallery, and as a weekly columnist over at MouthLondon.
• I am also writing a small booklet on a Thai temple aimed at English-speaking tourists.

That’s all, really.

I’m blogging so that I have an entirely self-directed project to keep me going inbetween jobseeking so I keep up a tiny bit of creativity. You can’t look for jobs or, indeed, do your jobs 24/7, after all! I realise it’s not glamorous to tell the world this, but then, this blog makes no pretensions about creating a fabulously polished image.

I wouldn’t presume to judge people who aim to project a particular image as a blogger, though. I enjoy reading their work, and getting to know them through the persona they create.  Some bloggers think of themselves as self-appointed journalists who relish the idea of being free to show off their amusing thoughts and opinions and their multitude of talents and accomplishments. It’s honestly marvellous to see what people are capable of, how definite their identities and personalities are, and to get a glimpse of their lifestyles and values.

Although I too am a blogger, the similarity probably ends there. In an effort to sell myself, I could list all the things I’ve tried in my life to show how much of a multi-talented carefree genius I am. Instead I will comfortably admit, while settled in front of my laptop with a huge packet of crisps and scratching my belly,  that I am a self-conscious dilettante.

But then, if I’m a food blogger, then surely I must at least have some talent for cooking or writing about food? Well, you see, I could say – following the scores of food bloggers out there – that my blogging isn’t about liking food. My goodness, no: you see, this preoccupation with food cannot be described using so tepid and commonplace a word as ‘like’. It is a passion. It is an obsession. I could say that I live, eat, and breathe food –  especially the eating part. I could be a self-avowed locavore who grows their own wholesome and rosey-cheeked free-range organic  food. I could be that someone who exclusively frequents high-end, well-stocked, well-staffed delicatessens who flirts with the attractively knowledgeable shop keeper and moans softly over the rows of produce. I could be that adventurous foodie who digs out the gastronomic gems of London and Bangkok, describing each mouthful to you so evocatively, with such enticingly delicious prose, that you feel you’re there with me while I explosively kiss my bunched foodie fingertips to signify the fine culinary quality of my discovery.

But I won’t, because none of that was exactly true. My approach to food is actually made up of greed, laziness, and curiosity.  I like feeding people and feeding myself in easy and delicious ways, and wondering how I can make things even easier and more delicious.  And that’s the kind of thing I’m going to share on my blog.

So, there we are, then.

I’ve been neglecting my blog. I am sorry! I will try to post once a week.
In the mean time, have some photos from Loy Krathong. I almost wish I had eaten more, but then I remember the limits of my stomach:

Meatballs and dumplings. The round tight ones are called ‘sai krok Isaan’, a type of sausage from fermented meat and rice. It is an acquired taste, tangy and savoury. These ones were just a bit too salty to eat on their own; they would have been better over rice.

Grilled pork (‘muu ping’). It is not much, but still toothsome. These ones were sticky-sweet and given more complexity because of all the smoke.

Although not pictured, I also had yet another pork item (I have not eaten pork since!) – a peppery, spicy noodle soup with pork meatballs and slices (muu nam stok). It was perfectly edible. That was all.

But these… (and vegetarians can look back now!)

These ‘khanom dtaan’ – sugar palm cakes – are about as good as you can get them outside of Thailand. Tender and moist, they are only just delicately sweet and should be fragrant with sugar palm. These cakes are steamed and best eaten as soon as you can, or can they get soggy. Nothing discouraged me from scoffing the leftovers during my lecture break the next day, though.

*

I’m making croissants, guided by Martha Stewart. Golly! Results tomorrow. I haven’t made croissants since I was in secondary school. So far it has been easier than I imagined.

I think of Hallowe’en fondly, however I choose to spend it. During my childhood, it was usually spent round a friend’s house. One night, however, I was woken up by my mother at around midnight; my father had come home from work and was carving a pumpkin for me. Afterwards, we looked at the night sky, which – touched up by nostalgia – I remember as being thickly dusted with stars. I remember writing about this afterwards, as I liked to do as a child. I don’t think I much cared that not many people would read my little article – things obviously haven’t changed much!

Anyway. I felt compelled to make home made candy corn after seeing Cakespy’s post on Serious Eats.

Here’s my wrongly coloured alternative, using golden syrup:

The recipe went sort of wrong on two points: the use of golden syrup meant the candy was a pale gold, so I couldn’t make traditionally coloured candy corn. That’s no big deal, it is just cosmetics after all, right? But then, I found that I had cooked the sugar a little too much – most of it had hardened into a hot, crusty ball of fudge after I had mixed the dough.  I had to knead water into the dough to get it pliable again. Google confirmed my suspicions – cook it on a lower heat.

They candy corn was still very tasty despite that hiccup, though. Buttery and almost toffee-ish. I’ve no idea what real candy corn tastes like…

I would recommend you assemble the candy corn with friends and/or family; although this recipe is a micro-batch, it still yields a great amount of these sugary morsels. You can vary the sizes as you like. Store them in single layers between sheets of paper, or they will stick.

Here is the recipe in metric:

Home Made Candy Corn
Makes unseemly amounts.
- 300g icing sugar
- 25g powdered milk
- generous pinch of sea salt
- 150ml golden syrup – this will result in yellow candies; if you want traditionally coloured candy corn, find some white corn syrup (available at speciality shops), use glucose or make a simple light sugar syrup substitute.
- 200g caster/granulated sugar
- 75g butter – if you like salted caramel, use salted butter in this candy – there won’t be too much salt, I promise.
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

- Red and yellow food colouring – or, indeed, the colours of your choice…

Also: get plastic gloves. I had brightly coloured fingertips for several days.

1) Sift together icing sugar and powdered milk, mix in salt. Set aside. If the icing sugar is very lumpy, run it through a food processor.
2) Put the syrup, sugar and butter in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan. Bring it to the boil over a medium-high heat – it will foam and bubble. Immediately reduce the heat to low, let it bubble for 5 minutes, scraping at the edges now and then to prevent scorching. Take off the heat at once, add vanilla extract.
3) Mix in the icing sugar and powdered milk one half at a time so you aren’t covered in a cloud of sugar. Scrape the bottom thoroughly to make sure there aren’t any hidden pockets of sugar – make sure it is completely smooth. Leave to cool until it is just warm enough to handle, about 20 – 40 minutes.
4) Put on your gloves. Divide the dough into 3 equal pieces. Do not worry if it is slightly crusty. Leave one third uncoloured. Drop by drop, make one third yellow and the remaining third orange. If the dough is quite dry and doesn’t take the colour easily, knead in some drops of water and cover the remaining pieces of dough with a damp towel.
5) Roll the coloured dough into ropes – if you want bigger candies, make bigger ropes. Use two hands to gently distribute pressure or the dough might do strange things. Press them together. Press the flat of a knife on top of the dough to help them flatten and adhere. Cut out triangles as shown, shaping with your fingers for neater kernels.

Isn’t that a wonderful combination of words? I felt a real determination, almost a sort of rage to make this cake. I think I might have a baking addiction, but I was also undoubtedly encouraged by Deb’s writing on the cake, and of course her photography. I can only hope to elicit such reactions with any of my future blogging!

But before I sink into the murky reaches of self-doubt and inadequacy as a beginning blogger, let’s talk about cake.

I adapted the amounts ever so slightly so it would bake decently in a 24cm cake tin. How many servings it makes obviously depends on how big you will make your slices. Keep in mind that it is a shallow cake, and that its taste and texture are deceptively lighter than its ingredients would reveal. Because of the combination of ground toasted hazelnuts and brown butter, it is resonantly nutty, but those words just make this cake seem so ordinary when it’s not.
I don’t give dinner parties, and I don’t think I ever well, but this would be the cake I’d serve if something like that ever happened. I also don’t drink coffee, but I imagine this cake would be wonderful enough to feel like a treat to go with your cup of strong black. I think I am slowly highlighting my quirks and inadequacies: I don’t want this to get unecessarily personal, so let’s get on with cooking:

That’s better.

For the Cake
Meringue:
- 4 large egg whites (~160g), room temperature.
- 3 tablespoons caster sugar

Dry ingredients:
- 125g hazelnuts
- 125g icing sugar
- 25g plain flour

Brown butter:
- 175g unsalted butter (plus a bit extra for greasing)
- 1/2 vanilla pod (omit if you don’t have, perhaps substitute the meringue’s caster sugar with vanilla sugar)

For the Ganache
- 100g dark/plain chocolate
- 4 tablespoons (60ml) double cream
- 1 tablespoon water, liqueur (perhaps Frangelico?) or vanilla essence (optional)

1) Preheat oven to 180 degrees C. Grease a 24cm cake tin with a little butter and line it with baking paper.

2) Place hazelnuts in a dry frying pan over a medium-low heat until they are patchily golden and smell strongly nutty,
stirring and shaking regularly. If they’ve still got skins, they’re properly toasted when it flakes off easily – remove most of the skin by rubbing with a towel. Leave to cool on a tray or plate.

3) Make the brown butter: place butter in saucepan along with vanilla seeds and scraped pod. Place over a low-medium heat. Stir regularly. The milk solids will sink and the clear butterfat will remain on top. Keep cooking fora moment more; the butter will smell nutty and will turn a light-medium brown. Immediately pour into a heatproof jug or bowl to cool slightly. Remove and discard the vanilla pod.

4) Grind the icing sugar and cooled hazelnuts together in a food processor to create nut dust – doing it separately will just result in nut butter. Add and pulse in the flour.

5) Make the meringue: you can’t do this in advance because French meringue dislikes being ignored. Whip the egg whites on a low speed, increasing speed to medium when soft, foamy peaks are reached. Start to slowly sprinkle in sugar by the spoonful. When all the sugar’s in, it should be slightly glossy and stay stiffly in the bowl if you turn it upside-down. If not, whisk on high for a few more seconds.  Use immediately.

6) A third at a time, alternately fold the dry ingredients and brown butter into the meringue. Keep on turning the bowl and folding carefully – the greasy-looking mixture will eventually become the light, streaky batter it’s supposed to be, so don’t overfold.

7) Pour and scrape carefully into the prepared cake tin and bake for 40 minutes – 1 hour. Bear in mind that my oven is slow; you might have to check a little earlier. As Deb notes, actual doneness is more important: it is done when the edges are slightly springy but the very centre is still slightly damp. Leave to cool completely before adding ganache.

8) For the Ganache: gently melt the cream and chocolate together in a small saucepan, stirring constantly. Off the heat, whisk in the tablespoonful of your chosen liquid, then drizzle or spread on the cooled cake as you please.

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I’ll be spending Halloween at home, carving pumpkins and eating home-made candy corn. The day after that is Loy Krathong at my local temple, so please expect an entry on my Americanized Halloween and another on delicious Thai food.

What are you doing for Halloween?