Peaches rarely make their way into my baking. Fruit salads and ice creams or simply eaten whole over the sink, juices spilling down my chin, are all regular occurrences, but subjecting a peach to heat takes a bit more planning. If the fruit is too perfect, it disappears from its brown paper bag before I can even think about cooking; too soft and it won’t withstand the oven’s heat. But every so often I find a contender (or two), and on this occasion a pair of not-quite-perfect peaches made it into these simple little bun cakes. Continue reading
One of the strange things about writing a cookbook is wondering where my recipes will end up. I don’t necessarily mean the tables that they’ll grace or mouths that they’ll feed – although I’m completely fascinated by that too – but the way in which people will interpret what I’ve written, reinventing their very own versions of the flavours I eat and enjoy. Continue reading
Where do you stand when it comes to freezers? Are they a baker’s best friend, a modern monstrosity or simply a necessary evil?
If you like to bake as much as I do, you’ll be familiar with the issue of leftovers. While our household has as large an appetite for sweet treats as the next (ok, possibly ever so slightly larger), sometimes there’s simply more than we can manage. And while one of the best things about baking is sharing the spoils with family and friends, if they’re not around the freezer can be a lifesaver. Continue reading
A couple of weeks ago, my ice cream machine broke. Having poured a simple peanut butter custard into the turning bowls, I sat back to watch it churn into the soft, smooth, scoopable consistency I have learned to expect. The mechanism whirred unreasonably loudly, plastic paddles slapped pathetically against the sides and forty minutes later my ice cream attempt was in as liquid a state as when it started.
With work, holidays and everything in between, it’s taken some time to get it off to the manufacturer for (a luckily within warrantee) repair. Last Friday I finished up early, packed the two-bowled beast into a large cardboard box and headed off to the post office in the afternoon heat. After a twenty minute walk and twice as long waiting, I was told I’d taken it to the wrong place. No ice cream for me that day (but at least I gave myself a good arm workout).