Apricot and Lemon Frangipane Tart

Oh spring, where have you gone?

Just this week, after a particularly miserable Wednesday in more ways than one, a magnificent Thursday followed all at once. Bright blue skies were matched by a soft breeze and Aberdeen’s granite cast pools of cold shadows on the pavement. I was dashing around this wonderful city in the morning, my little phone serving as my dictaphone as I chatted and laughed with some wonderful people with intriguing stories to tell. I sipped a beautiful Lavender Citrus iced tea, squinted my eyes in the sunshine as I sucked on a Caramel Frappuccino (first of the year!) and talked and talked. It’s funny to think in this little old job of mine, talking is at the very centre of what I do.

So when this glorious day disappeared as the wind whipped against the side of the flat, creating cows’ licks at the sides of my ponytail, it felt like that beautiful spring day had gone. Plans crumbled and the rest of the weekend was looking boring and miserable. Until I bought a flan tin.

As much as I pray for beautiful sunshine to stream through the windows as I crumble butter into clouds of flour, sometimes a dark moody sky reminds me that photography in this weather is a challenge. I have been playing around with Luke’s camera for a good few months now and I am finding the experience exhilarating and terrifying all at once. My white balance may be blue-tinged at times and the colour saturation way off, but the challenges of lighting and ambience make for a better blog I feel.

So after a week of sun-saturated chatter, I’ve found myself in the dead silence of a Saturday morning. The rain lashes against the windows and the sky is that particular hue of grey that screams ‘stay indoors and curl up with blankets’. Instead I savoured the quiet silence and reflected on my past week, soaking in my appreciation for my life and all the challenges it brings. And so my quiet weekend led me back to one of my favourite pastimes, pastry making.

It can often seem a scary thing – I am constantly running my hands under cold water to keep a short crust and mindful of adding too much liquid to the mix. But the act of pastry making requires concentration and quiet, and all at once I am quite grateful for the grey weather giving me that space. I filled my favourite pastry recipe with a delicate frangipane and studded it with sliced apricots. A flake of almonds and a flash in the oven yields a beautiful spring-like tart that is perfect for cosying into those piles of blankets and enjoying the fat rain splashing against the windows. Summer is just round the corner anyway.

 

Adapted from Rachel’s Favorite Food by Rachel Allen and Sweet Tooth by Lily Vanilli

 

You Will Need

For the Pastry

250g plain flour, sieved

25g icing sugar, sieved

125g cold unsalted butter, cubed

1 egg, beaten

 

For the Filling

230g unsalted butter, room temperature

230g caster sugar

230g ground almonds

3 eggs

50g plain flour, sifted

Zest of 1 lemon

3 apricots, each sliced into sixths

A couple of handfuls of flaked almonds

 

Note: This frangipane recipe makes enough for two tarts, so use one half for this recipe and either refrigerate the other half for up to three days in an airtight container or freeze. Bring back to room temperature before using again.

 

To make the pastry, whisk together the flour and icing sugar then rub in the butter carefully. Make sure you have cold hands to avoid melting the butter. Once the mix resembles breadcrumbs, add ½ to ¾ of the beaten egg and mix to form a pastry ball. The shortcrust needs to hold together but not be too wet. Wrap tightly in clingfilm and press down to form a flat disc then refrigerate for 30 minutes. Do not throw the remaining egg away.

Dust a clean work surface with flour and roll out the pastry in a round bigger than the bottom of the tin – I used this 23cm fluted flan tin. Roll to a 5mm thickness then loosen from the surface with a palate knife. Carefully lift the pastry over your rolling pin and drape over the tin. Gently press into the fluted edges then cover with clingfilm and refrigerate for a further 30 minutes – this will eliminate shrinking.

Preheat an oven to 200oc/180oc fan/Gas Mark 6. Cut the top off the pastry by rolling the pin over the top or by pressing with your thumb to form a neat edge. Place a sheet of baking parchment over the pastry and fill with baking beans or lentils. Bake for 15-20 minutes until the pastry feels dry. Remove the paper and beans and bake for a further minute to dry out. Brush the pastry with the remaining egg to seal and return to the oven for a final bake for 2 minutes. Cool the pastry case completely.

To make the frangipane, beat the butter and sugar together in a stand mixer for three minutes until creamy. Add the almonds then beat in each egg one at a time. Add the flour and lemon zest then spoon half the mix into the cooled pastry case, refrigerating or freezing the remaining half. Arrange the apricot slices in two circles on top and scatter over the flaked almonds.

Bake in the oven at the same temperature for 25-30 minutes. Mine caught slightly in the oven so take care to keep an eye on the frangipane as it can brown quickly. Remove from the oven and cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes before removing from the tin and cooling completely. Finish with a scattering of flaked almonds and whipped cream or ice cream.

 

Peach and Lemon Thyme Scones

Sometimes, it’s nice to go back to the beginning.

Around a year and a half ago I took to my student kitchen, armed with a point and shoot and a much-loved scone recipe ready to throw together a bake for my first ever blog post. I wasn’t really sure what I was doing – all squinty angles and dozens of pictures with a scabby looking chopping board – but that first post was the beginning of Victoria Sponge Pease Pudding. That post prompted me to pour my foodie musings into the internet every few days, accompanied by pictures of cakes and snippets of my brightly coloured nail varnish.

It’s funny to think how much has changed since that first post. In the past 19 months I’ve picked up blogging tips from some of my favourite writers, made friends thanks to this awesome awards scheme and accumulated a fair amount of blogging paraphernalia that clutters up the kitchen cupboards and quite possibly makes my flatmate hate me. But I bring him crumble when he’s hungover so I think we’re even.

I realise this sounds like a benchmark post, like VSPP’s anniversary or something, but really it’s about appreciating where my blogging journey all began. And in appreciation, I decided to honour those White Peach Scones with Rosemary Sugar by reimagining them for my post-university self. The fresh peach has gone and instead the lurid comfort of the tinned variety lurks in its place. Bursting with colour and a smash of sugary sweetness, fragrant lemon thyme complements the fruit with a little zing of citrus. Buttermilk brings together the dough into a robust American style scone and is turned out into a subtle afternoon treat.

These pretty scones might not have been devoured by a gaggle of girls sitting on the worktop in a pokey student flat, but still, it’s nice look back  and know that was the moment it all began.

 

Adapted from this recipe, originally by Joy The Baker

 

You Will Need

450g plain flour

¾ tsp salt

½ tsp bicarbonate of soda

2 ½ tsp baking powder

Zest of 1 lemon

170g unsalted butter, cubed and chilled

1 egg

2 tbsp honey

180ml buttermilk, plus extra for brushing

Small bunch lemon thyme, leaves picked

400g tin of peaches, drained welland patted dry with kitchen paper

 

Preheat an oven to 200oc/180oc fan/Gas Mark 6. Line a baking sheet with baking parchment and set aside. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, bicarbonate of soda, baking powder and lemon zest. Rub in the butter until the pieces are the size of peas.

In a separate bowl or jug, whisk together the egg, honey and buttermilk until smooth. Chop the peaches into chunks and give them a final pat with kitchen paper then add to the butter mix along with the lemon thyme leaves. Stir then pour in the buttermilk mix all at once and mix to a soft, shaggy dough.

Turn out onto a well floured surface and roll or pat into a 1 inch thickness. Cut out with 2 inch sized round cutters. Roll and repeat with scraps until you have 12 scones. Brush with the remaining buttermilk then bake for 15-18 minutes until golden. Leave to cool on a wire rack and serve warm with butter and a cup of tea.

Vanilla Berry Triple Layer Cake

I once wrote in an essay that I thought a certain journalism subject was vanilla.

What the what? Seriously? Did I actually put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to describe something I meant to call dull vanilla? My post university self is kicking my coffee-addled 3am brain from two years ago, whilst licking vanilla frosting from a coated spoon. Clearly at that point in my life, I still had a lot to learn.

When discussing this cake with friends, so often the phrase ‘I love vanilla’ squealed from their lips, yet when do we ever appreciate the bean in its entirety? Only a few days ago I wrinkled my nose at a man at the cinema who eagerly asked for a scoop of vanilla ice cream. With so many flavour combinations and options to go for, why chose the simplest?

Easy – it is often the simplest flavours that are the best. Whilst brainstorming flavour combinations for this cake – a birthday offering for my boyfriend – I envisioned crazy ‘out there’ ideas as my imagination grew wildly out of control. I may actually revisit these ideas at a later date, but for now the delicious simplicity of a cake studded with flecks of vanilla hints at a rapidly warming climate. The sort with a thick summer air that reminds me of crisp apples, citrus fruits and the warming notes of vanilla.

This isn’t to say this cake is completely straightforward because of the simple flavour profile. I would hasten to add you should plan how you will whip up the batter, as you will need three large bowls and at the very least a handheld mixer with beaters and a balloon whisk attachment. I would also advise to cream the butter and sugar in the largest bowl you have, as this will be the bowl the meringue will be mixed in to, creating a large volume of cake batter. Aside from these notes, this is a fairly easy cake to master, and provides a light crumb that is complemented by bright bursts of berry sandwiched between the layers. For a summery twist, try substituting strawberries or raspberries but leave vanilla as the star. It may be simple, but this certainly isn’t a dull cake.

 

Adapted from The Boy Who Bakes by Edd Kimber

 

You Will Need

 

For the cake

225g unsalted butter at room temperature, with extra to grease the cake tins

470g plain flour, sifted

4 tsp baking powder

½ tsp table salt

400g caster sugar

4 large eggs, separated

1 tsp vanilla bean paste

250ml milk

 

For the frosting

200g cream cheese, (make sure this is at room temperature to avoid curdling)

110g unsalted butter, softened

250g icing sugar

1 tsp vanilla bean paste

200g mixed berries, washed and dried (I used blueberries and blackberries)

Preheat an oven to 170oc/150oc fan/Gas Mark 3. Grease and line three 20cm sandwich tins with baking parchment and set aside. In the largest bowl you have, cream together the butter and 300g of the caster sugar in a stand mixer or electric whisk until creamy. Beat in the four egg yolks one by one until the mix is light and airy. Whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt then add a third of the dry mix to the wet along with half the milk. Combine on a low speed, then repeat. Finish by folding in the remaining third of the dry mix.

In a clean, dry bowl, whisk together the egg whites until soft peaks form. Add the remaining 100g of sugar then whip to stiff peaks. Cut a third of the meringue mix into the cake batter to loosen, then fold in the remaining egg whites, careful to not knock the air out of the batter. Divide between the three cake tins and bake for 30-35 minutes until a skewer inserted into the middle of each cake comes out clean. Remove from the oven and cool for 10 minutes, before turning out onto a wire rack and cooling completely.

To make the frosting, whip the cream cheese in a stand mixer or with a hand held electric whisk until smooth. Add the softened butter then whip again. Beat in the icing sugar then mix in the vanilla paste.

To assemble, place one cake on a stand or plate and smooth over a third of the frosting. Sprinkle over a third of the berries then top with a second cake and repeat. Place the third cake on top and smooth over the remaining frosting and pile the berries in the middle.

Courgette, Lemon and Poppy Seed Cake

Why the frick do you all recoil in horror when I mention a courgette cake?

I mean seriously, you eat carrot cake with all the zest of a sponge-addicted fiend. Rhubarb crumble by the forkful – yes it’s (largely considered to be) a vegetable. I’ve even discussed the merits of adding baked beetroot to brownies – my dad’s speciality. Yet why is it that when a soft, pillowy sponge sandwiched with a tart creamy frosting is presented on the table, the first instinct is a wrinkled nose and a quizzical: “Courgette?”

I haven’t a precise date for when I first made this cake, but it has been a firm favourite for a good many years. The moisture in the courgette makes this cake very soft, helping it keep for days. In fact I baked this cake two days before I presented it and it still maintained a soft crumb without going stale. Not that if it sat in the house it would go spare I hasten to add.

I think what is so perfect about this cake is that there are so many stages, but that they can be broken down into manageable chunks. Squeezing the moisture from the courgettes and letting them dry gives your arms a good workout for 10 minutes. Folding the mix together then baking takes another hour. Then a tart lemon drizzle to steep into the cakes, and finally finishing with a smooth creamy icing that completes the whole cake perfectly.

It may be slightly rustic and unfinished looking – a ring of poppy seeds sorts that crime out – but the first slice reveals a speckled cake filled with forest green flecks of courgette. Perhaps that is the mystery of this cake’s changing appeal, a sort of shudder-inducing idea of eating your greens enrobed in a classic sponge. If that is the case then pass me another slice, I want more of my five a day.

 

Adapted slightly from BBC Good Food

 

You Will Need

2 small courgettes

200g unsalted butter, softened

200g caster sugar

3 eggs

2 lemons, zested plus 1 tbsp of fresh lemon juice

1 tsp vanilla paste

100g self raising flour

100g wholemeal flour

1 tsp poppy seeds

1 tsp salt

1 tsp baking powder

 

For the Lemon Drizzle

25g icing sugar

1 tbsp fresh lemon juice

 

For the Frosting

50g unsalted butter, softened

50g icing sugar

2 tbsp fresh lemon juice

Zest of 1 lemon

250g cream cheese

Preheat an oven to 180oc/160oc fan/Gas Mark 4. Grease and line two 20cm sandwich tins and set aside. Coarsely grate the courgettes onto a clean tea towel then gather up and squeeze as much water as possible from the vegetables into a sink. You need to be firm at this stage, otherwise the batter will become too wet and the cake soggy. Unravel the tea towel and pat the shredded courgette to remove any surface water. Ideally leave to air dry slightly as you weigh the other ingredients.

In the bowl of a stand mixer or using a hand held whisk, cream the butter and sugar together until thick and creamy. Beat in the eggs one by one until fully combined. The mixture may split a little at this stage but the flours will bring it back together. Add the dried courgettes, vanilla paste, lemon zest and juice then stir to combine. Whisk together the flours, poppy seeds, baking powder and salt then add all at once to the wet mix. Fold in carefully then divide between the two cake tins. Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes until golden brown and a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Once the cakes have cooked, leave to cool in the tins for 10 minutes then turn out onto a wire rack. Remove the lining and prick with a fork all over. Whisk together the drizzle ingredients then paint over the cakes using a pastry brush. Leave to cool completely.

To make the frosting, whisk the butter in a stand mixer or with a handheld whisk then add the sugar and beat until creamy. Add the lemon zest and juice and the cream cheese and beat until a runny icing has formed. Although it may seem rather drippy, the lemon juice will set the frosting so don’t be tempted to add extra sugar. Add 1/3 of the icing on top of one cake and spread evenly across. Place the second cake on top then smooth over another layer. As the icing can be quite wet, I tend to do this in layers rather than all in one go to give the frosting time to set. Once you are happy, decorate with poppy seeds then serve.

Raspberry and White Chocolate Cookies

There is a paper bag. A hand opens it up, pursed like a pair of lips that seem eager to devour the delicious contents it is about to be filled with.

“What will it be?”

Hands are pressed against the faux-glass plastic that sits between you and the cookies. Scanning your eyes across the flavours, you pick out so many variations on classic chocolate: Chocolate Chip, Double Chocolate Chip, Toffee Chocolate Chip, Triple Chocolate Chip.

But there’s one more to choose.

Raspberry and White Chocolate. Fuzzy muted tones of bitter raspberry swept through cookie dough and piled high with white chocolate. Slightly caught on the edges, but the middle dense and chewy. Light and pretty, it is a cookie to be proud of. The perfect final addition to a bag of Millie’s Cookies.

I’m not sure anyone quite has chain-bakery memories like I do. When I was younger, shopping trips with my mum and sister would always follow a pattern; H&M, Gap, Claire’s Accessories (hairclips and earrings ftw). Then a baked tattie; cheese and coleslaw for mum, tuna for Emily and prawn mayo for me. Then more shopping. All of a sudden 4pm hits and a stop at Millie’s Cookies is inevitable

Raspberry and White Chocolate Cookies evoke memories of those teenage shopping trips with my family. My sister and I would snaffle the remaining two from a bag of five in the car home, but the first choice in the cafe was the raspberry. I guess when you are younger, you have inexplicable favourites, the way you have a favourite nail polish colour, favourite pizza toppings and a preferred Bacardi Breezer flavour. You don’t know why, but it’s the colour, combo and neon-pink of watermelon you always go for.

I think I had forgotten about my teenage inexplicable favourites until I found freeze dried raspberries the other day. Parked next to a creamy packet of Chocolat Patissier Menier, the temptation was too much to resist. This version modifies my favoured cookie recipe, a slow-baked version that doesn’t catch the raspberry pieces the way they would on a higher setting. The brown sugar adds a caramel-like sweetness to the mix and the melting white chocolate oozes class. I may not be a teen anymore, but my inexplicable favourite has just grown up.

You Will Need

250g unsalted butter, room temperature

130g caster sugar

130g soft light brown sugar

1 egg

1 egg yolk

1 tsp salt

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

338g plain flour

100g good quality white chocolate, finely chopped.

3 tbsp freeze dried raspberry pieces (I found mine in the baking aisle of Sainsbury’s)

Place the butter and two sugars in a large bowl and beat in a stand mixer or with a handheld whisk until creamy. Add the eggs and beat again. Whisk together the flour, salt and bicarbonate of soda then beat into the egg mix. Stir through the chocolate and raspberry pieces with a spatula until thoroughly distributed. Cover the bowl in clingfilm and refrigerate for at least 45 minutes.

Preheat an oven to 180oc/160oc fan/Gas Mark 4. Line two baking trays with baking parchment and set aside. Remove the cookie dough from the fridge and place heaping tablespoons spaced widely apart onto the baking sheets. Place in the oven and bake for 10-12 minutes until golden round the edges. Cool for 10 minutes then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Repeat until all the mixture has been used up.

Cherry Tomato, Rocket and Pesto Pizza

On Monday I woke up at 5am, sunshine blazing through the sides of my bedroom blinds and radiating a blistering heat throughout my room. Later at 8am, I peeked behind the blinds as I got ready for work and lo and behold a bright blue sky awaited – spring had finally sprung. I celebrated by not wearing a scarf to work.

The eventual delivery of spring has been tied up in ‘Sorry You Were Out!’ cards and Return to Sender stamps, each hinting that bright ball of sunshine was just around the corner. But instead all we’ve been given is sleet, snow, hail, rain and wind, alongside a healthy dose of duvet days. So when that crack of sunshine told me I might get to wear sandals this year, I immediately turned my thoughts to this spring-like pizza.

I’ve experimented with pizza dough’s in the past – packet mixes, self raising flour cheats and sneaks of baking powder. But none compare to a simple Sunday making fresh yeasted dough. At first this dough seems shaggy and unusable and looks like it would never rise. But hide next to the boiler, go watch a film and it will magically double into a pillow-soft pizza base in just two hours. Productive proving.

This pizza topping recipe is also adapted from Shutterbean, where I found the dough recipe, but with a few tweaks. In my mind a rocket salad needs balsamic and parmesan shavings and a fresh torn ball of mozzarella triumphs over goats cheese any day. But the base of this pizza is really lifted by a layer of fresh pesto, using this recipe here. Light and fresh, this pizza makes for the perfect springtime meal to share or to hoard. Personally, I’d stick a ‘Sorry You Were Out!’ through your dinner mate’s door and watch the last episode of Gossip Girl on repeat with this pizza. Sometimes spring comes with its own duvet days too.

Adapted slightly from Shutterbean

You Will Need

For the Pizza Dough

600g strong white bread flour

¾ tsp salt

¾ tsp caster sugar

225ml tepid water

7g sachet yeast

For the Toppings

2 tbsp fresh pesto (I used this recipe)

1 cup of cherry tomatoes, washed

1 ball of mozzarella, torn

2 handfuls rocket

A squeeze of lemon juice

1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

A small handful of parmesan shavings

3 tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, salt and sugar and yeast. Pour in all the water and bring together with your hands or a wooden spoon. Turn out onto a clean work surface and quickly knead until the dough is combined. Place dough back in the bowl, cover with clingfilm and leave to prove in a warm place for two hours until doubled in size.

After two hours, turn out the dough onto a lightly floured surface and divide into two. Leave to rest for a further 30 minutes.

If you want to use the other dough a different day, wrap tightly in clingfilm twice then refrigerate for a day or freeze for up to a month. I’ve frozen the second half and forgotten about it defrosting in the fridge for the day and it was fine. Be mindful to rest again before using as freezing can make the dough slightly sticky.

Preheat an oven to 240oc/220oc fan/ Gas Mark 7. Oil a large baking sheet with 2 tbsp of olive oil and carefully stretch the dough into a large rectangle. Smooth over the pesto and top with an even layer of mozzarella and tomatoes then bake for 15-18 minutes until crisp.

Meanwhile dress the leaves with the balsamic, lemon, remaining oil and parmesan shavings. Add salt and pepper to taste. Once the pizza has baked, scatter over the salad and serve immediately.

Kitchen Essentials: Homemade Pesto

Pesto is a funny little kitchen basic – in many respects it isn’t one. It isn’t essential for a risotto the way a pile of parmesan is, nor the backbone of salted butter in a pan of mashed potatoes. It isn’t the milk for your tea, the loaf for your morning toast or the instant coffee to perk up your mornings. But in the way that margarine isn’t as delicious on a scone or UHT milk curdles in your cuppa, jarred pesto is a stunted fridge essential that never really gets away from the aftertaste of preservatives and added rubbish.

The real deal is infinitely better, more so because you can put your own spin on it. You can add a hint of Asian tang with lime juice, like I have, or sub in a different nut like walnuts if you wish. You could choose untoasted nuts; half basil and half rocket or add decadent chilli oil to the mix. It’s a simple kitchen staple that is so personal to everyone, that this blog post isn’t really a recipe at all, merely a guideline. Pesto is the staple for mixing up the perfect sauce for your lunchbox pasta salad, a spread for your mozzarella and tomato panini or baked onto a pizza in place of a rich tomato sauce (coming later on this week!)

What is really essential is that you step away from the jars and step into the kitchen. Pesto making is therapeutic and painterly, watching the ingredients turn from milky white garlic, to forest green basil, to soft parmesan lime and a final dollop of jade that coats a strand of spaghetti beautifully. Of course, you could zap the ingredients in a food processor but where is the fun in that? Grab a mortar and pestle and crush your way to a tastier essential. You need never pick up a jar again.

 

You Will Need

50g pine nuts

2 garlic cloves

Pinch of sea salt

80g (one bag) fresh basil

25g finely grated parmesan

Juice of half a lime

Freshly ground black pepper

75ml olive oil

 

Heat a saucepan over a medium heat then add the pine nuts. Swirl around the pan to keep the nuts evenly toasted, which should take around 5 minutes. As the oils are released, the nuts begin to toast quicker. Once lightly golden, remove from the heat and leave to cool.

Slice the garlic cloves and add to a mortar and pestle with the salt – slicing into smaller pieces helps to grind the garlic quicker. Once crushed to a smooth paste, wash the basil and add to the bowl, crushing again. Mix in the parmesan then crush in the nuts to form a pesto paste. Add the lime juice for a sour tang and season with black pepper. Pour in the oil and mix in with the pestle. Transfer to a jam jar and keep in the fridge for up to two weeks.