Notes in the margin
Teisen Lap (moist cake) recipe
I buy recipe books and cook books at quite an alarming rate. Some get thumbed constantly and are splodged with bits of sauces, wine, tea, crusty bits of dough etc., their page corners are dog-eared, spines cracked and are stuffed with extra bits of paper – either page markers or random recipes pulled out of magazines needing a safe haven. Others are relegated to the bookcase to be brought out once in a while for a particular recipe – Delia’s Christmas pudding for example – and then there are those that head pretty much straight into the box for the charity shop.
I always try to find second-hand versions of cookbooks, not least because my addiction to buying them would bankrupt me if I didn't, but also because their pages tell a story of whoever owned and cooked from them before me. My favourites are those well-worn ones that I described above. As you flick through, you spot notes in the margin, next to the splashes of dinners long since past. You wonder if this dark patch on a prawn cocktail recipe is a stray splatter of Marie Rose sauce that was destined for an 80s dinner party table, or the two pages that you need to prise open because of what you assume to be specks of golden syrupy flapjack has stuck them together better than any concrete is a memento of a satisfying school lunchbox.
As much as it’s wonderful to give stories to the food detritus, the notes are what really intrigue me. Last week we spoke about how people often ‘just know’ how much of something to put in, from years of trial and error, and many notes are just that – a ‘+1’ added next to a teaspoon measure of cumin, or an ‘extra five minutes’ neatly scribed vertically next to the bit on oven baking. They are instructions that mean someone’s palate is a bit different, that their oven has seen better days, or they like it crusty around the edges. Then, sometimes you find entire hand-written recipes on the spare back pages, or on scraps of slightly faded notelet paper – perhaps with a floral border – detailing a hastily jotted method and rudimentary measurements.
Oh, and then there are the dedications in the front: “To George and Barbara, From Jean”, “Happy cooking! Hope to taste some of these when I next visit, Love Aunty Meg”. I wonder if these people would be surprised as to where their books have ended up. Have they crossed oceans or simply gone down the road? Did Aunty Meg ever visit and did they make stuff from the book if she did? Whenever I get gifted a book by family or friends, I always ask them to write in the front, including the date. It’s such a warming feeling when I pick up a recipe book and see that Great Auntie Den wished me a happy Christmas 2012 in the inside front cover, for example. And I love the thought of the book eventually finding its way into someone else’s bread dough-encrusted hands and them wondering about our stories and who we were, and taking heed of the ‘DON’T ADD TOO MUCH MILK!’ I’ve etched into the margin.
The Recipe
Teisen Lap – Moist Cake
A Welsh classic this week! This very straightforward cake translates as ‘moist cake’, giving an indication to the rather wet mixture. It’s said it was a favourite of coal miners’ wives, who could easily cook it in a Dutch oven in front of the open hearth or range, and pack it neatly in their miner husband or son’s lunch tin. Most of the old recipes for this use the rubbing-in method, like you would with Welsh cakes, but I’m pretty sure you could use the creaming method (like you would with sponge) and get the same results, but then as you know I’ll take any excuse to get my hands in the bowl. This is also known as ‘plate cake’ as it would traditionally be cooked on a deep enamel plate. I’ve used a cake tin, but an ovenproof dinner plate would work just as well.
Ingredients (serves 8-12)
250g self-raising flour
125g caster sugar
1tsp ground nutmeg (I really like to taste the nutmeg, but you can put 1/2tsp if you are not such a fan)
Pinch of salt
125 cold butter, cubed (older recipes use a mix of butter and lard)
125g currants (or any dried fruit you have in the cupboard)
2 free-range eggs, beaten
175ml buttermilk
Butter for greasing
Method
1. Preheat the oven to 190°C/375°F/Gas Mark 5, and grease a shallow cake tin or plate with butter.
2. Sift the flour, sugar, nutmeg and salt into a large mixing bowl and stir.
3. Add the butter and rub together until the mix resembles breadcrumbs.
4. Stir through the currants or dried fruit.
5. Tip in the eggs and buttermilk and stir well until you have a smooth, thick mixture that shouldn’t need too much coaxing to fall off the spoon, but not so thin that it’s runny.
6. Spoon into the prepared tin and bake for about 35-40 minutes until a skewer comes out clean when inserted and a crisp, golden crust has formed.
7. Allow to cool completely before slicing. Enjoy with a strong cup of tea.
If you try the recipe out, don’t forget to tag any photos with #mywelshkitchen.
The Playlist
To me, cooking and music go hand in hand, whether that’s singing at the top of your voice using a wooden spoon as a microphone while waiting for pasta to boil, or dancing around with the oven gloves on as the oven timer counts down. Here are this week’s ideas for your Welsh Kitchen playlist.
Welsh Kitchen favourite, Bronwen Lewis, is first up this week. I could listen to her beautiful voice all day. Secondly, we have artist, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Otto, who has an equally melodic voice and hails from Ferndale in The Rhondda.
Ti A Fi by Bronwen
Tell Me Something (I Don’t Know) by Otto
The Pantry
Good food is nothing without good ingredients and thankfully there are plenty of fantastic Welsh products on the market. Here is where you’ll find recommendations to stock up your cupboard, fridge or fruit bowl.
Halen Môn Salted Honey Butter
Another one from Anglesey salt producers Halen Môn. This Salted Honey Butter was brought to my attention by food writer Nicola Miller over on Twitter this week. I haven’t tried it as yet, but it’s on order and sounds sublime. I can’t wait to slather it on a bit of chewy toasted sourdough or on a slither of bara brith.
Image: Halen Môn