Before we'd make cakes with my Nanna Lena, before I'd climbed up on the kitchen chair to see over into the bowl on the red Formica table, before we'd dipped and scraped our fingers around the grey-flecked enamel of the giant mixing bowl of cake mix, we'd head to the drawer in the corner of the kitchen. The one by the gas cupboard. Called so because the gas meter was in there. And also random paperwork and my grandad’s peppermints (humbugs, butter mints, mint imperials) that were stashed there from innumerable birthday, Christmas and Father’s Day gifts. They were his little treat, and my nan didn't like them. A fact that meant he was always in surplus supply!
Anyway, in the drawer alongside the charred, cork pan rest and 60 years’ worth of kitchen paraphernalia, were the pinnies. I'm not sure I knew it was also called an apron until much later. My Nanna Lena would take hers out first. Usually a pink and white (although sometimes blue) house coat jacket-style one that had popper fasteners down the front. The sort a dinner lady serving great big scoops of lumpy mash behind the counter might wear. She'd fasten it up and then squirrel through the drawer for suitable aprons for my brother and me. These were classic aprons with strings to fasten at the back – something we took much delight in doing by spinning around, attempting to tie knots that were somewhat tight enough that the pinny didn't gape, and then looking at our handy work standing alongside nan, with Poppa giving us a cheer and a smile as if congratulating the podium winners of a big race. Inevistably Nan or Pop had to retie the strings. Being the younger one, the pinny – as small as it was – was always down to my ankles and swooshed like a flamenco dancer or looked like an old lady in a long nightie with only feet and head visible.
Suitably suited so to speak, we'd start the cake-making ritual. The ensuing kitchen theatre alchemy would result in fairy cakes topped with glace cherries (yuck), hundreds and thousands, chocolate buttons, Jelly Tots, or my favourite, butterfly cakes with Dream Topping – more on that later. Cakes aside (first time I've ever said that), it's pinnies I want to talk about.
While a spatula might be my favourite kitchen utensil, an apron has to be a close second – sometimes, it might even reach the top spot. “No, Ross,” I hear you cry, “A pinny is not a utensil!” Well, dear reader, I disagree. It obviously has its intended purpose to protect your clothes from flying food debris. Many a white shirt has been saved from an over-enthusiastic tomato sauce bubbling in the pan, only to be destroyed as I miss my mouth when drinking a glass of red wine later. Aprons also protect you from heat: of the oven, of hot plates and pans, of spills. But a pinny is so much more. It’s there to wipe flour-dusted hands – making rather lovely hand shaped prints on the fabric. It doubles up as a tea towel when drips and drops escape from the mixing bowl or pan. It takes the place of an oven glove, protecting your hands from hot cake tins or when pulling out the roasting tin to have a quick baste.
Then there are its non-kitchen uses: gardening, painting, DIY, holding your pegs as you hang out the washing, or even putting a colour on your Nan’s hair for her and rinsing it off over the kitchen sink afterwards. Pinnies are also very handy for moping brows and drying tears, and for shy children to hide behind.
My great-grandmothers could probably tell me countless more uses. My dad says that he never saw his grandmother without a full pinny. No doubt she would have used it to collect items or ingredients (potatoes etc) from the garden, or as a chopping board for bread against her hip.
There’s a hook on the back of my kitchen door that currently holds five aprons. Of course, I have my favourites, and sometimes I chose particular ones for cooking certain dishes: one that I picked up in Spain when making tortilla, or my Cwtch the Cook one for Welsh cakes.
Let’s raise a cup of tea to the mighty apron! And to my pinny-wearing Nanna Lena, who would have celebrated her 99th birthday yesterday.
The Recipe
Nanna Lena’s Butterfly Cakes
Butterfly cakes have always been my favourite. As I said above, fairy cakes were a near weekly occurrence at Nanna and Poppa’s house, and I was always happy if there was a packet of Dream Topping in the cupboard. You don’t seem to see it too much now, but I did find it easily enough in Sainsbury’s the other day. For those not in the know, it’s a synthetic cream powder that you whisk with milk. You can easily substitute it for butter cream if you can’t find Dream Topping – beat together 125g butter, 250g icing sugar and 2tsp milk). I’m using the creaming method for cake making here but you can use the all-in-one method if you prefer.
Ingredients (Makes about 15)
150g softened butter (Nanna always used Stork for Cakes)
150g caster sugar
2 free-range eggs
150g self-raising flour
Few drops of lemon juice (Nanna’s secret ingredient was Jif lemon)
Drop of milk if needed
1 packet of Dream Topping
150ml milk
Method
Preheat the oven to Gas Mark 4/180°C/350°F.
In a large mixing bowl, beat together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
Gradually add the eggs, beating well after each addition. If it starts to curdle, add a little bit of flour.
Sift in the flour and add a few drops of lemon juice, and gently fold to combine. Loosen with a little milk if it seems very thick. It should easily fall off a spoon tapped on the side of the bowl.
Gently fill paper cake cases about two-thirds full with the mixture. Bake in the oven for about 15 minutes until cooked and golden.
Allow to cool while you whisk together the milk and Dream Topping. Pop it in the fridge to firm up slightly.
Slice the tops off the fairy cakes and cut the lids in half.
Dollop a bit of dream topping on each cake and then place in the two bits of lid to create your butterfly wings.
If you try it 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.
First up this issue we have a Christmas number one hit from Dave Edmunds from Cardiff. He recorded the track at the famous Rockfield Studios in Monmouthshire. Secondly, we have a brand-new release from musician and singer Angharad.
I Hear You Knocking by Dave Edmunds
Because I Am A Woman by Angharad
Welsh Wine Week
Whenever I chat to people about grape growing in Wales, they often don’t believe me, but the truth is, the Romans likely grew grapes and made wine in the years they ruled the country. Strictly speaking, Wales falls outside the typical latitudes for good grape growing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. In fact, Welsh wine is booming, with more than 30 planted vineyards, of which 24 already produce excellent quality wines, from sparkling and white, to rose, red and even orange. There are lots of events going on in and around Wales this week, details of which can be found on the Welsh Wine Week website.