Blood plum spice cake

A friend of mine had a birthday recently and I wanted to make her a cake. Unlike 99% of the population, she's not a fan of icing (too sweet). While I've nothing against plain cakes (in fact I think I prefer them), for a celebration I think you need something a little bit special. An upside-down cake was the perfect solution. This one showcases plums, in season at the moment. The recipe comes from one of my favourite places in all the world, The Agrarian Kitchen, in Tasmania, so I knew it would be good. And indeed it was - the warm spices of the base the perfect complement to the tart, juicy fruit, which - once inverted - crowns the cake. A cracker.

Sticky triple ginger cake

It's winter in Sydney - the season for cosy cakes. The sort to have with a cup of tea, eat with your fingers, and crumb up your jumper. Ginger is a relatively new favourite flavour of mine. I'd always thought of it as old-fashioned, but now that's exactly what appeals to me about it. This is a very plain cake (it's brown, unadorned with icing or decoration) but contains hidden depths - three types of ginger, a delightful stickiness on its exterior, and a taste and texture perfect for pairing with a wedge of strong cheddar. The last one sounds odd I know, but the original recipe - by Scottish cookbook author Jess Elliott Dennison - recommended it as a serving suggestion, I tried it, and now I won't eat it any other way. As a bonus, this cake gets better with age (attractive as a make-ahead option), contains only one egg, and comes together in a single bowl (in this case, a saucepan). 

Just a note for any subscribers coming across this new recipe by accident - in order to get email notifications for new recipes on this blog, you'll have to resubscribe using the link top right. Blogger's subscribe function was discontinued about a year ago and tech is not my strong point. This is the best work-around I've found so hope it works for you!

Sticky triple ginger cake

Adapted from a recipe in Lazy Baking by Jessica Elliott Dennison

When I was in in the UK last December, I purchased some preserved stem ginger in syrup for the express purpose of making this cake. Over there, you can find it easily at any supermarket. In Australia, it's a bit harder to lay your hands on. You can buy it online, or make your own - I haven't tried it but this recipe looks good. The quantities below make quite a large cake. I tend to halve the recipe (just mix the egg with a fork before adding half) and bake it in a small loaf (21cm/8.5 inch) tin. The cooking time, I've found, is about the same.

125ml (1/2 cup) vegetable, light olive, or rapeseed (canola) oil, plus 1 tbsp for greasing tin
225g (1 1/4 cups) soft dark brown sugar
85g black treacle
150g golden syrup
1 1/2 tbsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp garam masala
20g fresh ginger
3 pieces of preserved stem ginger in syrup
1 egg
300g (2 1/2 cups) self-raising flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
350ml (1 1/2 cups) milk

Preheat the oven to 160 deg C / 350 deg F. Grease and line a 23cm (9 inch) springform tin.

Combine oil, sugar, treacle, golden syrup and spices in a large saucepan and heat on low, stirring regularly with a wooden spoon, til the sugar has dissolved. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.

While oil mixture is cooling, finely grate into it the fresh ginger (no need to peel), finely chop the stem ginger and add that in too, then stir to combine. By now the mixture should be cool enough to dip your finger in. If not, wait a little longer, then crack in the egg and stir to combine (if you do this when the mixture is too hot it will scramble). 

Mix in one quarter of the flour, and the baking powder. Continue to stir in the remaining flour (in the one direction to avoid lumps forming) and mix til smooth. Next, pour in one quarter of the milk to loosen the batter. Add the remaining milk, and stir through. The mixture may look too thin or like it's not coming together but just keep stirring til smooth.

Pour batter into the lined tin and bake in the preheated oven for one hour, or until firm to the touch. Cool slightly, then turn out onto a wire rack. Keeps well in an airtight container for up to five days.

Pineapple and ginger upside-down cake

 

Pineapples are in season at the moment in Australia. I come from Queensland, home to the Big Pineapple, and like many kids who grew up in Brisbane, visited the Golden Circle Cannery on a school excursion. Such is my fondness for this sweet, spiky fruit and the association it has for me with home (somewhere I haven't been able to go for months now because of border closures), my dad made me a book plate in honour of it. 

So obviously this cake had my name on it. There's not much more of a story than that. All I'll say is that this recipe is excellent and well worth the very slight hassle of egg separation, pineapple peeling and multiple bowls to wash up. The flavours (pineapple and ginger are a classic combination) intensify over time which means you can make it ahead, which is always a win. But the sticky caramelised top means it's delicious warm with vanilla ice cream should you choose to eat it immediately.

Pear cake with rye and ginger

I love Hobart. I love its hills. I love its water. I love the local support for MONA's winter festival Dark Mofo, which has residents wrapping their outside lights in red cellophane and businesses decorating shop windows in red, even the CWA store, who excelled this year with their display which featured the word Mofo and a cross fashioned from scarlet beads. Winter is not Tasmania's starriest produce season. That would be summer, when apricots are weighing down backyard trees, cherries are fat and plentiful, and plums are practically rolling down the roads with all the street planting. But the colder months have their charms - one of them being staying inside where it's warm and eating cake. This one is dark and wintery and wonderful with the heat of ginger, sweet, silky pears and a chewy crumb courtesy of rye flour. It's not in the CWA playbook but I think they'd approve.

Fresh ginger and molasses cake

I had a traumatic week last week. Not world-endingly traumatic, just the kind that could be cured by cake. So I made one. During a heatwave in southern California a few months ago, I came across this recipe while flipping through my friend's cookbooks, laying low, sapped of energy by the sun. Molasses is such a fantastic sounding word and conjured up how we all felt at the time, sticky and slow. It wasn't the weather for it then, but now in November, during these days of crisp, cool, sunny Sydney weather, the time was right. The fresh ginger sings in this not-too-sweet, incredibly soft, dramatically dark cake, which goes perfectly with a cup of tea. The original recipe is for a layer cake, vanilla cream slathered between the layers and atop, but I just halved the quantities, made a single layer, dusted it with icing sugar and called it done. Delicious.

Beetroot relish

One of my earliest cooking memories is helping my grandmother with morning tea. Technically, what I was delegated to do was not so much cooking as arranging pieces of cheese on Jatz crackers and topping them with gherkin or corn relish. This savoury selection was only part of a lavish feast my grandmother Irene laid out every Sunday for her immediate family. In addition to my grandfather Cec, there would be my (great) auntie Ursula and uncle Ed, and my grandmother's brother Kev and his wife Joan. Sometimes one or more of their children would pop in. With their children. And occasionally my parents, who would be picking my brother and I up from an overnight stay. There were many chairs around the table and the table itself was always groaning with food. My grandmother was renowned for her fruitcake and that was always at the centre of this spread, but on any given Sunday there could also be scones or pikelets, maybe something else sweet too but the Jatz and cheese were a mainstay. So I took my responsibility seriously. 

When it came to entertaining, my grandmother knew her stuff. Cheese and crackers is a winning combination, but made just that bit more special with a little something extra. So when I made this beetroot relish last week and served it up to a friend with some cheddar and crackers, it reminded me of her. In truth, I'm not sure she would have entirely approved, what with beetroot's propensity to stain, but she couldn't argue with the taste: sweet and lightly spicy, perfect with the creamy sharpness of the cheese, and the salty crunch of the cracker. 

Ginger cake with lemon and pistachio icing

Ginger is a flavour I've only recently come to appreciate in baking. Perhaps because in childhood it was associated most strongly with gingerbread, which in turn was associated most strongly with Hansel and Gretel, who were punished for nibbling on a house made of it by being almost cooked alive by a witch.

This isn't a gingerbread though - it's lighter, and more light-hearted than that, containing as it does, a whacking big amount of golden syrup and a rich, buttery frosting. This is cake, make no mistake -  sticky and squidgy, sweet and indulgent... There's something quite wonderful about the fusion of adult flavours (ginger, lemon, cloves, pistachios) with those of childhood (golden syrup, icing sugar, cinnamon). A bit like having your cake and eating it too. With no fear of witches.

Parsi tomato chutney

Here are two undisputed facts about my mother:

1. She makes amazing chutney.

2. She is utterly unsentimental. 

Whenever I go home to visit she is always offering to teach me how to make her signature chutneys (green papaya, mango) as "one day she will die and there won't be any more". Unlike my mother, I am sentimental and in deep and comfortable denial about anything ever happening to her, so I refuse to learn. Instead, I've taught myself to make my own. It's different enough to mum's to perpetuate the myth that she will always be around to make the others for me, and so good it passes muster with the great chutney-maker herself. So this year, I made her some. For Mother's Day. Even though she doesn't believe in it.

My friend Elizabeth put me on to this recipe, originally from Niloufer Ichaporia King's book My Bombay Kitchen.  As the name suggests, it's made primarily with tomatoes (easy to chop in large quantities), has a relatively short list of other supermarket-available ingredients, and really requires nothing more than throwing everything into one pot and letting it bubble away for a couple of hours. It's brilliant on a sandwich or served alongside a curry, particularly a hot one as the sweetness of the tomatoes balances it beautifully. It's so good slathered on cornbread, delicious dolloped on a cracker with cheese, and jarred up, makes a lovely present... for mothers who are mortal, and their daughters in denial.

Chocolate spice cookies

There's a lot to be said for simple. Margherita pizza. Good-quality vanilla ice-cream. A plain croissant, fresh out of the oven, with a cup of black coffee. Less is more. And then there's Yotam Ottolenghi, the Israeli-born, London-based chef du jour whose recipes read like an encyclopedia of ingredients. Crazy combinations in odd quantities that echo cultures but aren't conventional, layering tastes, traditions, techniques... More is more. It shouldn't work at all but it does. Case in point: these chocolate spice cookies. 

On my last visit to Hobart, one of my Tasmanian friends presented me with a jar of homemade cookies (is there any better gift?). She's a brilliant baker, and everything in that jar looked incredible but my eye immediately went to these - dark, mysterious, intriguing... They were plump, polka-dotted, glistening with glaze and garnished with gold. Like no other cookie I'd ever seen. I took my first bite and a million flavours exploded at once - bittersweet chocolate, bright citrus, warm spices... Together, they were spectacular. I immediately went home and researched the recipe because I knew they wouldn't last long. Last week, I made them as gifts for friends who'd cheered me up after a crappy day. There's something about these you feel compelled to share.

Apple, rye and ginger teacake

There's something very comforting about teacakes. I suppose it's the name, containing as it does two very cosy concepts - tea and cake. As the name also suggests, it's not fancy, just a little something to have while you pause. There's generally not enough pausing in our lives. So let this be an incentive - warm ginger, sweet apples, nutty rye. Quick to assemble, even quicker to eat. But don't rush. Take your time. That's the point.

Sichuan celery with beef

I don't cook a lot of Asian food. It's not because I don't like it. The problem - such that it is - is that I live somewhere it's possible to get a good pad Thai for less than $10. And whenever I have made Asian dishes, I not only end up with something that's often inferior to what I can get cheaply within walking distance, but a million bottles and jars that forever after just clink around mostly full in the door of my fridge. But this! This is a relatively recent discovery that requires the purchase of only one jar you're not likely to have already, and is so good and so simple you'll be making it with such frequency that your problem will likely be that you run out, not it's never used. This dish started out as a way to use up leftover celery and quickly became the reason I bought the bunch. It's crunchy and spicy, satisfyingly meaty yet light (it really is celery with beef, not beef with celery). It's got a short list of ingredients, needs barely any prep and takes about five minutes to cook. With the addition of a fried egg on top, it's comfort food that sustains instead of sending you to sleep... or to the local Chinese takeaway.

Kasundi tomato relish

I was going to make something else for the blog this week but the Danish pastry I pulled from the oven Saturday morning was an unmitigated disaster. Happily, this recipe jumped out at me from the arts section of the Herald I was reading to console myself afterwards. Happily, I had most of the ingredients already. Happily, I was passing by the Chinatown fruit and vegetable markets on my way to a dinner at my friends' place Saturday night and was able to stock up on tomatoes and chillis. Happily, the cook at that dinner had some black mustard seeds to spare when I realised I didn't have any (and was too lazy to walk up to the shops to get some the next day). And so it all worked out in the end. I'll give the Danish another go sometime, but til then, slathering this incredible relish on a bacon and egg roll (or a curry, a jaffle, on a cracker with some cheese) makes me very happy indeed.

Tomato chilli jam

My mother and I are very different cooks. I'm a recipe-follower, she's more of a free-wheeler, adding and subtracting ingredients, changing cooking times, processes, and equipment, following her instincts. I clean as I go when I cook (a by-product of living in an apartment with a small kitchen) and she, well, to put it bluntly, does not. These fundamentally different approaches mean that when the two of us are in the kitchen together we drive each other crazy. After every visit home I vow never to put myself in that situation again. But her tomato chilli jam is so good it was worth making an exception.

My mum, a keen gardener, jokingly refers to this savoury jam as dynamic lifter. And indeed, it does elevate anything it's spread on to a whole new level of flavour. Mum uses it most often on a sandwich or with crackers and cheese, but it would be great dolloped on eggs, corn fritters, served alongside a sausage roll or swirled into sour cream as a dipping sauce. The heat of the chilli is offset by the sweetness of the tomatoes (and the sugar they're cooked with!) so if you're worried about serving it to anyone averse to spicy things, don't be. Conversely, if you like things hot (and you're more of a recipe-meddler, like my mother), you may want to up the chilli content. Whatever your approach, you can't go wrong.

Pear and ginger upside-down cake

We all have favourite places.  Places we return to again and again because they make us feel inspired, or comforted, or even just plain old happy.  Macrina Bakery in Seattle is one of these places for me.  Though there are three stores now, the original, down on 1st Ave is the one I head for like a homing pigeon whenever I find myself in town. I've clocked countless hours there having breakfast, coffee (well, never just coffee) or lunch with people I love, or by myself either staring out the window or writing postcards at their chrysanthemum adorned tables. 

A couple of years ago, Macrina published a cookbook, generously sharing their recipes, and making it possible for those of us who live far, far away and can't just pop in as much as they might like to, to have a little piece of our favourite place right here in our kitchen.

You can make this with whatever seasonal fruit is to hand - apples, nectarines, plums - but I particularly like the silkiness of the pear against the chewy crumb of the cake.  With its caramel crown and dark, brooding beauty, it looks far more high maintenance than it actually is.  It comes together quickly and is eaten just as fast.