Easter White Chocolate Nests

I know, I know, Easter was last weekend and I missed it with these Easter nests. But it’s a season for springtime festivals after the darkness and hibernation of the winter months, so perhaps I’m not too late after all. My children certainly don’t seem to mind that we made Easter goodies after the event! Time is more flexible when you’re as young as they are, I guess.

So yes, the Easter bunny hopped by our house earlier today and caught us in the act of creating sticky, gooey nests for the chocolate eggs he laid on Sunday.

Funnily enough, it seems that people did once believe that bunnies were laying eggs at this time of the year. The story goes that they would mistakenly connect their lucky discoveries of clutches of eggs hidden among the hedgerows with the mad March hares they saw bouncing around in the fields. In reality, the hidden treasure had actually been laid by the unconfined hens of those days as they roamed freely in the meadows. It’s a shame such child-like logic had to be disillusioned, in some ways – I rather like the picture of frantically fertile bunnies stopping every now and then in their frenzied hopping to deposit a few eggs in unexpected places.

Although we were too late for Easter, I’m hoping that we’ll still be in time to offer our nests to Julia of A Slice of Cherry Pie for her Easter Cake Bake 2009. I’m a little hazy about days and dates right now (a side-effect of school holidays, I find), but I’m pretty sure we haven’t yet had the 20th April!

Easter nests

Easter White Chocolate Nests

10 oz rolled oats
4 oz Rice Krispies
4 oz milk chocolate chips
8 oz unsalted butter
7 oz golden syrup
6 oz white chocolate
1/2 tsp fleur de sel
60 mini chocolate eggs

Makes 30 nests.

Mix together the oats, Rice Krispies and chocolate chips in a large bowl.

Melt the butter, golden syrup and white chocolate together in a saucepan over a low heat. Stir in the fleur de sel, then pour the mixture over the dry ingredients in the big bowl.

Get several children to take turns stirring with a big wooden spoon until all the dry ingredients are moistened (it’s okay to do it yourself if you can’t find any little people to help, but it won’t taste as good).

Use an ice-cream scoop to dollop the sticky mess into paper cupcake liners. Press a couple of mini eggs into the top of each nest.

Leave to set if you can resist them for long enough.

Cheese Scones and Brioche

Whoosh, where did this last weekend go? One moment I was standing in the school playground on Friday afternoon and the next I was there again, delivering L to her classroom at the start of a new week. We’ve been busy, busy, busy.

But I have to tell you, I have the most gorgeous children. Okay, I’m probably biased, but whose heart could fail to melt when given such a beautiful gift as this Mothering Sunday card?

mothers day card

Believe me, I know my elder daughter and she’s not the speediest of people – it must have taken her ages to make that card for me! She rushed home from school when I collected her on Friday and secreted herself in her bedroom with her bookbag and the ‘something special’ that she’d carried back inside it. She emerged a little while later telling me that I was banned from looking in the corner (which did make me worry slightly – if she’d hidden something in the corner of her room, I had grave doubts about whether or not it would ever see the light of day again).

How proudly she presented her special card to me yesterday, Mothering Sunday. M joined the ceremony by (somewhat reluctantly) handing me two gigantically enormous bars of chocolate (while L helpfully reminded me that I had to share). And T baked me some cheddar cheese scones πŸ™‚ (well … T apparently fell asleep on the kitchen table while I was out with the girls on Saturday afternoon, so that O found himself with a surprisingly undisturbed opportunity to find his way around my recipe books and flour cupboard).

mothers day cheese scones

Beautiful! We ate the scones in our own version of a Devonshire Cream Tea – runny slices of brie in place of clotted cream, topped with spoonfuls of the Bay Tree’s chipotle chilli jelly instead of our homemade blackberry jam (the last jar of which I’m saving for a special occasion). The cream tea purists will be turning in their graves, but the brie and jelly were the perfect accompaniments to the cheesy tang of the scones. As I said – beautiful!

For my own part, I thanked my wonderful family by baking a brioche for breakfast on Sunday morning.

O has been dropping hints for some time now that he’d like brioche to go with his marmalade, but that would have meant digging out my dough hook from wherever it might have ended up buried in our garage after our move to Devon four years ago. Although a comfortingly familiar activity to me now, bread-making is something that I’ve only come to fairly recently and I have, until this point, managed with only the most minimal of kitchen tools (aka my hands). I knew from reading Rose Levy Beranbaum’s Basic Brioche Recipe however that my hands were not an option here, unless I wished to spread all of the dough into an unmanageable sticky mess along my worktop. And so, on Saturday evening, I ventured into the darkest reaches of the garage, armed only with L’s small, dynamo-powered torch.

The brioche was obviously meant to be. I found the dough hook in the very first box I chose to open. I even woke up unusually early on Sunday morning, which allowed me time to remove the chilly dough from the fridge and shape it in my teeniest loaf pan so that it could rise and bake with minutes to spare before the rest of the family were stirring from their sleep.

Needless to say, Rose’s instructions were spot on. The meltingly golden brioche that I took from the oven was devoured so quickly that I didn’t get much of a chance to take many photos. The ravenous hoards couldn’t even wait until it had fully cooled. It went from being a shiny, blooming creation to a few silky crumbs on the bread board in the space it took me to vaguely contemplate the lack of daylight at that time of the morning.

mothers day brioche

O says he’d be happy to have this brioche every time he fancies marmalade for breakfast (which is him being wildly enthusiastic, jumping up and down and clapping his hands together in joyous excitement). I agree.

Red Velvet Madeleines

The school playground this morning was full of red noses. Not the usual sore, runny kind that go hand-in-hand with childhood during the winter months, but red noses with glasses, smiley faces and various bits of tape or string added at home to hold them in place on such very small faces. Being too grown-up, L had declined to wear her own red nose for the event. She said there wasn’t any point as it kept falling off anyway and then she’d just lose it. She was probably right – this child does seem to be quite capable of losing just about anything in the most peculiar of places (I won’t talk about purple bunny just yet – we still have hopes that he’s hiding somewhere in the house).

The playground this morning also appeared to be full to the brim with fairycakes (or cupcakes, depending on your side of the Atlantic). Now here, the maths just doesn’t quite add up. To raise money for Red Nose Day 2009, everyone was asked to bring in some cakes that could be sold during the day. And so, there they were this morning, standing dutifully in line, each child clutching the requested batch of 12 or so cupcakes in one hand … and in their other hand, their 20 pence coin with which they would be able to buy one cake at the cake sale. Hmmm. That’s an awful lot of excess cupcakage. These teachers must really love cake!

For our part, we contributed a shiny platter of red velvet madeleines (which gave me a perfect excuse for using the beautiful madeleine moulds that my Mum brought back from a holiday for me some time ago now).

madeleine tray

Maybe I’ve just been somewhere else, but I’ve honestly never before seen or tasted a red velvet cake. I only came across the notion when I started reading other people’s food blogs a few years ago. I’m sure I would have remembered if I’d ever been served such a gloriously red thing as this.

red velvet cake

The name sounds so very dreamy and luxurious that I was taken by surprise by the sheer amount of food colouring a red velvet cake seems to contain. I think I must have confused it with Devil’s food cake somewhere in my reading as I was expecting the red colour to arise from an interaction between the baking soda and cocoa powder. But then, dear old Wikipedia tells me that the two names for the cakes have a long history of being used interchangeably, so I at least feel in good company in my confusion.

I hesitated about the red dye. Some chefs use colouring from beetroots instead, but the effect is not quite as traffic-light red. And it is Red Nose Day and not ‘Mahogany’ or ‘Brown-with-a-Reddish-Hue’ Day, after all. Would I be a really bad mother if I made my one-time-only-for-a-special-event madeleines red with food colouring …?

My conscience was finally silenced by this lovely quote from an article in the New York Times:

Perfect Endings bakes the excellent red velvet cake that Williams-Sonoma featured in its catalog for the first time at Christmas. Mr. Godfrey said he uses a recipe he learned to bake with his grandmother, a native of Little Rock, Ark. “But for the bakery I couldn’t bring myself to offer a cake using red food coloring,” he said. “I tried cherries and beets, but it wasn’t right. Then I decided to honor my grandmother, so I went ahead with the food coloring.”

And the madeleines would be small and gone in a couple of even very child-sized mouthfuls … and I wouldn’t be sticking any candies or sugary frosting on the top … and they would be ever so wonderfully the perfect colour for the day.

Here then, in honour of Red Nose Day 2009 (and Mr Godfrey’s grandmother), are our extremely red velvet madeleines (based on a recipe by Pinch My Salt, except I converted her measurements into weights and used the batter to make about 40 madeleines).

red velvet madeleines

Red Velvet Madeleines

8 3/4 oz cake flour (or kate flour)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 oz (5 tbsp) red food colouring
4 oz unsalted butter, softened
10 1/2 oz caster sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 1/2 oz buttermilk
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon baking soda

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F/180 degrees C. Lightly oil the madeleine moulds.

Place the cake/kate flour, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl and whisk to combine. Set aside.

Mix the food colouring (yes, all of it) and the cocoa powder together in a small bowl (I bet you can’t do this without getting your hands red … if you give it to a small child to mix, be prepared for a red-splattered kitchen, too). Stir until the paste is smooth and without lumps. Set aside (don’t you think this recipe is beginning to sound a lot like an EU farming policy?).

Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl until fluffy (about 3 mins). Add the eggs gradually, beating well to combine. Scrape down the sides of the bowl.

Add the vanilla and red cocoa paste. Beat then scrape down the sides of the bowl again.

Sift in one-third of the flour mix and beat to combine. Then beat in half of the buttermilk. Scrape.

Sift and beat in another third of the flour mix, then the rest of the buttermilk. Scrape.

Finally, sift and beat in the remaining third of the flour mix. Scrape.

In an egg cup or small bowl, mix together the vinegar and baking soda (fizzzzz – T liked this part!). Add the fizzy potion to the cake batter and beat to combine thoroughly.

Fill each madeleine mould with the batter until about 3/4 full. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the centre of the oven. Leave for 2 minutes in the pan before releasing each madeleine with a palette knife and transferring them to a wire rack to cool.

Chocolate-Orange and Courgette Cake

chocolate orange cake

It all started when O brought home a couple of courgettes (zucchini, for anyone who’s now googling ‘courgette’) that were near their sell-by dates. Unfortunately, they didn’t fit into my plans for dinner either that day or the next – the girls don’t like green bits in their spag bol and T just doesn’t like green at all yet. And so they sat in my fridge feeling very sorry for themselves.

The great green god of courgettes was smiling down on this lonesome pair, however. It just so happened that today, whilst I was finally getting around to adding Melinda’s Kitchen Diary to my blogroll (sorry it’s taken me so long, Melinda – blame the cat … or the weather … or … okay … my goldfish attention span), I was inexplicably diverted to a recipe for Zucchini and Orange Marmalade Tea Cake. I dutifully bookmarked the page and gave a fleeting thought to my less than youthful courgettes. But no – their great green god had loftier intentions for them. Not only did I have exactly the right amount of courgette for the recipe, I also had every other ingredient in my cupboards, even down to the marmalade and walnuts (ah, the walnuts …).

My courgettes weren’t out of the woods (or the fridge) yet, though. M declared that nothing short of a chocolate cake would be acceptable to her this afternoon, and I’ve learned through bitter experience that it’s best never to attempt to argue with a three-year-old. Especially not when they’ve set their heart on chocolate cake.

Far from being daunted, the great green god of courgettes planted the idea in my mind that here was the perfect opportunity to slip one of those five daily portions of fruit and veg past my eagle-eyed three-year-old unawares. Maybe even T would be fooled – I mean, I know chocolate cake doesn’t look anything like his usual diet of sausages, but hey … chocolate! How could he refuse?

They were all there when I took out a loaf pan and oiled it. They watched as I weighed the walnuts and started breaking them into small pieces.

“What are you doing, Mum?” L asked.

“She’s making a chocolatecakecanIhelp,” said M. This was a statement, not a question. T started dragging heavy chairs across the kitchen floor to the worktop where he knew the Kenwood mixer would soon appear. He climbed up onto one of the chairs expectantly.

Together, somehow, the cake began to be made. Miraculously, everything seemed to be happening in the same mixing bowl. L cracked an egg; M cracked an egg. T put his fingers into the yolks. M sieved the flour; L weighed the marmalade. T gudgled about a bit in it all before turning the mixer on.

Somehow, among the chaos, someone forgot to add the toasted walnuts. Perhaps it was the great green god of courgettes – after all, L did say afterwards that she wouldn’t have eaten the cake if it had had nuts in it.

chocolate orange cake sliced

Chocolate-Orange and Courgette Cake (adapted from Elizabeth Prueitt and Chad Robertson via Melinda)

9 oz plain flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
5 oz sunflower oil
5 1/4 oz caster sugar
4 oz marmalade
7 oz grated courgette
1 1/2 oz cocoa
3 oz boiling water
1/2 tsp sea salt
4 oz walnuts, lightly toasted and chopped (add only if you are unafraid of incurring the wrath of the great green god of courgettes)
2 tbsp caster sugar for topping

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F/180 degrees C. Oil, flour and base-line a 9″x5″ loaf pan.

Pour the boiling water on the cocoa powder and stir. Cover with clingfilm and leave to cool to room temperature.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and cinnamon. Set aside.

Mix eggs, oil, sugar and marmalade together in a large mixing bowl on medium speed.

Add the grated courgette, salt and cocoa/water mix (don’t be tempted to taste the cocoa as L and M insisted on doing this afternoon. It really doesn’t taste good. I told them so, but what do I know?). Beat. Scrape sides of bowl.

Add flour mix. Beat until just incorporated.

Add nuts (at your peril).

Scrape into the loaf pan, smooth the top with an offset spatula (well, that’s what Melinda said, anyway πŸ˜‰ ). Sprinkle on the sugar (or, if you’re like M, dump it all in one spot).

Bake for 60 to 70 mins in the centre of the oven until the tester comes out clean. Cool for 20 mins before turning out on a wire rack.

A Piece of Cake

Ever since my new cooker arrived nearly a month ago, I’ve been putting off that fateful moment when I would make my first kate-flour yellow butter cake in one of its ovens. What if it didn’t work? What if the cake pitted, collapsed and otherwise wimped out? What if … how horrible, but … what if … my old cooker was better ….?

There, I’ve said it, the thought that has been haunting me.

There would be no going back. M, T, the cat and I waved goodbye to our old cooker last week. We couldn’t just install it somewhere in the corner of the garage for those special, ‘butter cake’ moments.

Oh, the agonies.

So, you see, for me this isn’t just ‘yet-another-photo-of-one-of-those-cakes’. This afternoon, M and I (with a little ‘help’ from T πŸ˜‰ ) baked a miracle no less wonderful to us than our first-ever successes with kate flour.

Phew!!

a piece of cake

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