Apples Galore

Many years ago when anything was possible, I pushed an apple pip into the ground and it grew into an apple tree. My apple tree moved with me to two new childhood homes and eventually grew sweet apples that I ate in memory of that first original fruit.

When my parents moved to Devon earlier this year, they tried to bring some part of this apple tree with them. My Dad attempted to graft some winterbound twigs onto new stock, whilst a friend planted fresh cuttings in a transportable mini cold frame. It was the wrong time of year, it was the nature of things – all of these much-appreciated attempts failed (although I still have a pressed leaf from the cuttings of my apple tree).

At the same time as when my parents were preparing to pack up their moving crates however, O and our children planted a new apple tree in our front garden with its own story to tell.

Last November, O brought home a young apple tree from St Bridget Nurseries. He told us how a staff member at the nurseries had helped him to carry the tree to his car. It had been a struggle to wedge the tree into the boot of the car without snapping or trapping any of the precious branches, and they were both tired from the effort. Having recently been in the States where he had learned to reach automatically for his wallet at times like this, O offered to tip the man. The man replied that he wanted no tip, but would instead welcome an apple from the tree the following year.

We planted the tree and worked hard to lay turf over the ground before the first frosts came, only to wake up to an unprecedented covering of snow that lasted for the first two months of our newly-designed garden’s life.

As the ground began to thaw and the dark days started to lengthen, we worried that the young tree had not survived the ill-timed freeze and watched anxiously for signs of growth. Crocuses and daffodils planted at the foot of the tree peeked tentatively through the grass as if unsure about the rewards of pushing upwards through the frozen earth. Buds on the tips of the bare apple tree branches swelled minutely and we held our breath as we waited for Spring to explode.

Among the apples we have collected from our tree this year, one is reserved for the man from the garden centre. We will be taking it to him later today. Fingers crossed he enjoys his slow-to-mature tip!

I’m not alone in turning my thoughts to apples at this time of year. Yesterday saw the 21st anniversary of the autumnal celebration of Apple Day with events around the world to inspire and inform an orchard revival. Close to home, Otterton Mill is hosting food tasting, apple bobbing and other family activities tomorrow, whilst we have the opportunity to press our own apples into juice at Matthews Hall in Topsham on Sunday (perhaps we may grow sufficient apples for a drop or two of juice next year!). There’s still time to discover an Apple Day event near you …

Apparently, the association of apples with Hallowe’en is all down to the Celts. They believed that fruits grew magically in the Island of Apples, an enchanted place that was only accessible by passing through water. So next time you find yourself snorting water as bobbing apples bonk your nose at a Hallowe’en party, it may help to remember this mystical isle.

One of my own favourite apple traditions as a child was to throw the peelings over my shoulder to discover the initials of the person I would marry. Well, would you just look at that … spooooky!

I thought that now would be a good time to share a recipe I was inspired to create recently. It’s a dish for those seasons of mellow fruitfulness when the morning mists cling to the path of the river towards the estuary and the crisp evening skies fill with the aroma of wood smoke from bonfires and hearths.

Pork and Apple Sausage Parcels in Apple Stew

2 small onions, halved and cut into long slices
2 sticks celery, diced
6 mushrooms, diced into large chunks
1 green chilli, chopped finely
3 dessert apples, peeled, cored and diced
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp dried thyme
freshly ground black pepper, to taste
150 ml chicken stock
8 oz pork fillet
6 pork and apple sausages
6 rashers unsmoked back bacon
500 ml dry cider

Using an ovenproof 10″ saucepan with lid:

Fry the onions, celery, mushrooms and chilli in 2 to 3 tbsp olive oil to soften.

Add diced apples, herbs and chicken stock.

Cut the pork into 4 slices, then bash each with a mallet into rectangles. Split 3 of the sausages from their casings and divide the sausagemeat between the pork rectangles. Roll each rectangle and wrap with bacon (1 1/2 slices per pork parcel). Secure with string.

Split the casings of the remaining sausages and make balls out of the sausagemeat. Add to the pan and fry to brown.

Place the pork parcels on top of the apple stew and add the cider (it should come halfway up the sides of the pork parcels).

Cover and place in the oven at 160 degrees C for 1 1/2 hours.

Untie the parcels to serve. Serve with mashed potatoes or rice.

Mrs Mayall’s Banana Chocolate Cake

I was lucky to have some excellent teachers when I was at school. Among the most inspirational, I remember those who taught music to me for more than their ability to get me through A-level aural and harmony examinations. After all, who could possibly forget being served a slice of perfect banana chocolate cake at the end of a particularly demanding class by Mrs Mayall?

It was no small wonder that we begged her for the recipe. I still have my original handwritten copy, the final lines scrawled hurriedly onto the paper as the bell for the start of the next class was sounding.

Beat in vanilla essence and leave frosting in cool place 3-10 mins til thick nuf for sprding.

You have to remember that I wrote those lines in the days before text messaging!

The recipe for the cake itself is so good that I have never (and neither did Mrs Mayall, at least on the day she brought her cake to our music lesson) felt it necessary to follow the instructions I so eagerly scribbled for the frosting.

I never imagined when I copied Mrs Mayall’s recipe twenty years ago that it would become one of my children’s favourite ways of using up those inevitable left-over bananas. Unlike many banana cakes, these slices are moist without being claggy and heavy. They are also deliciously chocolaty.

Which is also why I particularly wanted to share this recipe with you on the third anniversary of A Merrier World.

Happy Birthday, dear blog!

Banana Chocolate Cake (adapted from a recipe by Mrs Mayall)

6 1/2 oz/190 g plain flour
2 tbsp cocoa powder
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp baking powder
5 oz/150 g caster sugar
2 tbsp Golden syrup
2 eggs, size 3, beaten
1/4 pint/150 ml vegetable oil
14 pint/150 ml milk
2 bananas, mashed (5 oz)

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F/170 degrees C.

Grease and base-line a shallow 8″ x 13″/20 x 33 cm baking tray.

Sift together the dry ingredients into a large mixing bowl. Add the remaining ingredients and beat for c. 2 minutes until well combined.

Pour into the prepared tray and bake in the centre of the oven for 30 to 35 minutes until springy to touch.

Apple Day at Rosemoor

And the wind sprang up and the sky grew dark … and it rained …

clothesline-web

and rained …

leaf-web

and rained …

leaf-on-wood-web

and rained …

sprouts-web

and rained.

apple-web

But small children never seem to mind the rain. They eagerly pull on their welly boots and rush outside to splash and jump in muddy puddles. Soaked through and dripping, they are unconcerned by such grown-up worries as colds and coughs and sneezes, and are unburdened by the practicalities of ensuring they have a dry change of clothing packed safely away in rucksacks on every outing.

Which is perhaps just as well, since our visit to the annual Apple Day hosted by the Royal Horticultural Society gardens at Rosemoor last weekend was certainly a wet one.

I had only been to Rosemoor once before, nearly five years ago when we first moved to Devon. Back then, we were a family of three, although we were only a few months away from becoming a family of four. In my heavily pregnant state, I waddled around the gardens one afternoon with L while O was busy in his new job. There was little to see – it was March and the beauty of the gardens was still deep in its winter sleep. Only the name tags marking places in the soil gave a hint of what the gardens would become in the Spring.

On that visit, I was particularly intrigued by the fruit and vegetable gardens. Although they were seemingly populated by nothing more than empty, dead twigs, my imagination was kindled by the sheer variety of fruits that were planted there. With each step I took, I discovered apples and pears with magical, evocative names that never appear on the supermarket shelves. Barnack Beauty, Shenandoah, Lady Sudeley, Yellow Ingestrie.

Last weekend, I finally had an opportunity not only to see these fruits growing at Rosemoor, but also to taste them. Despite the steady rain that poured persistently throughout the day, we joined the damp, waterproofed crowds at the garden’s annual Apple Day. Inside a large, dry marquee, tables were stacked high with a myriad of different varieties of apple. Slices for tasting were laid out on paper plates alongside tasting notes and harvesting information. Some apples were soft and sweet while others were crisp and tart. Each variety left a different aftertaste, from nutty to aniseed.

apple-tasting-web

There were dessert apples, cooking apples, juicing apples and apples for making cider. Stalls around the sides of the marquee provided a platform for producers and artists from Devon to show their apple-related products. At one stall, rivers of the purest apple juice gushed from a noisy mulching machine.

“Four parts Cox to one part Bramley,” the producer proudly told us. Whatever the secret, this was the most glorious apple juice I have ever tasted. Its sweetly crisp aromas filled my senses with apple even as the juice was being sloshed from the jug into my glass. It was as if I’d buried my nose deep into the apple blossom and drunk from the very essence of the fragrant fruit.

apple-juice-web

And then out into the rain to the orchards where the bare patches of soil of my last visit were now bursting abundantly with redolent apples of all varieties.

apple-collage-web

That evening as the geese flew overhead on their journey out to sea, I made a spiced autumnal apple cake in celebration of this rainy Apple Day.

applecakeslice

Apple Day Cake

3 ounces seedless sultanas
100 milliliters dark rum
2 ounces unsalted butter
5 ounces castor sugar
2 ounces light muscovado sugar
7 ounces peeled, cored and diced apple (1 medium Bramley apple)
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
6 ounces eggs, weighed without shells (3 medium eggs)
5 ounces plain (all purpose) flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Put the sultanas in a small bowl and cover with the rum. Leave to soak for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C / 350 degrees F / gas mark 4 with a rack set in the centre of the oven.

Grease and base-line a 20 cm (8 inch) round cake pan.

Melt the butter and sugars together in a small saucepan (or in the microwave, stirring frequently) until smooth and runny.

Place the melted butter and sugars together with the apple, grated orange zest and vanilla in a large bowl. Beat to combine.

Add the eggs gradually, beating after each addition to incorporate. Scrape down the sides of the bowl.

Place the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon in a separate bowl and whisk to combine thoroughly. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until well incorporated.

Drain the sultanas well and reserve the rum (set aside). Add the sultanas to the apple mixture and stir to combine.

Pour the mixture into the prepared pan. Bake in the centre of the preheated oven for 45 to 50 minutes. A tester inserted into the centre of the cake should have few crumbs attached when removed (it is a moist cake, so the tester will not be completely clean). Remove from the oven.

Let the cake stand in the pan for 10 minutes before removing from the pan and placing on a wire rack.

Brush the top of the cake with a small amount of the reserved rum. Cool on the wire rack before slicing and serving.

Fantasia on a Theme of Bananas

I remember entering Guildford Cathedral after ringing the bells there for a morning service one Sunday. The air was filled with an emergent hubble-bubble of social chatter, the choir had disbanded and the vast space was slowly disgorging its occupants of the preceding hour. Only the organist remained, lost in the fulfillment of his duty. He played to the emptying cathedral, embroidering the chords of the final hymn in an enthusiastically elaborate extemporization.

With images of J. S. Bach at the keyboard, I was reminded of a little treatise on extemporization written in 1922 by Hamilton C. MacDougall:

To invent and play, on the spur of the moment and without specific preparation, an unwritten piece of music, long or short as the case may demand, conforming reasonably to the principles of musical composition, is to extemporize.

On the spur of the moment … impromptu … a musical improvisation.

Now, I’m certainly not claiming that my improvised banana cake was anywhere near as elevated or as sublime as a skillful organ extemporization.

banana-cake-close

However, the principles of my baking fantasia (with apologies to MacDougall) were the same.

How can the audience enjoy the extemporizer’s art if it does not recognize his theme?
I took a theme of bananas, one which is surely familiar to my audience.

One needs more than one subject to work with if one is to go on for more than a few measures.
Bananas and … buttermilk.

It is to differences in rhythm more than to differences in harmony or in melody that we have to look for suggestions.
Flour … flour … buckwheat flour.

Before this time, even, the player will have discovered how far his knowledge of harmony is a help to him in his improvisations.
How much of each ingredient? How many eggs? What size cake pans? What oven temperature? How much chemical leavening … what sort …. baking powder or baking soda …?

There is nothing less difficult than to overload a melody with chromatic, complicated and bizarre harmonies destroying the very object for which they were introduced.
A simple frosting that doesn’t compete with the taste of banana … white chocolate and buttermilk buttercream.

See that, wherever possible, melody and accompaniment are contrasted in tone-color, as well as in strength.
A scattering of toasted almonds for an uncomplicated, contrasting crunch.

A “reasonable confirmation to the principles of musical composition” is all that may be demanded of the student.
Well, it certainly looked and tasted like a banana cake to me …

banana-cake-cut

There is no reason why a professional friend should not join with [the organist] in mutual practice and criticism. Men do not seem to do this sort of thing as often or as helpfully as women, but the suggestion may be worth considering.
… and Charlotte enjoyed it too.  (I just had to add MacDougall’s second sentence to the quote above – what an observation!)

banana-cake

Banana Buttermilk Fantasia Cake

8 oz buckwheat flour
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp grated nutmeg
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
5 oz light muscovado sugar
2 medium eggs
7 oz mashed banana (2 to 3 bananas)
3 tbsp buttermilk

Topping
1 oz flaked almonds, crushed and toasted
4 oz white chocolate
2 tbsp buttermilk
3 oz unsalted butter, at room temperature

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C. Grease and baseline 2 x 7″ round cake pans.

Put the dry ingredients together in a large bowl and stir to mix. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, beat the sugar and eggs until they have tripled in volume and are the colour of a frothy cappuccino (4 to 5 minutes).

Add the mashed banana and buttermilk. Stir to incorporate.

Stir in the dry ingredients until all are moistened.

Divide the batter between the 2 prepared cake pans. Bake in the centre of the preheated oven for 25 minutes or until the tops spring back to the touch.

Cool in pans for 10 minutes before removing and cooling the cakes on a wire rack.

To make the topping, melt the white chocolate in a medium-sized bowl. Beat in the buttermilk and softened butter. Refrigerate for 15 minutes before using.

When the cakes are absolutely cool, sandwich them together and cover the tops with the white chocolate and buttermilk buttercream. Sprinkle with the crushed and toasted flaked almonds.

The Night of the Lemon Tart

I nearly entitled this post, “Happy Birthday Dear Blog”, for that’s what it is today. Two years ago on August 9th 2007, I first put the virtual pen to the virtual paper and told the world about my obsessive quest to find the perfect chocolate brownie.

Far from counting down the days to this second blogoversary, I only realised it was nearly time to celebrate when I published my last post about our candyfloss activities and was diverted into looking in the archives. I actually got a bit confused and thought we were further into August than we were, so I nearly added a postscript saying something like, “Oops, I’ve missed my birthday!” It just goes to show the addling effect of summer holidays on my brain!

This is the part where I should wax lyrical about all the things that have happened here in this last year … the culinary triumphs (had to get that in for you, Dad 😉 ) and lessons learned. When I look back however, this year has been as much about people as it has been about recipes and food. It has been  a year filled with the excitement of meeting face to face with friends I’ve met through this blog … Rose Levy Beranbaum, Melinda and Jeannette. It has also been a year in which I’ve travelled the world virtually, from Canada to America, the Caribbean to Azerbaijan, getting to know the most wonderful fellow food bloggers on my journey.

This blog has become more than just an online record of recipes. It is a true sharing of experiences and point of connection with my family and friends.

In celebration of this second year of A Merrier World, I’d like to leave you with the most wonderfully sublime, dreamily ethereal lemon tart I’ve ever tasted. I’ve made it several times since I first found Ellie’s recipe on A Kitchen Wench. Yesterday, I made it again for friends who came to dinner.

It’s a tart to die for.

lemon tart

It’s a tart to sink your teeth into, to roll around your tongue and drift away on the smooth, lemon custard of its filling. I can feel my mouth watering as I write, so please excuse me while I go to drool over a slice of the real thing!

lemon custard

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